Poison Chapter 9

Poison
Chapter 9

Chloe and Oliver exited the patient room to find everyone waiting. Now he had to face his team, his friends. He breathed in a lungful of air, and exhaled slowly. He could do this.

“Listen, guys,” he began quietly, his demeanor contrite and unsure. “I’m … I’m sorry about everything that happened.”

“You weren’t yourself Oliver,” Clark said reassuringly, offering Oliver a handshake.

“I know, but still doesn’t change the fact that I insulted, and tried to beat up a friend, and kidnapped, and..”

“What’s important is that you’re okay now. We’re all okay. Everything’s going to be fine.” A.C. clapped a hand on his back.

“I just want to thank you for all of your help.” He looked at each of his team members in turn. “All of you. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“You’d be there if it were one of us,” A.C. said.

“Yeah Ollie, we’re a team, remember?”

“Bart’s right,” Victor added. “We’re just glad you’re back.”

“And looks like our next mission is to try to find Dr. McClellan.”

Victor cast a knowing look to the others, thinking it would be a good idea to let his newly recovered boss have some time with his lady. “We’ll get started on that, why don’t you and Chloe go back to the penthouse and we’ll report back to you as soon as we find any information.”

“I’m sure we have a pretty good idea of who might be involved in the doctor’s disappearance,” Clark offered.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Oliver nodded in agreement. “Thanks guys. I mean that. Meet us at the penthouse later.”

* * * * *

Oliver had asked Chloe to find the names of the people he’d attacked in Suicide Slums. And though it wasn’t much consolation, and not as though what he’d done could be erased, he anonymously donated money to pay for their hospital bills, and a bit extra for their families. It didn’t ease his conscience. Money couldn’t always buy away a lot of things, a clear conscience being one of them, but he felt he had to do something to make amends, and not reveal the identity of the Green Arrow or himself in the process.

It had been over a week since the drug was gone from his system. Between trying to find the whereabouts of Dr. McClellan, and taking care of Queen Industries’ business, they’d had little time to spend alone together. Oliver still hadn’t made any overtures toward sex. He’d only recently begun to touch her again in the small ways he’d done before he was infected with the drug. Take her hand, brush the hair back from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. Kiss her when she least expected it. He still seemed wary of going any further than small touches and stolen kisses. She knew he wanted her. His eyes told all. But he simply couldn’t bring himself to do more.

He’d cancelled business meetings, or delegated work to his various assistants. He didn’t want to leave her yet after what had happened. Things were still not right for him. Oliver felt helpless in the wake of the events of days ago. He had threatened to kill her, wanted to sexually assault her. And though he was under the influence of a drug, he remembered all of it. The fear in her eyes, her tears, her pleas for him to stop. But something had to give. He had to shake his hesitancy and fear of physical intimacy with her, or he might lose what they had, might lose her. She was patient, but he wasn’t, and he was becoming frustrated with himself over it.

“Dr. McClellan’s girls are fine for now. Staying with their aunt.” Chloe said as she hung up the phone at his desk.

He tore his eyes from a report he was reading, looking up at her as she approached him at the sofa. “I just hope that either we, or the police find him soon. The longer it takes, the greater the chance we won’t ever find him.”

“Ollie.” She sat down next to him, stifling a yawn, placing a hand on his knee. “It’s getting late, and I want to stay here tonight.”

“Okay.”

“With you. In your bed.”

“Okay,” he said again, this time a hint of apprehension in his voice.

“To sleep. Nothing else has to happen, unless we want it to.”

He nearly smiled. Why did it feel as though the usual male and female roles were being reversed here? “I’m sorry, I know I’m not... back to normal just yet,” he said, placing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. He pressed his lips to her hair. The truth was he had nightmares about it. All sexual, all about her, all different, but all ending the same. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes earnest. “This is part of getting back to normal.”

Now he did smile. “And if something does happen? Will you still respect me in the morning?”

“Sure,” she smiled back at him. “I’ll give you a call sometime.” She kissed him on the cheek and rose from the couch, stepping away, she looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be in your bed. Meet me there.”

Oliver sat on the couch, the report long forgotten, mentally preparing himself for whatever might happen next. Moments later he went to his room. Chloe was in his bed. How long had he wanted this, waited for this, imagined this? And now he was hesitant. She sat up, the sheets falling to her waist, and he could see that she was wearing a satiny emerald green camisole, cut low, with black lace trimming the neckline, and thin shoulder straps. She looked beautiful, and sexy as hell, and it scared the shit out of him.

“You certainly don’t fight fair,” he grinned as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the nearby chair, then undid his pants, removing them, and toed off his socks, leaving only his boxer-briefs.

“Nope. All’s fair in love and war.”

He climbed into the bed next to her, lifting the sheets and arranging them over the both of them. “Come here,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms. The silky fabric of her camisole beckoned him to slide his hands over her body. But he kept them still.

They snuggled together for a while. Chloe wiggled against him and sighed contentedly. “It’s going to be okay, Ollie. We’re going to be okay,” she murmured sleepily. Then said no more, falling asleep in his arms.

Sometime during the night, Oliver awoke with a start, and a hard-on the size of Texas. He’d been dreaming again. One of those dreams. He dreamt of Chloe, of the warehouse, of sex against the wall. She wanted him desperately, it was amazing. Only the dream had turned ugly in the very last seconds, just as it always did, and her cries of pleasure turned into agony, and just before the crucial moment, he saw himself drenched in blood everywhere, and in the dream he somehow knew that it was her blood that covered him.

She stirred next to him, and opened her eyes, he gazed down at her, his breathing still irregular, and she smiled up at him, beautiful and warm and sleepy. Then noting his anxious expression, she scooted up “Oliver, are you okay?”

“Just a dream. Go back to sleep. I’m fine,” he whispered, trying to sound reassuring.

She moved closer, fitting herself against him, casting her eyes downward. The tenting of the sheet at groin level was terribly obvious. She moved closer still, laying her head on his shoulder, breathing a kiss to the pulse point at his throat. “I know you’re still hesitant about... things. And I think I understand.” she whispered, placing a hand over his collarbone, caressing him, moving lazily and increasingly lower over the muscles of his chest, over his hard stomach, and lower still. “Let me touch you.” Her whispered words in his ear were simple enough, but caused his heart to turn over in his chest, and his pulse to quicken.

“Chloe…No.” He didn’t want to lose control of himself. Tried to keep restraint for fear of hurting her. Too late, her hand had already reached him, slipping under the edge of his boxers, touching him, stroking him.

“Yes. I want to, Oliver.”

She had never touched him this way before, but he was so painfully hard and not fully awake; he had no will to argue. His head fell upon the pillow; a sound deep in the back of his throat left him, as she breathed kisses over his neck and shoulder and continued to move her hand on him, increasing the pressure and the rhythm.

The mattress shifted slightly with her movement away from his side, and soon her mouth, hot and wet, replaced her hand, sucking him, licking up and down the engorged length of him.

He started to protest, but she insisted. “Let me.”

Oliver lifted himself, leaning back on his elbows to look down at her, watching her in the dimness, so beautiful, better than anything he could have imagined about her, as he breathed through parted lips, a moan escaping on a stuttered breath. He reached for her, fingers curling into the hair near her scalp, gripping the golden strands in his fist, her luscious mouth sucking him up and down rhythmically, swirling her tongue around the tip of him, then taking him into her mouth once again. His hips flexed, moving with her.

“Mmmmm,” she murmured around him.

“God, Chloe,” he panted, as she continued, quickening the pace, her lips and tongue gliding over him. Since he was already so aroused, it didn’t take long. “Chloe…” he ground out, in warning, and immediately, sweet release like floodgates opening, washed over him from head to toe. He fell back upon the pillow, spent, panting, his eyes closed, he’d released his grip from her hair, and was now stroking it gently. “You are… God… you’re incredible,” he breathed.

Chloe slid upward to his waiting arms, and Oliver held her close for long moments, until the pieces of himself came back together again. Her fingers lightly traced imaginary patterns over his chest, causing his skin to tingle. Not once since she’d first touched him, had the horrible dream visions entered his mind, and he was able to relax, and allow his hands to rove over her silky camisole down her back, over the smooth skin of her shoulder, and down her arm. The softness of her curves against him, the pressure of her body, caused him to grow hard again.

“I think it’s your turn,” he murmured, nudging her gently, rolling her onto her back. He had every intention of giving her the same pleasure she’d just given him.

Chloe smiled up at him and reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, as he lay beside her, lowering his head to press tender kisses over her jaw line, and throat, his hand, fingers splayed, rubbing soft circles over the fabric that covered her stomach.

He was gentle and sweet, yet Chloe still sensed some hesitancy in him. She loved him gentle and sweet, but right now they needed something else, something more so that he’d never hesitate to touch her again, or think about what had happened, or worry that he might hurt her.

“Rip it,” she commanded softly in his ear.

He raised his head to gaze down at her, questioningly. “Chloe,” he whispered.

“Rip it off of me, Oliver.”

His palm slid up the silkiness of her camisole over her abdomen, moving tentatively over the low neckline between her breasts, his fingers curling around the lacy edge, gathering the shiny deep green material in his fist.

“Do it,” she breathed. “I want you to, Ollie.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Oliver yanked hard, the thin shoulder straps giving way. He yanked again, until the seams split, and her breasts were bared before him.

“God yes,” she murmured, as his hand moved over her skin, cupping each breast in turn, caressing them, kneading them, outlining the rosy peaks with his fingertips. “I need to feel your hands on me,” she moaned, her eyelids closing over as she arched her back, filling his hand.

Oliver lowered his head and began suckling her, her reactions to his touch sending his senses reeling. She urged him on, wanting him to suck harder, guiding one of his hands and moving it down over her panties, demanding that he rip those from her as well. This time, he tore the flimsy garment from her body without hesitation, tossing what was left of her panties to the floor.

“Touch me.”

Kissing her now, with more hunger, he passed a finger over the folds of her entrance, so deliciously slick and wet for him. Her breath hitched, and she pushed herself against his hand.

He hadn’t wanted to lose complete control. He was too afraid. But here she lay writhing beneath him, begging him, urging him, demanding his ardor, his passion, his urgency.

There was a time for making love, gentle and sweet and tender, and there was a time for…

“Fuck me, Oliver,” she panted breathlessly.

The beauty of it was that he could do both with her. This is what she wanted him to know. She didn’t want his restraint right now. She wanted him to lose himself in her.

“I need you inside me.” she whispered against his lips, reaching for him, engorged, thick, heavy and ready, guiding him to her as he moved over her, between her legs.

The need to fulfill her passionate demand overpowered him. Overshadowing any doubt, overcoming any caution, his desire for her overriding anything else, and he sunk himself inside her, entering her hard, all the way, every inch of him filling her in one swift motion. He groaned deeply, his breath leaving him at the exquisite sensation of finally being inside her, warm and silky and tight around him. She gasped, a sound of both pain and pleasure escaping her at the sweet, shocking invasion, and he stilled himself momentarily, thinking he’d hurt her.

But her eyes held no trace of pain, and she pulled his head down, capturing his lips with hers hot and demanding, whispering urgently against his mouth. “Fuck me, Ollie.”

Chloe shifted her hips, beckoning him, commanding him, with her body and her voice, and he began to move within her, over and over, faster, harder, pounding. Her words and cries of ecstasy urging him on, blunt nails down his back, teeth gently nipping his shoulder, driving him wild.

It’s what she wanted. All of him. Unrestrained. It’s what he wanted. All of her. Welcoming. Fucking her. Loving her. Love. Lust. They could coexist in the same moment with the right person. She wanted to remind him of what he’d already known, but had forgotten. And he loved her all the more for it. Loved her, wanted her, needed her more than any woman he’d ever known and probably ever would.

“Harder, Ollie.”

Lifting her thighs, legs over his shoulders, leaning over her, plunging deeper, harder, and…God she felt so good, better than anything, he groaned. And she was kissing him, caressing him, her fingers gripping him, digging into his skin, and calling his name, and coming now, pulsing tight around him, and… oh fuck yes. Sounds of his surrender escaped him, as Oliver’s entire body shuddered with hers. And for moments, he was mindless, coming deep inside her warmth. Giving her everything he had, every drop.

Both of them spent, panting, perspiring, languid, he collapsed on top of her. Chloe pleasantly satiated, reveled in his weight, and held him close. Neither of them wanting to move, wanting their bodies to stay connected. Neither of them able to speak. He needed this, she needed this, or they’d never be able to get back to how they were before he was doused with the drug. Love. Lust. He could have them both with her. He could have it all with her.

Finally, whispered words spoken fervently, heartfelt, sincere, meaning everything, broke the silence.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

End Chapter 9