Chapter 371: Oliver, Come Up Here

Back at the estate, the late-night air was cool and still. April leaned back in the lounge chair in her private quarters, letting out a long, exhausted sigh that was laced with pure contentment.

Oliver knelt on the rug before her, his long fingers working with care to unbuckle the slender straps of her high heels.

April looked down at him, her eyes glittering with soft humor as she watched his composed, focused expression under the dim golden light of the lamp.

"How was it?" she asked softly, her voice carrying a relaxed, playful lilt. "Did I bore you and tire you out all through the day?"

Oliver lifted her foot, gently easing the shoe off and placing it onto the floor beside the chair. A quiet smile curved his lips, his voice slipping into a low, intimate register.

"Far from it," Oliver murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, comforting circle over her heel before moving to her other foot. "Watching you run bare-footed through a multi-billion-dollar fortress, tossing sofas into thin air... it was arguably the most fascinating medical study I’ve ever conducted."

April let out a soft, breathy chuckle, her head tipping back against the headrest. "Medical study?"

"Observing your elevated dopamine levels," he replied smoothly, unfastening her second shoe and setting it aside. "It suits you, Miss April. Being happy."

His warm hands slid up her calves, his touch firm yet reverent as he massaged the tension from her tired muscles. The contrast between his usual clinical detachment and the sheer, focused tenderness he showed her made April’s pulse quicken.

She reached down, her fingers tangling into his dark hair, gently tilting his head up so his dark eyes met hers behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Oliver," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, heavy with warmth. "Come up here."

Oliver didn’t hesitate. He stood up smoothly, his gaze never leaving hers as he leaned over her chair, resting one hand on the padded backrest and the other against the arm. The faint scent of clean cedar and anti-septic lingered on him—a grounding, reassuring presence.

"Are you certain?" Oliver asked rasply, his eyes searching her face with quiet intensity. "You’ve had a long day."

"I am," April murmured, reaching up to gently remove his glasses, setting them on the side table before pulling him down by his collar. "And you did say you were my sanctuary..."

Oliver let out a low, shuddering breath as his mouth found hers.

The kiss started soft—careful, almost testing—before deepening with quiet intensity.

April’s fingers stayed curled in his collar, pulling him closer until he was leaning fully over the chair. Oliver’s hand slid from the armrest to the side of her neck, thumb stroking gently along her jaw as he tilted her head just so.

When they finally broke apart for air, his dark eyes were heavy-lidded, the usual clinical composure completely gone.

"There’s a bed," he murmured against her lips. "You’ll let me do whatever I want, right?"

April flushed and nodded.

He straightened, offered her his hand, and helped her up from the lounge chair. Then, just as she was about to take a step, he swept her off her feet and into his arms.

He walked towards the bed and slowly lowered her onto the edge of the mattress, then knelt again just long enough to ease her dress up and over her head. The fabric slipped away, leaving her in nothing but the soft blue lingerie she had worn beneath.

Oliver’s gaze traced over her slowly, reverently. He didn’t rush to undress himself. Instead he reached out, his fingertips brushing the strap of her bra.

"May I?"

"Yes." the response came out soft and nearly breathless.

He unclasped it with steady hands, then guided the last of her clothing down her legs. Only then did he stand and begin removing his own clothes—shirt first, then the rest—folding each piece with quiet habit before setting them aside.

She watched him. Underneath his clothes, he was also impressive.

When he finally joined her on the bed, the feeling of his warm skin against hers made April’s breath catch.

Oliver braced himself over her on one forearm, the other hand resting lightly on her waist. He kissed her again, slower this time, while his free hand mapped her body with deliberate care—cupping her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, then trailing lower. When his fingers slipped between her thighs, he found her already warm, slick and ready.

A soft sound escaped her lips.

"Oliver," she whispered his name.

Oliver lifted his head just enough to watch her face as he touched her clit, learning exactly what made her lashes flutter and her hips shift. He pushed his fingers inside slowly, gently until her back arched. He was thorough. Patient. Every movement calculated to build pleasure rather than simply take it.

By the time he finally reached for the condom in the drawer and rolled it on, April’s breathing had gone uneven, her hands restless against his shoulders, her eyes hazy.

He settled between her thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her already dripping entrance. Oliver paused there, his eyes locked on hers.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong."

"I will."

He pushed in slowly—inch by careful inch—watching her the entire time. The stretch was familiar now, but still deep enough to make her fingers dig into his back. Oliver held still once his cock was fully inside, his forehead resting against hers, giving her body time to adjust.

"Alright?" he asked quietly.

April nodded, legs tightening around his hips. "Yes. Move."

He did.

Oliver’s rhythm was steady and precise, every stroke angled with quiet intention. He paid attention to the smallest reactions—the way her breath hitched when he rolled his hips a certain way, the soft moan that escaped when he went just a little deeper.

One of his hands slid beneath her, lifting her hips to change the angle, and the new pressure dragged a sharper sound from her throat.

"There," she whispered.

He kept that exact pace, that exact depth, until the tension in her body wound tight enough to snap.

"O... Oliver, cumming, hmm—!"

April’s back arched, a broken cry muffled against his shoulder as pleasure washed through her in warm, pulsing waves. Oliver followed soon after, his own release quiet but intense, his hips stuttering as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

For a long moment neither of them moved.

Oliver eventually eased out and dealt with the condom before pulling her close, tucking her against his chest. His fingers stroked slowly through her hair.

The room was quiet except for their slowing breaths.

April’s voice came soft against his skin.

"...You really do have technique."

A low, rare laugh rumbled in Oliver’s chest. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.

"I told you I studied."

She smiled, her eyes already drifting shut, and let the steady beat of his heart lull her toward sleep.