Heart Eyes
With Olivia Holt
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob, Fingering
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
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Valentine’s Day had arrived, buried under meetings, emails, and a commute that felt longer than it had any right to be. By the time I unlocked the front door, my body was running on muscle memory alone. Jacket off. Shoes kicked aside. A long breath out.
That was when I noticed the petals.
They were scattered across the hardwood floor, red against brown, beginning just inside the doorway and continuing down the hall. Carefully placed, like an invitation that didn’t need words. I stood there longer than I meant to, letting the fatigue drain out of me as curiosity took its place.
Olivia had always had a sense for timing.
We’d been dating for several months now, long enough for comfort to exist without dulling the edge. She knew when work drained me dry. She knew when I needed surprise instead of routine. And standing there, following that trail of petals, I realized she’d planned this with me very much in mind.
The hallway lights were dimmer than usual. The petals led straight to the bedroom door, which was closed. I stopped in front of it, hand hovering over the knob, heartbeat beginning to pick up.
When I opened the door, the world narrowed to one person.
Olivia stood inside, waiting.
She was only 5'2, but the way she carried herself made the room feel smaller, like everything had shifted to accommodate her presence. Her blonde hair fell neatly over her shoulders, catching the warm light. She wore red, vivid and unapologetic, the color immediately tying back to the petals beneath my feet.
The lingerie clung to her body as if it had been designed with her specifically in mind. Sheer lace traced her torso, revealing just enough of the floral pattern to tease without giving anything away. Plush, heart-shaped accents rested over her chest, soft against the sharper structure of the bodice beneath. Slim straps framed her shoulders, while delicate lacing along her sides pulled the garment inward, shaping her waist with precision.
Fishnet sleeves covered her forearms, drawing attention to her hands as she rested one lightly against her hip. Matching thigh-highs hugged her legs, their lace bands sitting high, confident. The cut of the bodysuit elongated her frame, and from where I stood, it was impossible not to take in every line, every detail.
I didn’t say anything at first. I couldn’t.
Months of shared mornings, late-night conversations, inside jokes, and quiet intimacy collided with the sight of her standing there like this. She wasn’t just dressed up. She was presenting herself, fully aware of the effect she was having, fully comfortable letting me absorb it.
She watched me with a small, knowing smile, not rushing the moment. She knew me well enough by now to understand that I needed a second. Or several.
The exhaustion I’d carried home evaporated, replaced by something steadier and deeper. Appreciation. Desire. The certainty that this wasn’t a performance for a holiday, but a gesture from someone who knew me, chose me, and wanted to remind me of that fact.
Valentine’s Day, it turned out, hadn’t been forgotten at all.
It had been waiting for me behind a closed door, in red lace, with a smile that said she’d thought of everything.
The bedroom light was low and warm, casting soft shadows across the walls. Olivia wasn’t standing anymore.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed.
One leg was bent beneath her, the other extended just enough to draw the eye, the red lace and fishnet hugging her skin like it belonged there. Her posture was relaxed but intentional, shoulders back, chin slightly tilted, as if she’d been waiting in that exact pose for the moment I opened the door. The petals continued into the room, scattered near the bed like punctuation marks leading to her.
She watched me closely as I stood there, still frozen, still trying to reconcile the day I’d just had with the woman in front of me.
“Hey,” she said softly.
Her voice had always done things to me, but tonight she leaned into it. She shifted slightly on the mattress, the movement subtle but deliberate, one hand braced behind her, the other resting on her thigh.
“You’re home,” she added, smiling. A smile that knew exactly how long we’d been together and exactly how well she knew my tells.
I swallowed, finally managing to step inside the room.
She turned her head, blonde hair slipping over one shoulder. “Rough day?”
I nodded.
“I thought you might need something better to come home to,” she said. Then, softer, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She patted the bed beside her, the mattress dipping slightly under the pressure of her hand. The gesture was simple, but the way she did it made it feel loaded, intimate.
“Come here,” she said.
I stood there for another second, taking her in. The red lace, the way she held herself, the months we’d spent building something that felt easy and intense all at once.
“You’ve been staring long enough,” she teased gently. “Come sit with me.”
And suddenly, the long day didn’t matter at all.
I moved before my mind caught up, the fatigue still lingering in my muscles but overridden by something more urgent. I sat next to her, close enough that her perfume enveloped me, a mixture of something light and floral with a sharper, clean undertone that was uniquely Olivia. Her lips parted in anticipation, a look of amusement in her eyes as if she could feel the way my mind was spinning.
I didn’t ask permission. Her eyes said I didn’t need to.
I found her mouth with mine, and the kiss was different than any we’d shared before. Urgent, but not frantic. Possessive, but not greedy. We met in the center and pushed from there, lips pressed so tight it felt like we were trying to rewrite the lines of our faces into something new, something that only made sense together.
She tasted faintly sweet, a memory of something citrusy from earlier, and the scent of her skin was close and soft and electric all at once. Her tongue slipped against mine, slow and teasing. I felt her fingers trace the side of my jaw, then slide into my hair, gripping just enough to anchor me in place.
My hands, greedy now, drew lines along her waist, over the lacing and back, tracing the edges of the red. She shifted, pushing herself closer, thigh pressing against mine, the movement sparking a shock of need that almost made me laugh. Olivia always knew what she did to me, what I wanted.
The day had wrung me out, and all my nerves were raw and exposed, but Olivia was the only thing I felt. She seemed to sense it, deepening the kiss at just the right moment, then breaking off with a nip at my lower lip that sent a jolt through me.
She grinned at my gasp, eyes bright. “So you did miss me.”
“Every hour,” I said, and it didn’t come out as a line or a joke.
“Good,” she murmured.
Olivia then pushed forward, shifting her weight so she was straddling my lap before I could even process it. The fishnet on her thighs prickled pleasantly through my jeans, her knees bracketed my hips, and she settled herself, red lace curved perfectly over the line of her waist, her face just a few inches from mine.
I pulled her in again, this time slower, drawing out the kiss the way she liked, each motion a promise. Her hand slid down, tracing the knot at the back of my neck, settling on my shoulder. She nudged me back, just enough to guide me down with her onto the bed, the mattress sighing beneath our weight.
She laid out beneath me, arms open, body framed by red and the scattered petals that had fallen there. Her legs tangled with mine, and I let my hands roam, over the dip of her waist, along the curve of her hip. The fishnet caught under my fingers and she let out a laugh, low and throaty, raking her nails up my back.
“You like?” she asked.
"God, you look..." I lost the words, and Olivia tilted her head, amused.
"Say it," she challenged.
"Perfect," I said, because there was nothing else for it.
Olivia arched up to meet me, the movement insistent, as though she meant to shake loose any memory of the day from my body by replacing it with a soft crush of our lips, the tension of her body straining to cover the distance between us, her breath on my cheek.
“You’re overdressed.” Olivia said, as she broke the kiss.
I looked down at myself. Dress shirt, jeans, belt still fastened. She, on the other hand, was deliberate in her presentation, every detail intentional, every inch of lace a statement. It wasn’t just that I felt underdressed, but that I had managed, on Valentine’s Day, to show up so unprepared.
I grinned. “Guess I didn’t get the memo.”
Olivia’s fingers worked open each button, peeling the fabric from my shoulders like she was unwrapping a gift she’d been forced to wait for. Even with my heart beating in my chest, the process didn’t feel rushed. It felt like she wanted to savor it with a patient hunger, her movements a slow, practiced undoing of me.
I tried to match her pace, but the long day had left my nerve endings firing on every signal she sent. My hands, made clumsy by wanting, tangled in her hair and danced along her shoulder blades, greedy for the texture of her skin, the fine mesh, the lace.
She let my shirt fall, fingers pausing to flick at the hollow of my throat. “There,” she said softly. “Better already.” Her hands moved lower, finding my belt buckle, unfastening it with a grin that was half affection, half challenge. She ran her palm down the length of me, watching the effect it had, eyes alight.
“Still too many barriers,” she said, like it was a private joke. She lingered over every button, every zipper, taking her time, as though each second was something to be invested. I watched her, my heart thumping, every nerve taut, as she worked me out of everything until we were just skin and fabric and heat.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” Olivia whispered, right against my mouth.
I slipped my hands across her back, then lower, tracing the seams of that red lace down to where it disappeared between the heart-shaped curve of her ass. The feel of her in my lap, warm and insistent and utterly present, made it impossible to remember anything before this except for wanting. I squeezed, pulling her harder against me, and she raked her nails up my neck in approval.
I let her linger in the driver’s seat, waiting as she teased each movement, each touch. She liked to toy with the give and take, making me wait until patience frayed into raw need. She dragged her teeth along my neck, her tongue following, and I could feel her smile blooming against my jaw when I gasped, helpless to contain it.
At last I reached up, cupping her hips, and rolled us, pinning her beneath me in one smooth motion. Her quiet gasp broke into laughter, she loved when I surprised her back. I kissed her again, this time slanting my mouth over hers until she melted, writhing against me, the friction making my head swim.
For a moment, I just looked at her. The red lace, the tousled hair, the skin sheeting gold under the low lamp. The way she waited, perfectly still, as I watched here.
I then hooked my fingers under the edge of the bodysuit, where the mesh met her inner thigh. She shivered at my touch but held my eyes, determined not to break whatever spell she’d woven over the evening. I traced the lace upward, over the subtle bumps and divots of her body, delighting in the tiny hitch of her breath.
“You put a lot of thought into this,” I said.
She shrugged, coy and unbothered. “Thought you might like it.”
“I do,” I whispered, and pressed a line of kisses from her knee up along the inside of her thigh.
Her thighs parted as I climbed between, red lace and fishnet forming a graphic backdrop to the skin I knew by heart. My fingers followed the curve of her calves, up, up, until they bracketed her knees. I slid her closer, then bent to map the fine edge of her with my tongue, a slow circuit over the mesh along her inner thigh. She was already warm here, breathing quick and high; I could feel her pulse beating, not just beneath skin, but in the way she arched into every touch.
The bodysuit was so thin it offered no mystery, the precise outline of her body a blueprint painted in lace and hearts. I traced the seam where the red gave way to bare skin, then pushed slightly higher, teasing the band of lace with my teeth. She gasped with anticipation, her hands fisting the sheets above her head, a flush blooming over her chest and up her throat.
The first touch was light, just the tip of my finger brushing over the lace covering her. Olivia’s hips jerked against my hand, and for a heartbeat I thought she might curse me for not taking it faster. But she let the tension spool, her voice a flirt of breath, her eyes half-lidded, still watching, always watching.
Eventually, she slid the straps off her shoulders and peeled the bodysuit down her body, inch by inch, until the last piece clung at her thighs and then fell, leaving her glowing and bare in the gold light. She watched me as I straightened, sucking in a sharp breath, the sound more honest than any compliment. She seemed to love it, her smile deepening as she arched her back, every movement an invitation.
I ran the flat of my tongue up the crease of her thigh, slow, like I had all night. Her hips bucked, involuntary. I circled her with my hands, settling her against the bed, gently so she could push back or squirm as she liked. She kept her eyes on me.
I pressed my lips flat against her, taking my time as I mapped her with my tongue, let her body shudder around the gentle invasion of my fingertips. It had always been like this with Olivia, her need rose and fell in steady waves, building to peaks, lingering in the troughs, each climb more urgent than the last. Her thighs locked behind my shoulders, heels digging into the mattress, and she rolled her hips toward my mouth with a soft growl she probably didn’t even mean to make.
I teased her until she was cursing under her breath, the little noises half-muffled by her arm thrown across her face. When I finally slid two fingers inside her, she gasped, the sound sharp and startled, as if every time was the first time. I caught her hand, trailing kisses over the slim bones of her wrist, and braced myself against her trembling thigh to keep my balance.
“God, you...” She broke off. “You’re not even going to let me fake being in control, huh?”
I lifted my head. “Not tonight,” I said.
My fingers curled up inside her, slow, gathering slickness, and I watched her tremble in my palm, the contraction that fluttered around my knuckles when I dragged them just so. “Oh my god,” she whispered, because she knew I liked it when she let herself get loud.
I pressed the pad of my thumb hard to her clit, a slow, rotating motion of pleasure that had her moaning. As I readjusted my grip, I flattened my other hand over her stomach to keep her steady. I finger banged her with my fingers, intent and patient, feeling for every catch in her hips, every sudden stutter in her moan.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
Olivia was desperate in a way I only saw when I had her like this, everything else stripped away. Her thighs clamped around my wrist, I felt the tremor run through her and chased it, adjusting my pace, never quite giving her the last thing she wanted until she begged for it.
I braced myself, shoulders hunched in anticipation, as Olivia’s hips lunged up and she came, hard, shivering, her hand pressed to her mouth too late to hide the little gasp. She held my arm like she planned to drag me under with her. I kept my view narrow, on her, the wetness of her body, the throb fluttering mad under the skin of her leg. I didn’t stop until she pushed my hand away.
“Jesus Christ,” she said into the ceiling.
I pressed a kiss to her hip, feeling proud and a little drunk on her pleasure. The room was full of her now, the air, the sheets, even the light felt like it bent toward her. She ran a hand through her hair and sat up on her elbows, her heart still working to catch a proper beat.
“My turn,” she said, and it was less a suggestion than a declaration.
She caught my hand, still slick from her, and drew it to her lips. She kissed each finger, slow and showy, tasting herself and making sure I saw it.
The moment didn’t need words, as she lid down the length of my torso, peeling off the last of my jeans with a single, decisive tug. Olivia knelt over me, cock already half-hard, and pressed a kiss to the line of my hipbone. Then another to the base, her lips plush and warm.
"You look like you had a really, really bad day," Olivia said, eyes looking up to meet mine.
She took my cock in one hand, like she was measuring its resistance to her grip. Her other hand cradled my thigh, as she brought her mouth down, purposefully slow, pressing her lips to the tip.
A squeeze, a brief pause, and then Olivia spat on me, thick and wet, letting it bead and drip down the shaft. She smeared it with her palm and spread it over the head with her thumb, swirling it around as she held me steady at the base. Everything funneled into the pleasure at the tip of my shaft and the warmth of her hand.
She licked the underside once, tip of her tongue teasing the seam, then flicked her eyes up to make sure I was paying attention. Instead of rushing it, Olivia took her time, alternating between slow, open-mouthed licks and tight, focused sucks along the most sensitive points.
The red mesh sleeve of her arm grazed my hip as she steadied herself, and I felt the heat of her through every inch of contact. Her hand worked in tandem with her mouth, and before long I was breathing in short, ragged sounds.
She slid me into her mouth, inch by inch, until her lips brushed the knuckles of her hand. I could feel it in the coil of her throat, in how she held her breath until her nose pressed flush to my skin. I gripped the sheet with one hand, the other threading into her hair, but I didn’t dare push or rush her.
Olivia wasted no time showing off, bobbing her head in long, smooth strokes that threatened to end me right there. Her hair swung with each motion. Her palm twisted at the base, squeezing in perfect counterpoint to the glide of her lips. She upped the ante, hollowing her cheeks on the upstroke, tongue flattened and dragging every inch across my cock.
She choked a little, intentionally or not. I didn’t know if I should say sorry or thank you, but before I could decide, she pulled off and panted, “Messy is good, right?”
Olivia didn’t wait for my answer. She spit again, mixing spit and precum, and spread it everywhere, the sounds slick and wet, the air thick with anticipation. Her hand twisted at the base, wringing every nerve I had, and then she drove her lips down again, faster this time, setting a tone that felt reckless and necessary. She never broke eye contact, unblinking, challenging me to look away.
She worked me with ruthless kindness, like she needed my pleasure the same way she needed air. Every second she kept me at the edge, I felt less and less like the person who’d shuffled home on autopilot.
“Fuck, Liv,” I groaned. She swallowed me down, and the sound that rattled in her throat sent a full-body shudder up my spine. “You’re… shit, you’re really…”
She smiled around my cock, lips stretched, eyes bright with fierce delight. The sight and feel of her, so in control while making me so completely helpless, destroyed any leftover notion of composure. I let my head drop back, watching the ceiling blur and swim, but I wanted to watch her more, so I forced myself up on an elbow, marveling at how small she was, how strong, how absolutely she owned me like this.
The pressure built, sharp and exquisite, and I moaned again, not caring how desperate the sound had become. But Olivia slowed then, teasing the tip with her tongue, squeezing the base with just the right amount of pressure. I looked at her, pleading wordlessly, but she shook her head, pulling off with a lewd pop.
I reached down, cupped the sharp angle of her jaw, and brought her up to me. Her breathing was heavy, her mouth wet due to drool and spit, her eyes bright as glass in the low light. I kissed her, hard, tasting myself and the wetness she’d left behind, and Liv moaned softly, hips grinding against mine for friction.
“You’re perfect,” I managed.
She smiled, eyes catlike. “You keep saying that. Starting to think you mean it.”
My hands slid down her back, mapping the familiar topography of muscle and spine and the delicious softness at her hips. I rolled her, slow, until she was back on the bed, hair fanned messily around her, guiding her shoulders down with a hand behind her neck and another at the cusp of her thigh.
Her legs fell open with greedy welcome, heels pressing into the mattress. Olivia’s chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow bursts, her flushed skin luminous in the soft wash of nightstand light. Her hands wandered with me as I fit myself between her thighs, stroking my cheek, then moving to my forearm, my flank, her touch always returning to anchor me as if she needed to confirm I was really there.
I lined us up, nudged the slick crown of my cock between her pussy lips, and paused, just for a beat, because feeling her wetness at the threshold, after an entire day of absence, was almost overwhelming. She met my eyes, vulnerable and mischievous at once, her smile drawn into a tremble by her uneven breathing. Olivia arched upward, hips catching the head of my cock and holding me there, not quite inside, not quite apart, daring me to make her wait another instant.
I sank into her with a single, slow thrust.
Her head fell back, mouth already open, a gasp filling the gap between her parted lips. Inside, she was impossibly snug and wet, clamping around me as I pressed deeper inside of her.
I rocked my hips slow at first, just to feel her adjust around me, to ease into something bearable. She tilted her pelvis up, meeting each shallow thrust with her own, her hands scrabbling uselessly for purchase on my shoulders, my back, my chest. I leaned in, pinning her wrists above her head, and she beamed at me, teeth catching the light as she exhaled a delighted moan.
I never got used to the way she sounded when we were like this, open, wordless, as if every fragment of sensation passed through her mouth. It was a confirmation each time that she wanted this as badly as I did. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, and she tugged, forcing our bodies closer. Her breasts flattened under my chest, nipples hard and brushing against me in sharp little jolts of passion as we moved together.
“Harder,” she gasped, digging nails into my shoulder.
I fucked her with deeper thrusts, giving her what she asked for, feeling her shudder on every inch. Olivia’s hands were everywhere, raking my back, clutching the sheets, pushing into my hair to pull me in for kisses. I knew her body better than anyone ever had, I listened for every change in her breath, every shift in muscle, and adjusted accordingly.
I pulled back, then drove in, my vision narrowing to the place where our bodies met. Olivia’s face contorted, head thrown sideways, hair soaked with sweat and fanned across the pillow. She used her heels to urge me faster, her ankles crossing at the small of my back, locking us together.
Somewhere amid the haze of pleasure and friction, I slowed to watch her, to memorize the arch of her back and the ripple of her chest, the way her lips shaped hungry syllables that didn’t quite make it into words. She murmured my name, then a string of Yes, yes, fuck, please, in a rhythm that pulled me toward her as much as the slick heat of her body.
I felt myself losing grip, not just on the sheets but on linear time. Every second stretched with the pressure building in me, each roll of Olivia’s hips and each gasp from her lips pulling something deeper and more feral out of me. I fumbled for words, wanting to tell her how much I missed this, but all that came out was her name, over and over, a broken mantra.
I shifted, rearing back on my knees to watch her as I thrust. Watching her reactions, her eyes wide and dazed, her body arched, hair wild. I gripped her thighs, spreading them wider, and dug my fingers into her flesh hard enough to leave marks she’d find tomorrow and smirk about.
Olivia covered her face for a second and then let her arms flop above her, every tendon in her neck straining. “Don’t you dare stop,” she hissed. I pressed her knees back, folding her nearly in half, and drove in with a rhythm that punched the headboard into the wall until the drywall creaked. Her body shook with each thrust.
She reached forward, curling her arms around my neck and dragging me down so she could bite my shoulder. She left a trail of bite marks along my collarbone and then pulled my face to hers, kissing me hungrily, groaning into my mouth as I kept hammering into her.
I started to lose rhythm, thrusts coming uneven, harder than before, and Olivia loved it. She showed it in the way she clamped down on me, every muscle in her legs squeezing and shaking.
She reached up, her hands on my face, making sure I was looking at her when she said, “Cum for me.”
My body responded before my mind did. That little command, said soft and certain, undid the last of my control. I closed my eyes, bracing for the rush, but she wouldn’t let me, she tipped my chin so my eyes stayed locked on hers, wide and hungry and commanding.
I felt myself building, the point of no return right there. Olivia dragged me in, grinding her hips up to meet every desperate thrust. She clenched down. I felt the squeeze, the ripple traveling up her legs, and then I let go. It tore through me, à, hard, exquisite, embarrassing in its intensity, my body jolting with each throb, pouring into her as Olivia pulled me the rest of the way down and kissed me like she was drowning.
I shuddered through the last aftershocks, Olivia coaxing every bit of it, her voice a string of soft murmurs and dirty encouragement. When I finally collapsed, half on her, half on the mattress.
We flattened, chest to chest, my face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing in her sweat and the musk of sex. She stroked shapes on my back, tracing up and down the bumpy gradient of my spine.
“That was so…” I tried, but she covered my mouth with her finger.
“I know,” she said, grinning, eyes half-shut but wide with amusement.
We lay there, tangled, as the world reassembled itself around us. My hand drifted over Olivia’s stomach, curved along the rise of her hip. Olivia finally peeled her eyes open, her lashes stuck together and her hair a holy mess, and looked at me with a smile so soft it nearly undid me again.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered, almost reverent.
I managed to groan a reply, rolling to my side to face her. The sheets were a site of destruction, twisted, bunched at our legs, half-flung to the floor along with my clothes.
The End