Dress – Taylor Swift
OLIVE
stood in his apartment, it looked a little more like a lived-in space and less like the clinical lab it had been before. I felt like I was seeing it for the first time as I stood there in the dim light of the hallway, peering into the living room, the jacket he let me borrow dripping water onto the wooden floor.
I scanned over the stacks of books and paperwork that were littered all over his living room, finding clothes thrown over the couch like he’d been sorting out laundry and had abandoned it halfway through. The kitchen was chaos with its uncontrolled stack of unwashed dishes sitting beside the sink.
I almost wanted to grin knowing that even buttoned up Ben Bennett could get a little messy. But knowing the real reason for the mess stopped any smile from curling onto my lips. When I’d seen him earlier in the parking lot, I’d been worried. He never looked tired, but tonight he’d looked exhausted, and suddenly I wondered how we’d switched places.
Now, I had a pretty good idea of what was wrong.
“Here,” he said, appearing from the bathroom. “Give me the jacket and I’ll put it in the tub to dry.”
We were both soaked from the rain. I’m not sure how long we’d stood out there in the storm, my hands tangled in his hair, his arms holding my body tightly against his. I’d never wanted to let go, but when he’d felt me shivering, he made it clear we could go back to his and ‘talk’.
I had no intention of talking. Not when he looked so cute with his usually perfect hair wet and sticking to his forehead.
I unzipped the large jacket and passed it over, swapping it for the towel he gave me. The jacket had kept the rain off me for a little bit, but we both ended up soaked through, my t-shirt clinging to my body, my jeans dark with the wetness.
“Can I borrow some clothes? I’ll end up with hypothermia if I have to stay in these,” I said.
“Sure,” he said, his easy tone echoing against the tiles in the bathroom. “You know where the bedroom is.”
I slipped my shoes and socks off at the door, not wanting to leave wet footprints on his floor. I managed to avoid any small puddles we’d left, tiptoeing through to the bedroom, my bare feet meeting the warmer plush carpet in there.
Slowly, and still shivering slightly in the cold air, I went over to his dresser, pausing for a moment as I tried to remember which one he had once found a t- shirt for me to wear. I apprehensively opened a drawer, finding careful stacks of cotton t-shirts, and a pair of shorts with an adjustable band so I could tie them around my waist. I pulled the clothes out, throwing them on the bed, and found Ben standing in the doorway, leaning as always against the doorframe.
“Do you have some sort of medical condition that makes it physically impossible for you to stand up straight in a doorway?” I asked, lips pressed into a firm smile.
His shoulders shook with laughter, and he looked away for a moment, shaking his head at my smart-ass comment. I let his laughter wash over me, realizing how much I’d missed the sound.
The time apart had been hard, but necessary. Once I left the school, things had become easier almost immediately, like I’d finally freed myself from an anchor that had been pulling me down. Of course, there was still work left to do. A lot of work, in fact. More therapy, and taking my medication consistently, and giving myself a thousand reminders that quitting didn’t make me a failure, until I finally started to believe the words.
But I’d finally done it on my own, avoiding Ben who felt like a safe haven and forcing myself to deal with everything head-on this time.
It was still hard, but for the first time in months I felt free of the haze, and knew truly what I needed, who I wanted.
A shiver rippled through me, a stray droplet of water running down my back from my hair.
“You’re shaking,” Ben said. His t-shirt was soaked around the neck where his jacket hadn’t covered, his jeans darkened near the bottom. How long had we been out there that we were this wet? “You need to get out of these clothes.”
I lifted the clothes I’d picked out to indicate I was planning on doing exactly that, but stopped when he finally stood up from the doorway, making his way over to me. The room was dark, his features hidden from me until he walked into the light shining through the window. Then I saw it, the lust written all over his face. His eyes were fixed on the wet t-shirt stuck to my body. He stopped beside me, and all of the air must’ve been removed from the room because I forgot how to breathe. He reached out his fingers to the bottom of my shirt, and paused.
“Can I?” He asked, his fingers still at the edge of wet material. He looked up at me, and something deep inside of me swelled under his gaze.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. Slowly, his fingers curled under the material, and like I was a carefully wrapped present, he slowly lifted it over my head. It was impossible not to shiver as the material revealed cold skin but his body was so close to mine, I could feel the heat coming off him. All I wanted was to close all the distance between us and press my skin to his. Despite his insistence I must have been cold, he was slow with the movement, so careful. Before, I would’ve sworn he was doing it to torture me, to send me right to the edge of need and keep me hanging for as long as he could. But this time, it was like he was savoring the moment, slowly unwrapping me like he wanted to take in every single second.
I’d missed him, missed this connection between us. He was undeniable in every way, from the way he studied me, to the way my heart pounded when I caught him. I struggled to remember now what it was like to hate him, wished so hard we hadn’t wasted so much time with our petty games and squabbles if it meant I could have more time with him.
If there was one thing I was supposed to take away from this summer, from my mom, it was that time should not be taken for granted. And as he lifted the t-shirt over my head, our eyes locked. He lifted a hand to my face, cupping my cheek and stroking the skin there with my thumb like he was wiping it clean. A moment there and he had me pressing into the motion, instantly addicted to how it felt when he touched me, that buzz of electricity. He ran his thumb across my lips, pressing so carefully, before resting where my neck met my shoulder, his thumb now on my throat.
“I missed you,” he said, dipping his head low, down to my collarbone where his lips trailed down. I shivered under the touch, every kiss he pressed leaving an invisible mark on my skin. My heart was a drum beat of ‘I need you, I missed you, I want you’.
“I missed you too.” My voice was shaky with anticipation. His fingers trailed down my skin. Every single touch felt considered and intentional, like I was delicate and he was scared I’d shatter if he went any faster. It was clear from the start that this time was not like the others. He rubbed his thumb over my peaked nipple, pleasure sparking at the touch, and I sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation.
“I wanted to call you every day,” he murmured, his breath hot against the sensitive skin and he continued to leave a line of soft kisses across my collarbone, down the side of my neck. All the while, he was still caressing my nipple, overloading my brain with lightning bolt sensations.
His other hand went to my jaw, gently pressing so I looked up at him, my eyes meeting his. It was like we were both still cut open and raw from the separation, still wounded–but this was us healing, finding the fractured pieces and putting them back together. Not the way they were before, but a new, more brilliant pattern instead. I saw the colors of us: deep purples and blues and flashes of red so scarlet it was maroon.
He paused, his gaze turning soft and I sensed his apprehension before he said, “I need to know how things are going to be.”
“What do you mean?” My brows furrowed, gaze flickering between his eyes and those soft lips I yearned to taste again.
“I mean…” he trailed off, his throat bobbing like even trying to string the words together was painful for him. He pressed his eyes shut like he was preparing for the worst.
“Will you still be mine tomorrow?”
I inhaled a sharp breath at the question. Last time we’d gotten this close, I’d run. I’d been so terrified to open myself up, for him to see how much pain I was in. It had been too much and I’d pushed him away
Our relationship had been a distraction that had gone too far. Something that was supposed to be one night, turned into two nights, before turning just plain messy and we’d both ended up hurt. Now it was clear how much he’d been hurting these last few weeks without me while he waited for me to heal.
My heart thumped uncontrollably as I took a deep breath, summoning up the same courage it had taken to finally press the call button.
I pushed to my toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and careful. Instantly, he melted against me, his hands pressing into my skin, holding me close. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, and he wrapped arms around my bare skin.
“I will be. Will you still be mine?”
I felt the smile break out on his face, felt the relief in his body as he pulled back from me to force my head up from his neck. He kissed me again, this time the softness was gone, leaving only pure need for me.
“I was always yours, Olive,” he murmured against me, but the words were completely redundant. He didn’t need to tell me anymore, he could show me instead.
The calmness broke into a frenzy. Our lips moved roughly against each other. I was pulling his hair, pulling at his top, and his hands were on my neck, squeezing my breast, feeling every inch of me before finally undoing my jeans. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted to touch every inch of his skin, taste every bit of him. And apparently, he had the same thought.
He dropped to his knees, a hand around my thigh to pull me closer to him, and dipped between my legs to taste me. My spine lost all its integrity as my legs struggled to hold up my weight, the impulse to rock against his mouth overwhelming. He moaned against me, and the vibration shot straight through me, my eyes rolling back.
I was lost to him, to his touch and the pleasure he gave me.
I twisted my hand in his hair, fingers tangled in the strand as I pressed him closer, wanting everything that he gave me.
“I fucking love how you taste,” he said, pulling back for a breath. I took the opportunity to move to the bed, and this time, he sat on the edge and I climbed on top, straddling him. I needed him inside, needed to feel his pleasure as well as mine.
He was mine, and I was his and I wanted us to both know it.
I savored the moment, committed to remember how he looked at me like I was everything to him. I wanted to remember how he made me feel, and how every bit of contact between us felt intoxicating. I wanted this to last forever.
Finally, I lowered myself onto him, working his length inside me. He pressed his hand against my lower back, pushing me further as I rocked him inside, working every inch in slowly. My body shook from the pleasure and pressure of him, my head against his shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there. His other hand gripped my thigh, fingertips pressed so hard into the skin that I was sure I’d be left with bruises. But I wanted it. I wanted all of him.
There was no more holding back as I rocked on him, our shared moans only silenced by kisses or the pressing of lips against skin. We built together, no longer scared of jumping off the edge anymore. Instead, we fell together into whatever we were going to be. Where we were going to land was unknown, but I knew it was going to be with him by my side, holding my hand tightly.
And that’s all I needed.
We reached the peak, crashing into the pleasure together, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else in the world, wouldn’t want to be with anybody else. The heart that no longer belonged to me beat hard in my chest, every feeling I had towards him elevated to impossible heights.
He looked up at me, his hand rising to move some of my hair back behind my ear, and he grinned, his signature smirk curling onto his lips. “Ready for round two, Sunshine?”
I returned the smile, an eyebrow raised as I smothered a giggle. “Were you always so eager?”
“For you? Always.”
