Summertime & Butterflies

Nineteen

After nearly seventy-two hours alone, locked up in Harry's home and making love every chance they could, Harry and Olivia thought it might be time to put on underwear and attempt a social life, though neither of them wanted to. But Harry's phone was blowing up – his friends who'd met Olivia wanted to see her, and those who hadn't met her were eager to. Their incessant messages surprised Olivia – she didn't think his friends would be so enthusiastic to meet a boring, thirty-one-year-old teacher from Canada. But Harry had cooed to her that his friends were eager to meet the one who made him so happy. The line had made Olivia roll her eyes, but it pleased her his friends noticed how happy he was with her.

"Aren't  you done yet?" Harry whined, coming up behind Olivia and wrapping  his arms around her waist, kissing her neck. He'd  invited a few of his friends to come by for some drinks and appies which Olivia insisted on preparing. Harry had told her it would be easier to just order in, but Olivia felt the need to contribute something, to show she wasn't just some useless tit of a girl. Though her stuffed mushrooms and Pico de Gällö salsa were far from gourmet, it was nice to be domestic with Harry.

Olivia snickered, spooning scoops of hummus into a bowl. "Almost," she promised him, trying to reach across the counter for the plate of veggies. Harry's hands had wandered up her torso, finding her breasts – as always – and hindering her ability to finish the veggie platter. She laughed at him, shrugging her shoulders in a weak attempt to get him to move his hands.

"What are you doing?" Olivia laughed. Harry echoed her laugh, answering by squeezing Olivia's breasts. "Sto-oo-op!"  she tried to insist, though the lust in her voice was clear. His hands felt so good on her body, and she was insatiable.

"Sto-oo-op,"  Harry mocked, his fingers honing in on Olivia's nipples, rolling the nub between his thumb and forefinger. "I hate this... Don't touch me," he continued, his voice seguing into a bad Canadian accent. "I'm not horny at all," he whispered into Olivia's ear before kissing her jawline. He was working hard on getting her to cave.

"I'm not," Olivia told him, her giggle insinuating she was lying through her teeth. Harry let his hands trail back down Olivia's stomach, grasping at her hips and tugging her pelvis towards his. His rock-hard bulge against her backside aroused her more, but teasing Harry was amusing.

"Hmm..." Harry hummed, massaging Olivia through her jeans. Unwillingly, she let out a soft moan, relaxing her body against Harry's. He let out a throaty chuckle, continuing to press his hand against her. "I thought you weren't horny, lying liar," he teased her, his hands finding their way under her shirt for another grab at her breasts before returning south.

"Who said I am?" Olivia asked him, her attempt to remain nonchalant futile. Harry ignored her question, instead grabbing at the button on her jeans. Olivia laughed, pushing his hands away. "Your friends will be here soon," she reminded him, though she was certain they could bust out a quickie. "We don't have time!"

"Shh..." Harry whispered, his hands finding the jean button again. He popped it open before lowering the zipper, sliding his hand inside. When he realised just how turned on he'd gotten his girlfriend, he let out a low groan. "You're such a liar," he told her, his touch eliciting a lustful sigh from Olivia. "But... I suppose if you want to insist you're not horny at all, I should stop touching you, yeah?"

He was trying to turn the tables on Olivia, and as amazing as his touch was, she couldn't let Harry think he held the cards. Almost painfully so, she wiggled herself from Harry's hands, bounding a couple of steps from him.

"Great!  You can help me with this, then!" Olivia told Harry, nodding towards the food on the island counter as she buckled her pants,  giggling at his wounded look.