Chapter 12 Ollie
Ollie
Ishouldn’t be disappointed when I’m not supposed to expect anything, but it still hangs there.
The oatmeal gurgles away, and I can tell it’s going to be dry as hell. But the gentle bubble of oats and water is drowned out by my muffled whines.
Shoving my hand down my pants, I press the other hard against my mouth as I rub myself furiously.
I haven’t moved from my spot since Timber left. I have to come as quickly as possible. Even though I desperately want him to see me like this, I can’t let him find me.
With both of us in the house, the security system is off, so no one will know I’m jerking off against his fridge. Judging by the clock on the oven, he’s only been gone for three minutes, but that’s still too long.
I’m trying to soak in my feelings so I can come faster. But I can’t focus on how horny I am when my heart aches as well.
The shower is running upstairs as Timber walks around his bedroom, so I’m safe.
But, fuck me, if he had made a move, he could have bent me over the counter and taken anything he wanted. Thrown my legs over his shoulders, thrust into me against the fridge.
Fuck, I could ride him on the dining room table. His cock is so thick he can probably ruin me, and I don’t care. It’s not like I need to walk anywhere. I can just crawl after him and suck his cock whenever he needs me to.
Another whine falls from me as I lick my palm like he’s kissing me, squeezing my eyes closed, my slick building up as I imagine how he would grunt and moan as he thrusts into me. I bet he can be soft as well, holding me gently while rocking his hips before going for it like a piston.
Drawing in a deep breath through my nose, I’m hit with his scent again.
Another stroke, another breath, and I cup my hand over my pussy to stop my slick absolutely drenching my pants. I need to double up on the shitty suppressants from now on.
I groan as I come, my empty pussy clenching as I cry out his name against my hand.
Coming when he’s in the room above me makes it more thrilling and the pleasure more intense.
Until the thrill fades, and I’m left standing with consequences.
“I’m the worst.” I sigh, knocking my head back against the fridge. This is probably a sign I’ve gone too far, that I should call it quits here before I go off the rails.
I could congratulate myself and say, “Well, at least I didn’t take advantage of him when he was sleepwalking!” But it’s a weak excuse when I pull my hand out of my pants to find a nice big ol’ glob of creamy slick right there in my palm.
I sigh at the evidence of how screwed I am.
Maybe I’ll call Kane and submit to the inevitable.
I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I jump when I hear Timber’s feet thudding on the stairs.
Before I can catch myself, he’s already walking toward the kitchen, and I bolt straight over to the pot, grabbing the spoon. It’s only when I feel something slide from my palm that I snap my hand back.
There’s a gentle plop as my maple syrup slick drops into the oatmeal, and I stare at it in horror.
“No!” I hiss as it sinks under the mass of beige oats. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What’s wrong?” Timber asks, blinking at me from the doorway.
“Ah.” I chuckle. My shoulders go up to my ears as I cringe. “Well, now…” I bite at my lip ring, trying to think about how to get out of this one.
I need to play it off and distract him from the fact that I’m furiously stirring the pot like that’s going to make it all better.
“I think I’ve overcooked the oatmeal, so I’ll need to start again.”
He’d swapped his dressing gown for slacks and a shirt with the button in the center of his chest doing all the heavy lifting. One wrong breath and that baby is going to ping off and leave a dent in the wall. It’s not fair that he has tiddies for miles and I barely need bindings.
“What? Don’t be silly,” he says as he walks over, slipping into one of the high stools on the counter on the opposite side of the stove.
“I’m picking someone up before I go to the rink today, so I need to leave in fifteen minutes, anyway.
And it’s not like I can tell the difference if it’s overcooked. It’s just oatmeal.” He shrugs.
He doesn’t seem to remember what he did earlier. I know he’s a heavy sleeper, but it’s crazy. I can’t believe he doesn’t remember literally pushing his cock against me when he pinned me against the fridge.
My panicked stirring means there’s no way I can rescue this, and I can’t exactly fish it out right in front of him.
How do I get away with feeding my boss my slick?
“Er, who are you meeting?” I ask as I grab the salt and shake a generous amount over it. Maybe if I amp up the saltiness, it will cancel out my sweetness. That’s how it works with slick, right?
“It’s the assistant coach’s daughter. You’d like her, actually. Maybe you two should meet sometime. She’s a great person, and she…”
Internally screaming, I carry on stirring the oatmeal, not listening to Timber talking about another girl with a fond smile on his face. I should just grab the pot and run for the hills. I might get exposed, but at least I won’t have crossed a line.
I jump as Timber leans forward, and I swear I hear the button of his shirt creak as he peers into the pot. “It looks fine to me. Come on, hurry up and serve it.”
There’s no way I can ever live this down. Maybe I should pretend to spill it. There’s enough in there for four people, and I might burn myself, but anything is better than this.
But Timber’s stare is relentless, and he needs to get going.
I never imagined a day when I’d serve a client oatmeal with yoghurt and tossed summer berries blended with a slick reduction.
As I reluctantly grab a bowl, I shoo away the thoughts that Timber is going to eat me. Well, part of me. A distant part of me I should have left in my freaking pants.
Thank the God of Bad Decisions that he can’t taste anything. I just have to reassure myself that this could be so much worse. Probably. Somehow.
“Don’t you want to eat with me?” he asks as I add way too many blueberries to hide my crime.
“I’ll have some later. I’m busy as well,” I say, hoping he can’t see I’m actually losing it.
He reaches out, and I hesitate again. I still have a chance to stop it, I can still pull back and not go where no omega should go.
But no. Ollie Newham, in all her grace and wisdom, just hands the bowl straight over. I balk at the last second, snatching it back as I get a whiff of maple syrup, but it’s too late.
He swipes it from me, giving me an odd look.
I’ve got one more chance to come clean, but my mouth stays clamped shut.
He already has his spoon twirling in his hand, and he looks like he wants to eat for the first time since I moved in.
Oh yeah, I’m definitely going to hell for this.