30. He’s here. He’s everywhere
He’s here. He’s everywhere
Ifeel good today. I haven’t had a nightmare in more than a week. No outside drama, and Oliver hasn’t done or said anything to piss me off, even though he still refuses to leave my side. To top it off, there are no unknown messages.
“What are your plans tonight?” I ask Roxy as we walk back to our dorm.
“Sext your brother. I got this new lingerie set.”
I gag. “You thrive on my discomfort.”
“It is a pleasure. You going to be with Oliver?”
I give her a “you already know the answer” look.
“How is that all going anyway? I’ve been stupid busy with school; we haven’t got to dive into the deep, juicy details. Besides the fact that he’s practically living with you.”
“Living is a stretch, but I don’t know, it’s been easy. He just…”
“Fits.” She finishes scanning her card, and the heat from the building contradicts the chill outside. I slide off my coat as we walk to the stairs. “And the texts. Any word?”
“Nothing. Total dead end.”
Archer couldn’t trace the unknown texts. They were sent from a burner, and whoever did it wasn’t sloppy enough to keep them on. Even the one camera in the main hall was useless. It was down for a system reboot.
“Lyra.” She stops me with a hand on my arm. “You need to be careful; I don’t like what’s going on and not telling your family.”
“I know, I just don’t want to worry them.”
“It’s their job to worry.” We stop on her floor. “Love you. Be careful, okay? You can always come stay with me until we find this psycho.” We hug.
“Love you.”
“Whoever this person is, I don’t think you should take it as a joke.”
“I’m not, promise.” It’s true. I’ve been extra vigilant, and Callan has taken Oliver and me to the gym a few times to teach me some basic self-defense moves, with Vee in tow. Maybe I should be more on edge, but I know there is nothing more I can do unless I want to involve the campus.
I walk up the steps to my floor, unlock the door, and nudge it open with my hip. I immediately come to a halt.
“Why am I not surprised?” I find Oliver lounging on my bed, scrolling through his phone. His shoes sit in a straight line by the door, his jacket on my hook, his keys glinting beneath it. He’s made himself at home, and it’s the first time he’s done it without me here.
I kick off my boots and hang my jacket over his. “Why haven’t I been in your room before?” I ask.
“Never asked.”
I cross the small space and climb onto the mattress. “You never offered.” He doesn't even blink when I lay my full weight over him, lying face-first on his chest.
He makes room for me with a small shift, one arm caging my waist, the other sliding into my hair, fingers stroking the long strands. “That feels good,” I mumble into the warm cotton of his shirt, cheek against his chest. My legs tangle with his.
“Why do you avoid the forest?” His hand keeps moving.
I’m surprised by the question. Not once has the topic come up, except for the time he saw me running through it all those weeks ago.
And since I haven’t had a nightmare, honestly, I thought he didn’t notice.
But Oliver notices everything. He was lulling me into comfort before striking like a snake and its prey.
“I have this recurring nightmare.” I breathe him in and let it anchor me.
“I’m running in the forest, and I can’t get out.
It’s wet and dark, and my feet keep catching on roots.
Sometimes I hear people behind me.” I huff out a humorless laugh.
“It sounds ridiculous.” But the shiver crawling up my spine tells me it wasn’t just a dream.
Parts of it were real or close enough to the truth.
His fingers slide to my jaw and tip my face up. “It's not.” His gaze is steady. “I could help.”
“There’s nothing you can do. I tried with Roxy. That first night when I was running in the forest was the first and only time I've built up enough courage to do it, and I think it's because it was my first night back.”
“That makes sense, why you looked to be running from something, not toward your imminent death.”
“I wasn’t going to jump.”
He sits up with me still on him, leaning his back against the headboard. “I’m really glad that wasn’t your goal,” he says, still combing through my hair like he’s soothing a skittish animal. “The nightmare, it doesn’t just appear; it gets triggered. When was your last one?”
“The night Leo…committed suicide.”
“Did you sleep the night before?”
I think back. “No. The night before, he cornered me in the hall. I barely slept. The next night was the nightmare.”
He pulls me fully onto his lap to straddle him, draping the blanket over my legs, and tucking it in. His thumb settles at the base of my skull, and I lean into his touch. “I have an idea.”
“Your ideas are terrifying.”
“But you’ll do it anyway.”
My stomach answers for me with a low growl, and he scowls. “When did you last eat?”
“I had coffee before class, then…” I trail off.
“For fuck’s sake.” He sets me on the bed and crosses to the small fridge.
I watch his back as he moves, muscles rippling under the tight fabric. The jeans that mold to his legs and ass. “What are you doing?”
“Feeding you before we go.”
I join him, scanning my pathetic options. I haven’t shopped in a week. Oliver and I have been going to the dining hall or off campus, and when we’re here, he worries about it. I reach for an open bottle of wine, and his hand snaps around my wrist. “I need you sober for what I have planned.”
The breath catches in my throat; I worry my bottom lip with my teeth.
He looks down, and in the next heartbeat, my back meets the counter, and his mouth takes mine, slow at first, then greedy.
He nips until I open, then his tongue is stroking, deepening, and a desperate sound slips out of me as my fingers knot in his shirt to pull him closer.
His hand slips under my shirt, rough palm tracing over my ribs before cupping my breast. He squeezes, pinching and rolling my nipple until the sting melts into pleasure that arrows down my spine. I rise onto my toes to chase more, needing more.
My hands roam up under his shirt, over tight muscles and smooth, hot skin. I trace the faint trail of hair that leads down, dragging my nails over his chest, teasing his nipples, then drop straight to his zipper.
He breaks the kiss, pulling back while biting my lip. I close my hand around his dick, my thumb circling the crown, gathering the precum already dripping before lifting it to my lips. Without breaking eye contact, I suck my finger clean, releasing it with a wet pop.
“You going to suck my cock?” His voice is rough with desire.
“Yes.” His eyes blaze, mouth lifting into a wicked grin.
I lower myself slowly onto the cool tile. He tips my chin with his thumb until my lips part. “Look at me.”
I slide his jeans low enough that his dick springs free, pointing right at me.
Satisfaction and pride fill me as I see what I do to him.
I want the control, but I also want to give it away.
I let saliva gather and spill down my tongue onto the head of his dick, stroking him once and squeezing until precum leaks out.
In one smooth motion, I lick, loving the taste of his cum, before I hollow my cheeks and take him deep until he’s hitting the back of my throat.
He frames my face with one hand, the other braced on the counter behind me.
“Fuck.” His head tips back before he drags his focus down to me again, jaw tight.
“Fuck my mouth, baby. Use me like the whore I am for you.” I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth, but I’m so fucking glad they did. I watch as Oliver's eyes blaze and a feral grin curls his lips.
A switch flips, and his control snaps. He fists my hair and starts to drive into my mouth.
I’m ready for it this time. I take him, take his push, and his need.
I breathe through my nose, relax my jaw, and ease into the cadence he sets.
He watches everything, cataloging each breath, each swallow, each emotion that no doubt flickers in my eyes.
“My slut is wet from this, aren’t you, Dollface?” I moan, nails biting into his jeans. He fucks my throat roughly, making me choke on him.
“Those pouty lips wrapped around my cock. Lips stretched wide, throat working to swallow.” His words are making my panties soaked. I shift, trying to alleviate the pressure, but it’s no use.
I graze my teeth over his length just enough to test him. He jerks my head but stays in my mouth, and if possible, his dick gets even harder. “Fuck yes.” He slams his hand roughly on the counter. He liked it. I do it again harder, and the groan he releases has me clenching my pussy.
“Lick every inch like it’s your favorite lollipop.” Heat surges in my cheeks, but I do just that.
I lift his length and drag my tongue from base to tip, mapping every vein, teasing the underside, lingering where I know he’s sensitive. I tease his balls, sucking them into my mouth and releasing with a wet pop.
He curses, then he’s hauling me up with his hands under my arms. In one fluid motion, he shoves off his pants and strips his T-shirt, crossing to the bed and dropping onto it.
I hover, shifting from foot to foot. My body knows not to move unless he tells me.
The smirk tugging at his mouth tells me he enjoys making me wait for his next command.
“Come here, Lyra.” I pad closer, still dressed.
“Strip.” Air skims over my skin as I undress; goose bumps bloom from not just the cold but the look of total rapture in Oliver’s eyes.
“I need to eat.” His mouth curves. “Come sit on my face and suck me, Dollface. I need your clit in my mouth.”
His words will send me over the edge alone one day.
I don’t need to be told twice. I’m soaked, dripping down my thighs, and need release.
I climb over him, and he doesn’t let me hesitate; pulling me down, his tongue parts me.
Hot lips sealing over my clit. Pleasure hits so sharply, so fiercely, I lose my breath.
I take him into my mouth, one hand cupping him, the other braced on his thigh as he works me open.
“You taste like the sweetest thing,” he says, the words a vibration against my sensitive pussy. The rhythm he sets is ruthless, a push-and-pull that makes my hips stutter. He grabs my ass cheeks, slapping them, spreading, pushing his face deeper into me.
“Be a good girl and come in my mouth.”
I grind shamelessly, chasing the friction using his chin and tongue as my own personal fuck toy. Pulling up, I gasp. “I want to swallow.”
“I wasn't going to give you a choice.” With that, he pushes my face back down on his cock.
I pump faster, deeper, all the while my focus narrows to the wet slide of his tongue and relentless flicks on my clit, building me higher and higher.
The coil snaps. Light freckles across my vision as I break, shaking, as he pulls me down so much I know he can only breathe in my scent.
He follows, body tightening beneath me, pumping one last time, then forcing my head down as far as it will go, his dick hitting the back of my throat as rope after rope of cum hit my tongue.
I swallow every drop, slumping forward, cheek to his thigh, while he licks me clean.
He presses one last kiss to my sensitive core, then slips out from under me. “Now you eat. Then we go.”
I melt into the mattress, boneless and blissed, as he moves through my tiny kitchen. In the quiet between his footsteps and the faint rattle of a pan, the truth settles in my ribs.
I don’t know when the switch happened, gradual or sudden, but I don’t want it to change. Maybe it’s that I’ve accepted the part of him I watched threaten Amelia. Maybe it’s that the part of me that wanted to run doesn’t anymore.
The truth settles hard and is undeniable. Simple yet terrifying. I love Oliver Caldwell. And I don’t know if he can love me back—but he’s already taking care of me in all the ways he knows how.
“Do you enjoy cooking?” I ask sometime later, after watching from the bed naked and sated as he took over my small kitchen. He's only wearing low-slung black joggers and socks, looking completely at ease.
Oliver walks back over, holding a glass of water. I take it. “I don’t mind it.”
I get up, pulling on some leggings and a Willow Hill University crew neck. “But do you enjoy it?”
He turns to look over at me, pausing whatever he is making on the stove. It’s as if I just asked him the most challenging question on the planet. “It kept me busy, so in a way, yes, I like it.”
“Who taught you?”
He turns back. “Myself. It’s a good thing, otherwise you’d never eat.”
“Not true, I eat. I love food, I just sometimes forget.”
“No, you just fill up on coffee instead. Now, sit, it will be done in five minutes.” Instead, I wrap my arms around him from behind, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his back.
“Are you going to tell me what your idea is?”
“No, otherwise you will refuse to listen and go along with my plan.”
I go and sit at my tiny table. “That’s not reassuring.”
“At this moment, I liked it better when your mouth was full of my cock; all of these questions are pointless.”
“No, they’re not pointless. This is my life. And my trauma to deal with.”
That makes him stop his plating of my food to look at me. “Wrong, Lyra, your trauma is mine as well. Whether you like that or not. So, you’ll eat your food and put on your shoes. All the while that pretty mouth of yours stays shut.”