Chapter Seventeen
Lane
“Something smells amazing,” I said, kicking off my work boots and sucking in a deep breath. The house was filled with the smell of roasting potatoes and garlic and something fresh, and it made my stomach rumble.
I followed my nose to the kitchen where Oliver was chopping parsley. Sparrow was licking her bowl clean, and it was so shiny I could see her reflection in the side of it.
“I didn’t know you were making dinner,” I added as I walked across to Oliver, trying to resist the temptation to put my arms around his waist and trail kisses down his neck.
Oliver shrugged like it was no big deal, the edges of his lips curving into a smile. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I just wanted to do something nice for you as a thanks for everything you’ve done for me this week.”
“That’s really nice of you.” My chest fluttered, but there was an edge to the emotion. “You know you don’t owe me, though? You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Oliver said as he scooped the chopped parsley into a bowl and reached for some cloves of garlic. “I’m not doing it because I think I have to. I’m doing it because I want to.”
He turned and looked at me, and there was something different about his expression that I couldn’t place. A new emotion in his eyes I couldn’t put my finger on, like it was behind frosted glass and too fuzzy to make out.
“How are you with spice?” he asked, looking back at the bowl like he’d realised there was something going on but didn’t want to deal with it. “Honestly. No lying and pretending you can handle it if you can’t. I actually want you to enjoy this.”
I chuckled. “I can handle whatever you’ve got.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I’ll chuck all the chilli in, shall I? Do you need me to go and get more?”
“No, one or two is fine. I like heat but not the blow your head off kind. I’d still like to be able to feel my tongue later.”
“Two it is, then.” He added the garlic to the bowl and extracted two small red chillies from a paper bag.
“What are you making?” I asked before walking over to scoop Sparrow’s bowl off the floor and opening the back door to let her out into the garden.
“I thought I’d just do something simple,” Oliver said like he needed a disclaimer in case I was going to judge him.
“So just some Hasselback potatoes, some corn on the cob with a little bit of a chilli butter, some steaks, and some chimichurri. And I got some giant meringues with cream for afterwards if you want one. Does that sound okay?”
“That sounds fucking amazing.” I gave in to temptation and wrapped my arm around him and pressed a kiss to his temple, trying not to distract him too much while he had a knife in his hand.
My kitchen knives weren’t the best in the world, but I didn’t want to spend my evening patching Oliver up.
I’d had to do it a couple of times at work over the years, and it was never fun since I’d never been great with the sight of blood.
“Really?”
“Yeah, you spoil me.”
Oliver put the knife down and leant against me, his body warm and solid. It was one of those small moments that felt bigger than it was, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about this becoming an everyday thing if we gave whatever this was a chance.
“How was your day?” Oliver asked. “Did you get much done in the office?”
“Yes and no. The kitchen company are still being dicks, but they sort of admitted fault, so that’s something. I thought we could go to Scotty’s tomorrow or Saturday to get some paint samples for upstairs.”
“Yeah, okay. We can do that.”
I frowned. There was something in Oliver’s tone that set warning bells ringing. “You sure? You don’t sound keen.”
“Sorry, I’m just… I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head and standing up. He scooped the chilli into the bowl and reached for the bottle of olive oil next to it. “I’m just terrified of making a decision. What if I get it wrong and ruin everything?”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about paint colours or something else, but the feeling in my gut suggested it was more than just decorating. I bit my lip, trying to choose my words with care. “There’s no rush. You don’t have to choose now. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“There’s a limit, though,” he said quietly. “I’ve got a deadline.”
“It’s flexible. We can move some things around. And it’s not like it’s going to happen tomorrow.” There were only so many ways I could keep things vague before I needed to ask him if we were really talking about paint.
Alex and Noah had encouraged me to take my chance, and I’d been willing to jump straight in, but now I wasn’t sure if Oliver was on the same page. What if I took my shot and ended up heartbroken again?
“I know.” He turned his head, and I felt myself get lost in his gaze. “Thanks. I know I’m probably overthinking this.”
“You’re not,” I said. “I promise.”
Oliver smiled and leant forward, kissing me softly. And I knew I was utterly fucked because, whether I took a chance or not, I was still going to end up heartbroken if he left again.
I couldn’t force him to make that choice, though. Oliver had to make it on his own. He had to want to stay here. Otherwise, he’d resent me and himself. All I could do was show him what was possible, show him how much I needed him, and hope he chose me.
And if he didn’t? That was something I didn’t even want to think about.
“Thanks,” Oliver said. “You’re right. I need to start thinking about it at least or else we’ll be three weeks down the line, and I’ll still have no idea. Then I’ll be stuck with bad floral wallpaper forever.”
I let out a little chuckle. “You won’t be. I’ll just get them to paint everything cream until you make up your mind.”
“Oh God, that sounds even worse! It’ll be the most boring house ever.”
“See?” I said. “You have some idea what you want.”
“No cream is not a real decision.”
“It’s the start of one.” Oliver rolled his eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile. Oliver had always been a little dramatic when he was stressed about something, and I was glad to see that hadn’t gone away as he’d gotten older.
“What?” Oliver asked. “What’s that face for?”
“It’s just my face.”
“No, you’re doing this whole weird smirk thing.” He pointed a measuring spoon at me, waving it like a conductor’s baton. My grin widened, and he suddenly looked vaguely triumphant. “That! That expression there.”
“It’s because I was just thinking about how cute you are when you’re like this.” I plucked the spoon from his hand and set it on the counter before pulling him into my arms.
“Like what?”
“Stressed and slightly dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic,” Oliver said with a pout that could only be described as adorable. Fuck, what was happening to me? I’d never described anything as adorable. Except there was no other word that fit.
“You are. Just a little bit.” I raised one hand and held my thumb and forefinger out a little way apart from each other.
“Less than that. Like this much.” Oliver pushed my finger and thumb together until they were almost touching. I laughed and tried to push back, but it was hopeless. “See? Not that dramatic.”
“You don’t think that proves my point?”
“No. Not at all.” He grinned and leant down to kiss me.
His lips were soft, and there was a hint of something spicy on them.
My tongue caressed the seam of his mouth, and Oliver let out a soft groan that went straight to my dick.
I wondered if dinner could wait while I took him upstairs and devoured him.
Surely Oliver could just turn the oven down?
“Want to go upstairs?” I asked, pulling away just far enough to speak. Oliver put his hand on my chest and stepped back, giving me a devious smile.
“Later.”
“Are you sure you can’t spare ten minutes for me to suck you off?”
Oliver’s expression wavered. “It’s tempting, but I’d rather not rush.”
“Oh? Did you have something in mind?” I was curious now, and I wanted to know exactly what was going on in the dark, sexy corners of his imagination.
“Maybe.” He turned back to the chopping board and stirred the chimichurri. “How would you feel about fucking me in front of the window?”
I stared at him, all my blood suddenly rushing south. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Nobody would see us, especially if it’s getting dark, and I kinda love the idea of being able to be seen but not actually being seen if that makes sense?”
“It does.” I hadn’t realised Oliver had an exhibitionist streak, but the idea was really fucking hot.
“You want to imagine that everyone walking past might see me fucking your tight ass and be able to see you beg for my cock without them really seeing. It’s the fantasy of being used in public, getting off with everyone watching you, but still having privacy. ”
“Yeah.” He nodded, and there was a breathless note to his voice. “I love… I love the idea of being seen, being watched, but I don’t think I could do it in reality. But this—”
“Is the best of both.” I moved behind him and nipped his ear, trailing kisses down his neck. I pressed my hips forward, knowing he’d be able to feel my hard cock rubbing against his ass.
“Mmm.” Oliver let out a soft, breathless sound, and I loved how easily I was riling him up. He’d proven to be very easy to tease this week, and it was all I wanted to do. That and a million other things. I couldn’t get enough of him.
“Are you sure you don’t have ten minutes?”
“I… I… No, I want to wait.”
“We’ll wait then.” I turned his head with my fingers and kissed him. “What can I do to help?”
“Oh… er…” My question seemed to have stunned him like he either hadn’t been expecting me to offer or his brain hadn’t come back online yet. “Not much really. I just need to check the potatoes, then I’ll make the chilli butter for the corn on the cob. How do you want your steak cooked?”
“Rare is fine, thanks,” I said as I stepped back so Oliver could open the oven.
He stared at me for a second as if he wasn’t sure what I was doing.
It was obvious when he realised because he almost jumped into action—grabbing the tea towel off the side and reaching for the oven door.
I chuckled and let my eyes roam over his perfect ass.
Fuck, I couldn’t wait to be inside him later.
“Okay, they’ll need about another twenty minutes. Did you want to do anything before dinner?”
“Not really,” I said. “Are you okay if I just chill here with you?”
“No, you’re not allowed to spend time in your own kitchen,” Oliver said with a sardonic smile. “It’s mine now.”
“Do you have a flag?” I asked, quoting the old Eddie Izzard routine that our history teacher had once shown us. “No flag, no kitchen. That’s the rule… that I’ve just made up.”
Oliver snorted. “I could make a flag.”
“You can’t just make a flag and stick it somewhere. That isn’t how this works.”
“That’s literally what you just said I should do.”
“No, you needed to have one already,” I said, fighting back laughter. “You can’t just add one now.”
“So I needed to pre-emptively conquer your kitchen?” he asked as he raised an eyebrow.
He was still holding the tea towel in one hand, and I was struck by the realisation that this could be us every night if we took a chance.
Making dinner, having playful fights, sharing random anecdotes from our days, and punctuating everything with quick kisses and dark promises.
And now that I’d thought about it, I knew I wanted it more than anything. I just had to figure out how to get it.
“Something like that.” I leant over and kissed him, feeling Oliver smile against my mouth.