Synopsis: Playboy Oliver meets goth girl Felicity Smoak in his club on night, and he becomes obsessed, entranced... hooked. **NOTE: Explicit sexual content in this chapter**

See You Again

Night 1

Oliver walked the floor, mingling with the patrons and enjoying the music. He had worked hard to build the club up as Starlings hottest establishment, and watching everyone dance and grind and drink told him he was still succeeding. The bass pulsed, settling deep in his belly and making his teeth rattle. Occasionally he would stop and flirt, acknowledging that women frequented his club to get that chance.

As he leaned forward whisper into the ear of a very drunk, very hot blonde, he caught a glimpse of a frown at the other side of the club. Frowns were unacceptable.

He forgot what he was planning on saying. He forgot what had attracted him to the blonde in the first place. He only saw the dark-haired girl in one of the corner booths, annoyance written so clearly on her face like a gigantic "fuck everything" flashing in neon. Her legs were shrouded in darkly patterned leggings, finished off with a pair of combat boots. Her black tank top sported white lettering, but from his angle it was scrunched up and hidden by her arms. She was not his club's typical patron, and neither were her friends. But all of them seemed interested in the atmosphere. But she wasn't.

Her eyes were glued to the tablet in her lap as she scrolled through whatever was so engaging. Her dark painted lips mouthed the words she read, mimicking shadows. Her friends chatted and laughed and swayed with the music, but she was in her own world.

And somehow, it was a world he wanted to understand. A world he wanted to learn about. A world he wanted to take over.

The blonde tried to pry his attention away from his new point of interest, but she failed. He walked away without a spared glance, going straight to the bar. He ordered a glass of his best red wine and then jotted a note down on a napkin. He handed the glass and the napkin to a server and told her which lucky woman was to receive it.

And then he watched.

He watched as the server carefully made her way through the unpredictable crowd and stepped up to the booth he had pointed out. He watched as she set the wine glass down, leaving the napkin beside it. Then she pointed toward him and the girl followed the gesture, her eyes meeting his. He just stood there and stared, and she did the same.

He knew she recognized him. He knew she was confused. He knew she was suspicious.

But as the server left for another area of the club, he watched the girl pick up the napkin and read his note. For a few moments, he feared she would simply ignore it. Ignore him. But then she tossed the napkin aside and picked up the wineglass, looking at him as she sipped it. Then she held up the glass and gave him an appreciative nod. He winked in return, happy that his note worked.

Here's something to make the evening a little more bearable. Enjoy. -Oliver

Night 2

A few weeks passed and Oliver ran the club as he normally did. Flirting with the women, joking with the guys, keeping an eye on the staff. And while all the women were gorgeous and always interested in him, he couldn't take his mind off of the girl with the tablet. The girl so absorbed in her own realm that she didn't realize how interesting she was to him. He could recall her every feature.

He assumed he would never see her again. He assumed that one night was something completely out of the ordinary for her and her crowd. He assumed she had been happy to leave.

But then she was there, at the bar, ordering a glass of wine. Her tablet was nowhere to be found, and her unflattering attire from that first night were replaced with form fitting jeans, a laced up top exposing her chest to those willing to look and her signature boots. Her lips were painted with the same dark purple as before, but this time her dark hair was curled and she seemed much more confident.

And her eyes were glued to his, as if in in a strange combination of challenge and gratitude.

Before he could make his move to join her, one of the members of her group came over and wrapped his arm around her. She rolled her eyes, slapping his hand before it could sneak down to other locations. When her glass of wine arrived, she looked relieved. But as she made her way back to that same booth with the same group of friends, the guy stared at her ass the entire way.

Oliver felt his face heating up, a rage building that surprised him.

He didn't know her. He didn't know her name or anything else besides the fact that she was different. Refreshing. New.

And he wanted her. More than he had ever wanted anyone or anything. And, if he had read the glint in her eyes correctly, she wanted him.

So he watched her throughout the night. He watched as she interacted with her friends, attempting to ignore the guy who constantly interrupted her. Oliver watched as she began to lose her confidence with each move of dominance the guy made. And it fueled his rage even more.

He watched from his place at the VIP rooms above as the guy followed her toward the bathroom, clearly without her knowledge.

And that's when he began to move. Away from the celebrities. Away from the billionaires. Away from his life. He ran down the stairs and down the hallway, finding the guy holding her against the wall, his words slurred and grip too tight.

"Cooper, please!" she begged, and Oliver hated that his first time hearing her voice was in a moment of fear and panic.

"C'mon, baby," Cooper said, words a garbled mess. "I've seen how you've been eyeballing me all night."

Oliver fought the urge to laugh. She shoved at Cooper, but he only persisted in his attack. "I haven't been eyeballing you, Cooper!"

"Oh yeah?" he asked sarcastically. "Then who have you been eyeballing?"

Oliver took the moment and stepped forward. He grasped Cooper's collar and tugged him away from her, plucking him away like a leech. "She's been eyeballing me, dumbass."

Cooper glanced up at Oliver and the confidence Cooper had displayed moments before visibly shriveled. "Hey, look man, this wasn't what it looked l-"

"Shut the fuck up," Oliver growled. "You're not welcome here. I'd appreciate it if you'd get the fuck out."

He pushed Cooper out of the hallway and into the rowdy main room, music pulsing and voices thunderous. Cooper didn't argue. He walked backwards, eyes shooting daggers but never living up to the threat. Soon he was gone and Oliver turned to glimpse his trembling damsel. "Are you okay?" he asked, leaning against the wall next to her, hoping he exuded protectiveness and not a need for attention.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. He's an ass. He'll regret that at work in the morning."

"You work with that clown?"

She blushed then, looking up at him through her lashes. "Yeah... at your company. Or, well, your father's company."

"You work at Queen Consolidated?"

She nodded. "IT department. One of the best," she said, pointing to herself.

"Well, Miss...?"

"Felicity. Smoak."

"Well, Felicity, it seems I may have a reason to stop by the offices now."

The night continued much the same. Subtle flirtation. Gentle touches. Stolen glances. He marveled at her vibrant personality so masked by her shadowy style. She babbled and threw out innuendos that sent his mind into the worst possible gutter. But he could tell she enjoyed every moment. And he recalled their eye contact early in the evening. It had screamed something more than faint interest. It spoke of desire and plenty of possibilities.

Soon she was making excuses, trying to get away. But he couldn't accept her departure. He had made his way into her world, and he loved the world he had found. He didn't want to leave it.

As she walked away toward the exit, he chased after her, grasping her wrist gently. He tugged her to the side, to a dark alcove beneath the stairs. She chuckled. Before he could say a word she was standing on her tiptoes and grazing his ear with her teeth. "Trust me," she whispered, letting her hand fall, hooking her fingers around his belt and tugging him closer. "You'll see me again."

Night 3

The next time Oliver saw Felicity, she was rushing toward him with an angry expression and an uneasy stride. She was slightly taller, made possible by a pair of heels in place of her trademark combat boots. Her lacy top exposed part of her stomach, sending him to instant fantasies.

"Did you use nepotism to get Cooper fired?" she asked, face red.

He chuckled. "I might have." He winked for added effect.

"Why would you do that?"

"The guy deserved it," he replied, reaching out and resting his hand on her cheek. Despite her anger and the fact that they were still basically strangers, she leaned into his touch, eyes closing for a moment. "And you definitely didn't need him groping you anymore."

She grinned slightly. "Well, thank you, I guess... I could have handled him, though."

Oliver leaned forward, letting his lips ghost over the rim of her ear, so reminiscent of her final moments with him last time. "Maybe I wanted to protect you."

He could hear her breath hitch. His hand trailed down to her shoulder, feeling goosebumps spreading all over her skin. Before he could make a move, she jolted out of the moment and blurted out: "Wanna dance?"

He glanced at the dance floor. At all the grinding bodies and awkward moves. He shook his head. "I don't dance."

She pouted, looking around with an appraising eye. "Too bad. I guess I'll have to find another lucky guy to be my partner." He watched her gaze fall on a man with a creepy mustache and eyebrows thick with innuendo. "Maybe he'll be interested." She waved and the guy wagged his eyebrows suggestively, sending Oliver's blood boiling instantly.

He turned his eyes back to her to find her grinning. She clearly knew what the idea was doing to him. He leaned in, grasping her elbow gently as he let his lips linger at her ear once more. "We're partners," he stated, matter-of-factly. He heard her giggle and he growled against her industrial piercing, making her tremble.

He lead her out onto the floor and then they were pressed against one another, swaying and writhing with the beat of the music. Her hips rolled beneath his fingertips, and he instantly imagined them bare and against his own flesh.

He had assumed she would be awkward, all annoyed glances and boring conversation and embarrassing dance moves. But she was everything he could ever want. Chatty, entertaining in every aspect, and so gorgeous. Never mind that she was so unlike the women he typically pursued, so dark and edgy. Everything seemed to fit.

Even her body fit perfectly against his. He wondered how perfectly they would fit in other more intimate scenarios.

He wasn't sure how long they were dancing. Songs bled into songs and the crowd began to thin. He wasn't sure how they had made it up the stairs to one of the VIP rooms, but he knew it was his doing.

The lights were dim and the music muted. They were seated on one of the plush couches talking about nothing important. Her babbles were adorable and uncontrollable, always filled with strange double entendres that sent his mind to those most sinful gutters.

The thin strap of her top slid off her shoulder as she giggled at her own silliness, making his heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, he glided his fingertips over her skin and put it back in place. But his hand lingered on her skin, savoring the softness. He watched as her chest began to rise and fall a little faster and she bit her bottom lip, partly in nervousness. He leaned closer, unable to stop himself.

He let his lips fall next to his fingers, breath ghosting over her skin around the strap. He placed small kisses there, unsure why but loving every second. And he could see the thrill in her eyes as she watched him, lip still caught between her teeth. He trailed up to her neck, kissing and licking and nipping at her skin, her perfume wafting over him. She was intoxicating.

As he licked at her pulse point, she gasped. "Oliver," she hissed.

His name on her tongue sent his attentions to her lips with a primitive growl. Their lips crashed together, hers initially hesitant but soon just as insistent. They moved in perfect synchrony, tasting and exploring with fervor. His hands rested at her waist until one slid up and under her top, cupping her breast and squeezing gently. She moaned against his mouth.

The sound triggered something inside him. Something he had never felt before. An instinct he had never known existed within himself. A primal urge to claim her as his own. It was strange and intense, turning his gentle palms into demanding claws and his swollen lips into a dangerous maw.

He knew she felt it too. Her hand landed on the shrouded hardness in his lap, rubbing and tracing shapes into it.

But soon it all ended.

With a sudden halt to their kisses, she jumped up and straightened her top, mumbling apologies as she rushed to the door. And he didn't follow her. He simply stared at the door, cursing himself for letting something so intense take over. It wasn't normal. It wasn't how he usually reacted to women. And as he willed his erection away, he had to admit to himself that he wanted the chance to feel that intensity again.

Day 1

Oliver couldn't take his mind off of her.

The memory of their last interaction kept his skin itching for one last touch. One last kiss. One last anything. He just wanted to be in her presence, to see her biting her lip or fidgeting with her clothes. Anything. She had left him unfulfilled, desperate for more and unable to get it. His dreams were filled with her, moaning his name. It was becoming too much.

It didn't take long for him make a decision.

That decision sent him to the looming QC skyscraper, his shoes clicking against the marble floors as he sauntered straight into the executive elevator and pressed the button for the I.T. level. He had never gone there; he had never had a reason to. But now he was impatient for the doors to open so he could find her. He needed her.

The doors began to open and he rushed through the widening gap, surprising nearby employees. He waved them off, keenly aware of their whispers of speculation. He weaved his way through the maze of cubicles, glancing inside each one in the hopes of finding her. No success. He was beginning to get discouraged; perhaps he was simply meant to remain in the dark about her until the next time she decided to visit the club. But it had been weeks with nothing. No even a glimpse. It was driving him crazy in more ways than one. Blood boiled to a roiling, spilling point. A mixture of anger and frustration and something else he hadn't felt in his life. A desire he wasn't used to.

Then he heard a furious typing. Somehow he knew her fingers were the source.

He rounded the corner into a cubicle and found her. Hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose and her hands dancing over the keys. Her black sweater hugged her curves, tucked into a darkly patterned skirt that he longed to slip off. He shook his head, ridding his mind of such thoughts and knocked on the cubicle wall.

Felicity swiveled her chair around and for a moment there was so recognition in her eyes. Then they widened to gloriously surprised blue orbs that sent his heart to hammering in his chest. He tried to rein in the desire that was building up, begging to be sated. After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat. "Hi," he said with a smile. He hoped it was friendly and not giving away the inner battle he was fighting to keep his hands in his pockets.

"Hi?" Her brows her furrowed, eyes easing back into their natural shapes as they shifted from surprise to suspicious. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped into the cubicle and leaned against a file cabinet in the corner, letting his smile slip into a small grin he hoped Felicity found sexy. With a huff, she folded her arms across her chest, the ruffles of her sweater bunching up. She clearly wasn't interested in anything but an answer. "Just thought I'd drop by. See how how things are going without that Cooper kid stalking you."

She rolled her eyes. "Things were fine before and they are fine now. No change."

Oliver frowned as she turned back to her computer and began typing once more. Her coldness was harsh in contrast to her obvious interest weeks before. The frustration and desire he had tried so hard to keep under a tight leash threatened to break loose, and he wasn't in the mood to keep it prisoner any longer. She shoved away from the file cabinet and inched closer to Felicity, his hands reaching for her. Within moments his fingers were tugging the band out of her hair, letting the dark locks flutter down and around her neck. The scent of her shampoo wafted over him, sending his desire to new heights.

"Oliver, please," she groaned, her fingers shaking above her keyboard; shaking with the same desire he had witnessed at the club weeks before.

He brushed his hand through her dark hair, teasing out tangles and massaging her scalp. Her head lulled back and he caught sight of her face. Darkly painted bottom lip caged by her teeth and her eyes closed. She was fighting the urge to moan, and it brought a smugness to his actions. He had this power over her that he knew she had over him, and it was perfect. He would use it. He would show her what she had missed that night… just enough to lose herself, and then he would leave her unsatisfied.

Payback.

He trailed his hands down the line of her neck, tracing patterns and gliding over her pulse to enjoy how thunderous it was against her soft skin. Then he leaned forward, bringing his lips against it, unable to stop himself. He let his tongue drag over the vein that was throbbing, leading him up to her jaw to pepper kisses there that caused her hands to grip the arms of the chair tightly. "Felicity," he whispered against her ear, letting his breath flood over her. She moaned lightly. "I think you left a little too soon last time. I'd like to show you what you missed."

Then his hands slid down her body, over her heaving breasts, tight stomach and down to her trembling hips. Her thighs her clenched but she quickly eased their tenseness as his fingers traced the sensitive v shape there. Her head lulled back more, resting against his shoulder. Her breath ghosted over his face, sending shockwaves through his body. He pushed back the sensations, fighting to make everything about her. About pleasure. About payback.

She turned her face slightly and nipped at his stubbled jaw, causing him to hiss. He couldn't control his hands as they moved back up to the waistband of her skirt, but he left it there, hooking his fingers beneath the fabric but not delving down. "Can I?" he asked. He might want to ravage her, but he was a gentleman still. And if he was being honest with himself, he knew what the answer would be. He knew he wouldn't be disappointed.

It took her a few moments to nod, and as soon as she did, his hand plunged down, over the hem of her tucked in sweater and under the lining of her panties to the glorious v shape he had traced previously. She shuddered in her chair, turning her face into his neck and clamping her teeth down there to stifle the cry or moan or groan that threatened to escape as his fingers danced their way down. Her warmth was overwhelming, enveloping his hand and causing his mind to delve into fantasies involving other situations - other body parts.

He let his lips graze the rim of her ear, coming to rest at her industrial piercing as he slipped a finger past a fiery fold with a light flick. He mirrored the movement with his tongue against her ear and she sighed loudly, arcing up and into his hand.

He had her where he wanted her. Where he wished he could continue. Where he wanted to move forward. But he stopped.

With a confident chuckle, he pulled his hand out from her skirt, sure to give her every possible sensation before leaving. She groaned, nipping at his jaw again, this time harder. He hissed again, then followed up with another chuckle. "I hope you understand what you've done to me, now," he whispered low into her ear, nipping her lobe tightly to match hers.

And then he left her cubicle with her scent - shampoo and natural scents - on his hands, a grin unable to cease its smug show on his lips. He knew it wouldn't be long before she'd find him. She would do the same he had.

But their next meeting would not end so unsatisfactory. He was certain of that.

Night 5

Five weeks.

He had been so sure as he had left the I.T. department five weeks ago that she would be at his door in no time, begging for more. He had been so certain he had left such an impression that she wouldn't hesitate to seek him out. He had been dead wrong.

Five weeks.

It had been five weeks since he attempted to even the score, and he was feeling it. His dreams were becoming overwhelming, spilling over into his waking hours to keep his mind from anything other than her face when she had moaned. He was going crazy.

Five. Fucking. Weeks.

He was sitting in his office, unwilling to stride through the sea of desperate women below. He would be too tempted. He would lose control.

Five long fucking weeks.

The music pulsed, threatening the walls with its force and he remained completely still, trying to keep his mind off of her. He was repeatedly unsuccessful. Then his phone began to ring, wrenching his mind from his meditation. His eyes locked onto the caller I.D. to find an unknown number, and his heart stopped. Without hesitation, he accepted the call.

"Hello?"

"You have a fantastic collection of wine, Mr. Queen," her voice floated through the phone, sensual and antagonistic. She wanted to drive him crazy. He walked to the window and peeped through the blinds down toward the bar. She wasn't there.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, irritation thick in his tone.

"Your personal collection," she specified, emphasizing the word. "It is quite extensive… like other aspects of your life, I'm sure."

The innuendo was plain and clear, along with the clear hint as to where she was. His penthouse. "How the fuck did you get into my penthouse?" he demanded.

"Oh, it was simple. It took about two seconds after you left my cubicle for me to find your address, and about two minutes for me to decide what to do with it. After some time alone with myself, satisfying the need you created, I decided to leave you hanging. How have you enjoyed the wait?"

He bit back the growl that was itching to be let loose. "It has been hell, Felicity," he admitted.

"Good," she said. "Does it make it better that I thought of you while I touched myself?"

His mouth dropped and his hands began to shake. A mixture of anger and desire boiled in his veins, and within seconds he was grabbing his keys and leaving his office. "It doesn't make it better."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Does it make it better that I'm here in your penthouse with a glass of wine and a hand between my legs?"

The growl that escaped his throat surprised him, but it reflected his frustration and impatience. "It'll be better once I get there to see it for myself," he answered, sneaking out the back entrance of his club and out to his Porsche. He didn't let her say another word. He ended the call, tossing the phone into the passenger seat before starting the car and speeding out of his parking spot and out into the Starling City night.

The drive was a blur. Just streaks of headlights and streetlights mingled with the intense emotions swirling around throughout his body. Rage. Desire. Annoyance. The most intense of these sensations being desire. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to keep his breathing under control and his heart from pounding out of his chest.

He swerved into his building's private parking garage and into his space. Within seconds he jumped out and locked the car, sprinting to the entrance. He skipped the elevator, opting for the stairwell. The climb up to his penthouse on the top floor was tedious but he savored the time to think, to imagine her there alone in his home.

Felicity is in my penthouse.

Felicity is in my penthouse.

The thought sent shivers up and down his spine as he came to a halt at his front door. He reached for the doorknob and turned it. It was unlocked, left ready for him to enter. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. He dropped his keys onto the shelf in the entryway and then slowly made his way out into the living room.

He found her at his bar, a slender glass filled with deep red wine that matched her painted lips. Her legs were crossed, hips hugged by the lacy black pencil skirt that matched the top that came to the middle of her stomach. Her hair was loose, curled and luxurious. Dark and sultry. Everything about her was dark and sultry. His mouth went dry at the sight of her.

But she wasn't touching herself.

She wasn't doing anything but tracing the rim of her wineglass with a black nailed finger, her wrist wrapped with a metal cuff that matched her clothing. He glanced up at her face to catch her smiling smugly.

"Hello, Oliver," she said, voice full of satisfaction. And it was sexy .

"Hello, Felicity," he replied, stepping into the center of the room, hands clenched and plunged deep into his pockets. She fucking tricked me. He hoped she couldn't see the way his hands were shaking or how tight his jaw was drawn.

They stared at one another, the distance between them heated and charged. All desperation and lust and unspoken promises. He fought the urge to lunge forward and ravage her. He fought the urge to succumb to his anger and throw her out. He fought the urge to fall on his knees and beg.

She slid off the bar stool, her heels clicking loudly against the tile flooring. His eyes darted down the length of her leg to rest at her feet. They were shrouded in spiked black stilettos, the height making her slightly taller; she was still tiny compared to him.

Her brow shot up in challenge as she stood there. "Well," she began, biting her bottom lip nervously. "What would you like?"

He didn't hesitate. "I'd like for you to do what you said you were doing."

"And what was that?"

"I want you to touch yourself, Felicity," he growled out before taking a giant step forward, coming to rest inches from her. Her breathing quickened at his closeness, breasts heaving in her bodice. He let his fingers trace the strap like that time in the club, admiring how the slight touch sprouted goosebumps across her pale flesh. His own breathing joined hers and he watched as his breaths brushed through her curls, making them flutter. He brought his hand up to wrap around a small collection of curls, the scent of her shampoo once again wafting up to his nostrils to intoxicate him. "I'm not a patient man."

Her eyes darkened at his words, and he caught movement at her side. Her hand came up and slid beneath the waistband of her skirt, plunging beneath the fabric and within moments, her head tilted to the side and her eyes closed. Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip once more as she bit back a moan that he so desperately longed to hear. He stepped closer, his hand clasped at the small of her back as he tugged her into his space, pressing his hips against hers. The contact sent her hand into overdrive, pleasuring both herself and him as the movement grazed against the hardness in his pants. He brought his lips to the corner of her mouth and kissed.

For a moment she didn't reciprocate, too preoccupied with the task he had demanded of her. But then her lips moved against his. He let his tongue slip into her mouth, tasting and dueling with her own, in sync with the movement of her hand. He imagined how perfectly her fingers danced against her core, deft and purposeful.

Her other hand rose to his belt and began tugging, loosening the buckle and snaking the leather through the loops until it was free. She dropped it with a resounding clatter on the tile flooring and smiled against his mouth. He nipped at her bottom lip as she worked on the button. The waistband drooped and she plunged her hand down and into his pants and briefs, trailing luxuriously soft fingertips along his length.

It was glorious. It was sexy.

It sent heat coursing through his veins and an urge through his nerves and to his hands. He stepped back, forcing her hand to fall away from him. Their kiss was broken, lingering demandingly between them as he looked her up and down, charging the air with his need. Her hand ceased against her body and her eyes opened lazily. "What are you-"

He interrupted her question with swift, purposeful motions of his hands as he knelt down before her and grasped the lacy hem of her skirt and tugged, ripping it until the fabric fell away. Beneath the skirt was nothing but her bare skin, pale and soft and warm. He kissed her hipbone and covered her hand with his own, feeling the joints in her hand tense and roll as her fingers went back to their task. He imagined it was his fingers massaging and caressing her core. He imagined it was his fingertips drawing out the heat and wetness. It wasn't enough that his words, his demand, had created this moment. He had to be involved now.

He kept his lips pressed against the glowing skin of her hip, kissing down to the joint, tongue flicking out in sporadic laps. The taste of her skin was intoxicating. The taste of her skin drove him farther. His fingers began to fight with hers, dueling until they were laced and his fingertips joined hers against her heated core. Delving in. Caressing. Teasing.

The addition of his finger drew out her moans. The journey of his lips and tongue sprang up goosebumps. He grinned, confident. He had her. She was his. There was no doubt.

Slowly he stood, keeping his mouth against her body and his hand locked with hers. When his lips collided with her lace bodice, he tugged on it with his teeth, causing her other hand to grasp at his jacket for support. He reached around and found the zipper and slid it down, loosening the bodice until it fell from her shoulders and down her body, revealing her breasts. Small. Round. Lovely. And all his to behold. Her hand ceased its movement against her core and let the fabric fall away, allowing him to continue the task he had given her. Her hand trailed up and untucked his shirt from his drooping pants.

She tugged and buttons popped and sprang loose, his shirt falling open. She hand traced the lines and indentations of his muscles, muddying his mind and sending his own hand into more erratic movements. She leaned forward and moaned against his chest, right above his heart. Then his pants were falling and his briefs followed suit, pooling at his feet. He kicked out of his shoes and slipped the garments off, fully freeing himself.

Her hand circled his cock, tracing patterns along the length once more. He looked down at her. She was watching him with darkened eyes that matched her darkened lips and it was too much for him to take. He growled and crushed his lips onto hers, nipping and licking and losing himself in everything. She tugged him close by his shirt, wrapping herself in it with each inch.

" Felicity ," Oliver hissed against her lips, his free hand grasping her ass, cupping one cheek to press her closer - if closer was even possible.

"Oliver," she moaned, and then it was over. His hand left it's place between her legs and joined the other at her ass, then both trailed down to the crease between her cheeks and her thighs. He grasped tightly and lifted her, spreading her legs. She hooked them around his waist with ease, heels slipping off and clattering to the floor to join all of the other discarded articles. "Please," she begged against his lips. He nodded, never breaking their kiss, and carried her to the bedroom.

It was dark. No light but the for the Starling City skyline trickling in from the cracks in the blinds. But it was enough. Enough to see her face as he laid her out on the bed. Enough to see her dark curls splayed gloriously across the sheets and her dark lips opening on a moan that formed into his name. His name on her lips. She is mine.

He hovered over her for a moment as he ripped the shirt away from his body, tossing it behind him. Then her legs tightened around his waist and pulled him closer, eliminating all contact between them as he slid home, her inner walls clenching around him as they both let out strangled cries.

Her nails, dark and threatening, dug into his shoulders with each thrust and his teeth clamped down on her neck with each throbbing spasm he felt within her. Soon she pushed on his chest and they went rolling to the side, her body guiding his until she was straddling him, lingering above him, hips grinding and rising. In seconds, she somehow took control and he was fine with it. She is mine. I am hers.

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her and bring her lips back to his, resuming his nips and kisses. His tongue meshed with hers as his hands traced the length of her spine and knotted into her hair, massaging her neck and head until her head lulled away, exposing her neck.

His mouth closed over her pulse, drawing out patterns with his tongue. And then he moved, flipping her back onto her back. A hand slid between them and danced against her, escalating her pleasure until she lost control, his name leaving her lips a few more times before his own pleasure bubbled up to meet hers at the edge. And then they slipped over together, lips melding together and silencing their cries and moans, breaths shared.

Oliver fell beside her, heart hammering and body weak. She burrowed into his body, curling in and planting kisses along his ribs, her frantic breathing tickling his skin.

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the last few weeks slinking away. He glanced at her and smiled. He knew there was more to this whole thing than just payback and animalistic attraction. He found her fascinating. He found her gorgeous. He found her to be his new obsession.

"Felicity?" he murmured as he pressed a kiss into her warm curls.

"Yeah?"

"Can we please make sure that we don't wait five fucking weeks next time?"

"Never again," she promised, lips brushing against his skin. "Never again."