Felicity burned for him.

The very first time she met him his casual sex appeal fried her brain. He was just so pretty she couldn't help babbling. But it was more than his rough charm. She could feel he was hiding something and that intrigued her. So of course she watched him more closely, analyzed his words, his actions, his everything.

He was smart. Most people couldn't see it, even his own family. They expected him to be fundamentally the same person who boarded the Queen's Gambit. Felicity never met that Oliver and based on what she saw and heard, that was probably a good thing. But the new Oliver, her Oliver, yes, she did like him. He had an answer for everything, even if they were lies.

Of course she didn't let on that she knew he was playing her. It was a lot of fun letting him try and be deceptive.

Paying such close attention forced her to notice things she shouldn't about her boss. The warmth of his body as he leaned close to her. The luxurious texture of his ever-so-finely tailored suits. And her greatest weakness, his scent. Sometimes he wore cologne, smelling sharp, debonair and utterly unimpeachable. Sometimes simple deodorant, neutralizing the air around him and leaving a blank canvas for her filthy mind to sully.

But that wasn't what Felicity liked most. She liked him best untainted, natural, smelling of clean skin with a faint musk of fresh sweat. The smell was utterly intoxicating to her, dangerously so, quickly leaving her with nothing but lusty, wicked thoughts cavorting in her head. It's almost impossible to recover data or decrypt a hard drive when all she can think of is wrapping her legs around his face, feeling his stubble against her soft inner thighs, his dirty blonde hair under her frantically flexing fingers.

Her work ethic never let her enjoy these thoughts too much though. He was her boss, her devastatingly handsome boss, and she needed to be professional and suffer silently.

It was still a treat when he stepped into her office, laptop in one hand.

"What's wrong with it now?" Her eyes fall back to her monitor, waiting for the inevitable lies.

Oliver shrugged, "I think I've caught something."

"Not surprisingtodo soon after Valentines Day. Didn't your parents teach you to use protection?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, glancing up at his bemused face momentarily before a panicked blush begins burning her cheeks.

"I mean, ah, it's a bad time of year for viruses, computer viruses, because people don't think and they open attachments and infect themselves, their computers." She mortifies herself sometimes, unable to meet his gaze.

He just smiles, offering her the laptop which she seizes like a lifeline.

The hot glow of her skin cools as he doesn't exploit her awkward social fumblings and just watches her across the desk, enjoying the show as she gets to work. She is worth watching, even if it means he has to deliberately trash his own laptop with a particularly nasty piece of malware. Blonde hair, tied back in a tightly professional ponytail. Delicate face, with nerd-chic glasses framing her eyes and a potentially abhorrent shade of lipstick that she manages to wear with aplomb. Long neck leading into a crisp blouse which hugs her slender form. A narrow skirt dropping from her waist to just above her knees, leaving smooth skin exposed all the way down to her heels.

But most of all, it was her personality that made her so fun to observe. As Felicity booted and ran diagnostics on the laptop she was constantly murmuring to herself, eyes darting across the screen, head cocked to the side. It left Oliver smiling every time he observed her in her own little world. She barely seemed aware of her nervous chatter until she sat back, professional again, gesturing for him to put in his password.

Leaning past her, his arm presses against hers for a long second until she rolls her chair aside, disappointing them both. Fingers flicker over keys before he steps back slightly, hooking a foot behind her calf and pulling her back close to him. Her eyes slide up his tshirt, building her nerve, reaching up a hand to press against his taut tummy, as she spins herself back to face the laptop.

He repositions himself behind her, hands dropping to her shoulders as he watches her work. Fingers used to less delicate movements begin almost imperceptibly squeezing at her tensed muscles and eagerly feeling for her acceptance of his touch.

It's all Felicity can do not to purr. Her quick keystrokes falter as her arousal grows, blooming hot within her.

"Oliver, I... If only my Valentines date was as hands on as you." She pushes to maintain the facade of professionalism, but they both seem content to let it fall.

"Oh," Oliver's voice reverberates, lashes of curiosity with traces of jealousy lacing his words, "anyone I would know?"

"Probably," she grumbles sardonically, "you can get ice cream in most stores."

His voice betrays actual surprise, "You didn't have a date for Valentines Day?"

Her head shakes from side to side, "I got the smarts, my sister got the looks."

The massage of her shoulders pauses, causing her heart to skip a beat, before it breaks as his hands slip off and forwards, down her arms to brush her off the laptop. She admires his exposed flesh as he fingers the touchpad easily, pulling up the webcam and turning it on, the screen suddenly illuminating their situation.

His face is to the right and just behind hers, arms languidly stretched down to the laptop, enveloping her in his power.

Her cheeks are flushed, each breath deeper than the last, her hands resting just out of shot in her lap.

She watches as Oliver's head turns slightly towards her ear, scruffy stubble teasing her skin, voice low and imposing.

"Can you see yourself?" the question is rhetorical, but the pregnant pause leaves her nodding anyway.

"I cannot think of how any woman, anywhere, could be more attractive than you are."

Her small hands squeeze into tight fists, eyes wide as saucers, staring at his face in high def, not daring to even breathe. Her need wells up, dark and feral as a deep, almost-orgasmic moan coils within, her conscious mind managing to quell most of it.

A soft keening betrays her, "we shouldn't..." She hates herself for whimpering it, especially as it sounds completely insincere.

"Felicity..." His tone says it all. Stop lying. His eyes flick up, hooded and dark, reminding her of someone half-remembered who isn't important right now.

"Felicity, come out with me. You deserve a better Valentines than ice cream." His hands drop from the laptop, trailing over her skin and skirt, until they can tangle with her fingers.

Acerbic even when melting, she husks, "I like ice cream."

"Well that's dessert sorted."