Page 7 of Age Gap Bear's Enemies-to-Lovers Mate
Her eyes move over my naked body, but I’m too angry to feel embarrassed. This is my own home after all. “Olivia, we had our little moment. I don’t know how you got in my house ...”
“You didn’t leave the door locked; I tried calling for you. I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly. I think I really didn’t finish what I started.”
“Well, you don’t need to start anything else. I, uh, accepted your thankfulness for rescuing you last night. We’re all good.”
She shakes her head. “No, we’re not. I can tell you think there should be more.”
She moves closer. I feel aware of my nakedness now because I can’t hide my arousal. She isn’t just in a robe this time, but it’s a skimpy little dress and I’m guessing no bra or panties. Yes, it’s that skimpy.
So, against my better judgment, I let her lead me to the bedroom and the whole thing happens again. I let her seduce me even though I know it’s the worst possible decision I can make.
And I let her do it again the next day.
I invite her the day after that to discuss the situation and try to figure out the best course of action for extricating ourselves from this crazy hate-fueled lovefest.It’ll be my last day before overnights at the Company 417 firehouse and I want to getthings figured out before I go in. I won’t let this be up in the air while I’m at the firehouse.
She comes over and we fuck again instead of figuring things out. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding about having any self-control? We just fuck again.
But the worst damn thing about it all is that I can’t consider it to be just fucking.
Nope. It’s more than that.
When we’re together, there’s real feeling involved. It’s not just me using her body or her using mine. Damn it, we’re making love in the sense that the wordlovemakes a hell of a lot of sense.
I know that we can safely call itmaking loveand I’m completely at a loss.
Chapter Six
Olivia
Another day.
Another orgasm.
What the hell am I doing?
In general. Motivation-wise. I sure as hell know what I’m doing right now from a superficial standpoint. Clint sits on his couch, and I’m on top of him, kissing him passionately as I move my hips, grinding myself against him.
And realizing I’m setting myself up for tragedy.
I’m becoming addicted to him.
You know, if I buy some sort of male sex doll and screw it all the time, there’s likely to be some guilt. There’s not any guilt if I use a vibrator or a dildo but if I find myself unable to go without it, that’ll make me feel guilty. If I use a dildo or a vibrator, they’re very clearly just sex toys. A doll gets sort of weird, I think. It just makes it clearer that I’m making a choice to use something artificial instead of a real person. If I have sex with an elaborate toy designed to trick me into thinking I’m with a person, it’s guilt-inducing and sad.
This is worse.
This is worse because even though the sex is easily better than any sex in my life, dramatically better, that’s not what matters to me. That’s not what I’m becoming addicted to at all. I’m addicted to the emotions. I’m addicted to the love I feel for him. In the middle of the sex, I love him. I don’t understand it and I don’t know why.
But as I kiss him now and move my hips atop him, I love this man. When Clint’s hands move over my back and my hips, I love his touch. I love that Clint is touching me, not just that I’m being touched. Damn it all, I’m in love with him right now.
Completely.
Googly-eyed, la-la-land, head over heels, absolutely in love.
That’s what I’m addicted to when I’m with him, and that’s what’s so troubling. The moment we’re done, I’ll quietly berate myself. I’ll love him still, though, for ten or fifteen minutes or so. And then, something will click and I’ll get so angry.
I know this.
But it doesn’t stop me from kissing him now, from holding him so tightly and yearning for him so absolutely. It doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m on the verge of happy tears every time he’s inside of me.