Anthem of the Angels

Chapter 5

CONSUMMATE

"I happen to know a lot about science. I know . . . fermentation. I know . . . biology."
Oliver Queen, S02E05
[Flashback]

I kissed him.

Me.

I was out of my mind, and I wasn't going to do a damn thing about it. Anticipating tonight, this moment, I hadn't let myself imagine that I would want him but I did and oh, I could have him.

. . . if he let me.

I didn't touch him any further than where my lips were pressed. One hand clutching the cool wood banister, grains of scattered sand rough against my palm. The other held down by my side. Skin static with tension, and heat.

Oliver didn't let it get awkward.

He kissed me back. Sweet and slow, as if he was savoring this, and delicious as the sparkly tingle his touch elicited felt, it wasn't sugar I wanted. No. Not sugar . . .

I caught his hips, hooking my fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and tugged. Easing us both away from the edge of the veranda. Oliver broke the kiss, but not the contact, his mouth on mine a tease. "Where are we going?"

"Inside."

He laughed. Low and tight and followed me through the open, sliding glass doors of our villa; hands and mouths touching, stroking, sharing breath as if there wasn't enough air between us for two.

I'd left my hair down, still a bit damp from my own shower, and Oliver wasted no time driving his hand into it. Strong fingers raking through tumbling strands; god, he smelled good. I let my own hands migrate from his jeans to the hemp of his shirt, yanking impatiently on the soft cotton –

– he moved so fast I didn't feel those fingers slip from my hair until they closed around my wrists. "Wait." Oliver held my hands away, keeping them off of him. "Wait. Stop."

Flushed. Head swimming; dizzy with the smell, taste, feel of him.

I stopped.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. No, I didn't mean, not, stop all of it . . ." Oliver sucked in a deep breath. The musk wafting off his skin hard arousal, and I swear it was making my mouth water but something almost vulnerable moved behind eyes that had silvered in the moonlight.

I slipped out of his touch, and caught his hands in mine.

"It's fine," I said. "We don't have to do this now." Screw the contract – it demanded a child, and I'd consented to that when I signed it, when he signed it, but nowhere did it specify exactly when I was required to conceive one.

If he was nervous . . .

"That's not it," he said. "Did they tell you?" and what it sounded like he was actually asking: 'did they warn you?'