"You didn't wait too long," Laurel murmurs against his lips. He picks her up with what seems like little effort and she wraps her legs around his waist. "You were right on time."
Oliver smiles against her mouth, still kissing her, as he carries her into her bedroom. He unzips her sweater, taking it off to reveal her bra, before lowering her to the bed. Then he tugs at her shorts, pulling them off and taking her panties with them, and Laurel reaches behind her, takes off her bra, so she's completely naked. Her nipples jut out in the air, erect with arousal, and Oliver lowers his mouth to her breast, tongue swirling around her nipple and making her gasp.
Arousal rushes hotly through her, settling to a warm ache between her legs that makes it hard for her to think straight. She closes her eyes, just as Ollie switches breasts, while his fingers stray downwards, past her abdomen, parting damp hair and straight to her centre, slick with dripping desire.
He looks up, then, meets her eyes, and she can see a shadow of his old self appear fleetingly in the pleased expression on his face.
Then he ducks his head, presses a kiss on her thigh, and he kisses his way upwards until he reaches her centre. With each kiss he sets her skin on fire, making her tense every time his lips and his tongue touch her sensitive flesh. And then his tongue is inside her, and Ollie's always been good at this, at teasing her, knowing just where to put the pressure with the pad of his finger or the flat of his tongue.
When he finds her clitoris she exhales sharply, and her fingers thread through his hair and grip tightly to his scalp, feeling her walls tense around him. She's close now, and when she comes she cries out with pleasure, arching right into him and then collapsing on the bed.
As Laurel's vision comes back into focus she just about registers him sitting on the bed next to her, leaning down for a kiss. She can taste herself on him, hot, sweet, and she pulls him onto the bed with her so she's lying on his chest.
He has so many scars. The first time she saw them it was fleeting, only for a few seconds before she left his room after their kiss.
Now, though, they have all the time in the world. And she wants to touch and see and feel - if only to feel his pain, try and alleviate it in some way. And as she lies on his chest, breathing deeply, her hand - resting on his stomach - touches the unfamiliar Chinese characters on his abdomen. His muscles tense with her touch, but she goes lightly, slowly, fingertips dancing over warm skin, stopping at the longest of his scars.
"What are you doing?" he asks, and he doesn't sound annoyed or perturbed, just curious.
"Just… wondering how you survived all this," Laurel answers. "The pain you must have gone through."
On an impulse she kisses it, once, twice, three times, planting a line of soft kisses down the length of his scar, faded but still there.
"It's okay," he tells her. "I'm okay."
"You're not, Ollie," Laurel says. "That much I can tell. But it's okay. I'll… I'll take care of you."
"I don't deserve that," he says softly.
"What makes you say that?"
And for some reason he hesitates. "You don't know, Laurel. About who I am. Who I really am."
"You're the same person I grew up with and fell in love with," Laurel says firmly. "Nothing - no island can change that."
"Not even torture and being shot at and wanting to die?" he asks. Ollie says it almost nonchalantly, as if he's discussing something mundane and everyday like the weather.
"You never talk about what happened to you," she whispers. "Not to me. Not to anyone."
"Maybe one day I can. With you."
Her hand goes to his jaw, meeting the prickle of stubble as she strokes his cheek. "You're saying maybe one day?"
Oliver nods. "Yeah. Maybe."
He leans in to kiss her, and he does so she can't help but let her hand wander to his pants. He groans into her mouth, and it's so gratifying knowing that she's doing this to him. She pulls down his pants, touching him through his boxers, and he lets her climb on top of him so she's straddling his waist. His hard-on digs into her bare thigh, and she presses against him, making him moan.
She reaches inside the waistband of his boxers, pulls them down - with some difficulty - before she strokes him, going slow, running her thumb down his length. Oliver thrusts forward into her hand, groaning, and still with her hand around him she guides him inside her. He slides into her easily as she sinks onto him, and he fills her right to the hilt. He pants and they move together, and she doesn't expect to come again, but Ollie lasts longer than she thought he would, and she meets him, thrust for thrust, and he scrunches up his eyes, staving off his climax for when she's had her second one.
When at last she comes he spills inside her seconds later, burying his face into her chest, his nose between her breasts. Laurel pulls off him, rolls to her side of the bed, completely spent, and then she reaches out, puts her arm around Oliver's waist and rests her head on his bare shoulder.
"I love you," he says, almost before he can stop himself.
She looks up, then, and meets his eyes, and he's never looked more sincere in his life. She strokes his cheek, before kissing his lips.
"I know you do, Ollie," Laurel says softly. "I know you do."