Behind The Arrow ➳ Oliver Queen [COMPLETED]

Chapter 6 | Never Knew You Were A Hopeless Romantic

His lips kept touching mine, repeatedly, with a strong force like he didn't want to let go. To be fair, at this moment, I needed whatever he was giving me. I had been alone and scared for so long, I couldn't restrain myself from kissing him. The hurt and pain that I had gone through was slowly being deteriorated by Oliver's touch, temporarily.

Realizing what I was doing, and how I have practically taking advantage of him, I needed to stop even though I didn't want to. This is not what I'd thought would happen when he asked 'for a word' but I'm certainly not going to object.

A kiss is one of the most sensual happenings, aside from sex and, of course, I loved it. His lips were warm and tasted of mint; he had obviously been chewing gum earlier. His hands were wrapped around my waist and mine locked around his neck pulling him down slightly. When we broke apart for air, I rested my forehead against his and gathered some much needed oxygen. His smirk told me everything and I smiled back, sinking into his hold.

"I don't know what that was," I panted, pang of uncertainty in my voice, "but I liked it."

"So did I," I felt a hot breath on my neck, then the tender brush of lips. Burning as they make contact with my neck. A hand runs through my hair, as the kisses become harder and more urgent. Another hand slides around my waist, and pulls me close to his pine scented body. His kisses are now on my shoulders and in my hair.

"Oliver," Walter's thick British accent made Oliver detach from my skin. "Please, not in the office," Walter sighed, motioning towards the door, then looking up at me in shock, "And with Ms. Graham?"

"Well, I guess you couldn't blame me," Oliver chuckled, wrapping an arm around my waist.

"Thea and your mother aren't home so the house is empty if you both want to continue there, but please, not in the office," the tone in his voice indicated that he had given up trying to reason with Oliver.

"Good suggestion," Oliver guided us out, then gripping my hand tightly, tugging me towards his motorbike, handing me a helmet. I slid the helmet on, taking a seat behind him on his bike, wrapping my arms around his torso as we began to drive off.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oliver's house is one of those ones rich people buy when they get paranoid about having too much money. It's like a fortress, tall gates with more security gadgets than a military compound. Perhaps behind those yellow bricks the Queen's feel safe from harm, but I can't help think they've only built themselves a beautiful prison.

Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which led directly to the colossal structure. The mansion loomed proudly behind creaky iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in crimson, swaying gently to the chilly autumn wind. At its threshold stood the delicate marble fountain, the soft gurgling of the clear water melodic as it resonated in the surrounding silence.

"This place," I stand in awe, Oliver watching me very amusedly, "It's huge, and so beautiful."

"Let's go in," he proposes, tugging on my arm, leading me inside his home.

As we step in, I take in the interior of the house: dark wooden floors to wooden staircases. The house had to be about three stories, towering over most houses in the neighborhood. Oliver had skipped the whole house tour and took me straight to his room, not having wrong intentions.

"Welcome to my very humble sleeping space," he waves around, motioning around his room, then collapsing on the bed and pulling me down with him.

"That's his polite way of saying 'the place where I've slept with every non-blood related being with a heartbeat and a vagina'," a girl stands in the hallway, leaning on the doorway.