Chapter 05 OLLIE
When the rain comes, it comes all at once—a breath held to bursting, then released in a rush.
One drop hits my cheek, then another trickles down my jaw, and by the time I scramble to my feet, my hair is sending rivulets down my collar, and I need windshield wipers to see through my glasses. I fumble them into my pocket and offer a hand to Fen, who’s still sitting on the ground, shell-shocked.
“All good?“
Sadie calls, having already retreated to the shelter of the porch. She holds her camera up, punctuating the question, and Fen snaps back to himself and lets me haul him to his feet. His shocking pink hair hangs in his eyes, and the deluge is starting to do very interesting things to his white pants as he spins in a graceful circle, throwing his arms in the air.
“Fucking fabulous,“
he says, voice pitched to carry over the thunderous patter of the rain.
“This is gonna get messy real fast.“
The words spoken are half to myself—an acknowledgment of how far gone I am already as this lyrical creature twirls closer. He’s a haze of shimmering color and wet skin, begging to be caught, to be touched.
“Then let’s get messy.“
He sidles into my space, his head tipped down against the rain, and peeks coquettishly from beneath his lashes.
It’s all the invitation I need. Cupping his jaw in my hands, I tilt his face up to meet mine. His hands fist in my shirt, and he has time to shape the words “oh my god“
before my lips descend on his and the world falls out from under me.
Some trembling part of me tries to keep it cautious—a soft dip to see if he tastes as sweet and pink as he looks. But then he gasps, and his arms slide up to twine around my neck. His skin is cool from the rain, but his mouth is hot and eager and yes, so fucking sweet that I can’t help but deepen the kiss. There’s no resistance, only the slide of his tongue along mine, silky and uncharacteristically tentative, like my wonder is contagious and he’s feeding it back to me. A small, helpless sound breaks from his throat, and my blood surges.
Without thought, I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him to me, like I could kiss him with every part of me if I could get close enough. My dick thickens in my shorts, and when he rubs his stomach over it, I groan against his lips before breaking away. I don’t release him, only drop my forehead to his and whisper, “Think she’s using a telephoto lens?”
“Not sure she needs one from less than twenty feet away.“
He giggles, stealing the last of my breath. “That was a really good kiss.”
A flush of pride further heats my blood, and I drop my hands to his hips, caressing that captivating trail of lace, now soaked and clinging to his slippery skin.
“Can we do it again?” I ask.
“Yes, please.”
This time I hook my fingers in the lace and haul his hips to mine. He meets me hungrily, tangling his grip in my hair to tug me down and swallow my moan. Everything swirls in a clash of textures—the cool rain soaking my shirt, the bite of his nails on my scalp, the impossibly slick heat of his tongue.
And just as I’d imagined, the lace has left its subtle texture on his skin, an erotic etching under my thumbs as I stroke over his hip bones. I could stay here forever, kissing him like this, but then he shivers violently in my arms, breaking the spell.
“Oh shit. Are you cold?“
It’s inconceivable, given the fever raging through me, but of course he is. We’re both soaked to the skin, and the temperature has dropped twenty degrees from the mid-nineties of the afternoon.
“Only on the outside,“
he murmurs, then glances toward the house. “But maybe we should get out of the rain?”
“Sure, yeah.“
Reluctantly, I release him, then—sending my dick a firm mental message to calm down—take his hand and lead him back to the porch.
Sadie is already packing up her stuff as we climb the steps.
“I’m gonna get out of your hair,“
she tells us. “You guys were amazing. You’re going to love the shots.”
“Thank you.“
Fen squeezes my hand. “I can’t wait to see them.”
“Do I need to, like, sign anything, or…?” I ask.
“I have your number. I’ll send over the paperwork later. Right now, I want to get back to my hotel and take a hot bubble bath.“
Slinging her camera bag over her shoulder, she offers us a warm smile. “Seriously, thank you so much for stepping in at the last minute, Ollie. I think it worked out better than any of us could have hoped. And don’t worry, I can see myself out.”
And then she’s gone, and Fen and I are alone.
Distracted by the kiss, and then the awkwardness of saying goodbye to Sadie while trying to hide my half boner, I haven’t really looked at Fen until now. While I stand bedraggled in my waterlogged flip-flops, soaked shirt clinging to my chest and shorts dripping onto the painted floorboards, he’s even more magical, all his colors sharpened by the storm.
He scrubs a hand through his hair, tossing his head so the wet strands fall into artful disarray. The cotton of his cargo pants isn’t that thin, and they aren’t even soaked past the top few inches, but it’s enough. Enough that when he moves past me toward the door, those sinful pink panties peek through—a heart-shaped splash of color framing the top of his perky ass.
When he glances back, he catches me staring, and his smile turns wicked.
“You coming?”
Swallowing hard, I nod and follow him into the house.
The air-conditioning hits us like an arctic blast as soon as we step inside, and Fen shivers again, wrapping his arms around himself.
“So…“
he says, glancing toward the hallway where Sadie’s footsteps echo. “What now?”
“Come upstairs. Let me get you a towel and some dry clothes. We can put our stuff in the dryer and hang out while we wait.“
To my immense relief, he nods and then follows me up the stairs to my room.
It’s warmer on the third floor because old houses aren’t amazingly insulated, and physics means the air-conditioning hasn’t completely won its battle with the day’s fading heat. I toss him a towel from the shelf in the closet, then fumble in the dresser for something that won’t swim on him while he drips on the rug and studies his surroundings.
Luckily, I keep my room neat. The hamper is overflowing, and there are too many dog-eared books on the nightstand and spilling out of the bookcase, but otherwise it’s well-organized. My PS5 and TV sit next to a stack of games on the cedar chest shoved against one wall. My desk fills another corner, covered in art supplies and half-painted miniatures, with my finished armies proudly displayed on the attached shelves with their blue lighting. But he’s already called me a nerd and stayed anyway, so I don’t worry about giving anything away.
“Here.“
I hand him a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring that might keep them on his slender frame and a long-sleeved T-shirt that’s a little too small for me but that I’ve kept anyway because it’s from the gaming store where I bought my first Combat Patrol box and I’m absurdly nostalgic. “You can dry off and change in here. I’ll use the bathroom.“
Maybe it’s weird to be worrying about modesty when there’s no way he hasn’t noticed my dick reacting to him all afternoon, but feeling and seeing are two different things.
Anyway, he doesn’t argue, only takes the clothes with a quirk of his lips—lips I’ve kissed—and continues to peer around the room.
Maybe he didn’t expect quite this level of nerddom.
I flee to the bathroom, where I strip, towel off, and then throw on a pair of cutoff gray joggers. Unlike the shivering nymph in my bedroom, I’m flushed with nerves and a low thrum of excitement. If anything, my body is overheated, and the image of Fen peeling himself down to his panties on the other side of the door isn’t exactly cooling me off. Will he leave them on or go bare under my sweats?
Is there a wrong answer?
The urge to rush back into the room is strong—what if he changes his mind and leaves?—but I grip the sink and stare at my reflection, forcing myself to wait. When I’m sure I’ve given him enough time, including a few agonizing extra minutes to be safe, I open the door.
The clothes I gave him are discarded on the foot of the bed, and for one heart-stopping second, I worry he did leave, but then he asks, “Did you paint all of these?“
And I turn my head to find him standing at my desk.
In nothing but those panties.
“What?“
My voice is a husk dragged from my seizing lungs, and I clutch the doorframe to avoid collapsing.
He’s every bit as stunning as my wildest dreams.
In the fading gloom from the gabled window and the blue light of the desk, he’s a thing of secret shadows and sharp highlights, as exotic as the tiny fantasy warrior in his hands. I could paint him like this, my brush following the dips and curves of his lithe muscles to leave pools of pigment in all his hidden hollows. My hands ache to touch him and my cock throbs, surging to full attention in my shorts.
“You’re an artist.“
Returning the figure to its shelf, he turns and drifts toward me. My gaze snags on the sway of his hips, on those bands of lace and the bulge straining the satin—clearly cut for a man’s body—between them.
“I like—“
I lick my lips. “I like painting more than playing. It’s a fun hobby, if an expensive one.“
My breath whooshes out of me when he comes to a stop, mere inches away, and cocks his head with a flutter of lashes.
“You’re very.“
His hand comes up to trace my jaw. “Very.“
Cool fingers slide down my throat, teasing over my Adam’s apple. “Good at it.“
He splays his palm over my heart and smiles when my pulse races under its weight. “Would you like to touch me now?”
I don’t immediately respond, and his smile fades to uncertainty. Before he gets the wrong idea, I blurt: “I’m afraid if I let go of this doorframe, my legs will collapse.”
“Oh.“
His eyes spark wickedly. “I can think of a few things you could do from your knees.”
“Oh my god.“
A strangled laugh bursts out of me. “I probably wouldn’t be any good at them, but I’m willing to try.”
He slides his hand down my chest and hooks two fingers in the waistband of my shorts before giving a little tug.
“I’ve got a better idea. Go lie on the bed.”
Steadied by the fact that he’s taking control, I make my clumsy way across the room. Since he didn’t tell me to take them off, I leave my shorts on, but I squeeze myself roughly through the soft jersey once I’m propped against the pillows. When he tracks the movement, sucking his lower lip between his teeth, a trickle of confidence returns.
I’m grateful for his obvious experience and—I realize ruefully—for a hundred nights spent listening to Ellis overshare. At least I have some idea what to expect. Assuming Fen doesn’t have some wild kink I’ve never heard of. Everything with him has been effortless so far, each step closer slipping easily into the next. Why should this be any different?
Having wrangled some blood back to my brain, I admire the sultry glide of his approach without worrying I’m going to faint.
“No farmer’s tan,“
he observes, raking his gaze over my sprawled form. “Just the right amount of muscle.”
“Are you objectifying me?“
I tease, trying not to preen, but then he climbs up to straddle my waist, facing away from me. His thighs are warm along my ribs, and his lace-and-silk-framed ass is close enough to touch—almost to kiss—and I struggle to form words. “What—I’m not complaining, because the view is incredible—but, um, what exactly are you doing?”
He shoots a saucy look over his shoulder. “This position is traditionally called a reverse cowgirl.”
“I know what it’s called. But…don’t we need, like, lube or something? Condoms…?“
I trail off, cheeks flaming, when he arches an amused brow. Way to make assumptions, Ollie.
“Slow down there, cowboy.”
Smothering a groan, I throw an arm across my face. “If you’re the cowgirl, doesn’t that make me the horse?“
I mutter, then jolt when he brushes his knuckles down the length of my shaft.
“Close enough,“
he murmurs, giving me an appreciative squeeze that curls my toes. “Bring your knees up.”
When I comply, he slides his hand up my thigh and rolls his hips, brushing the tip of my cock with his own. Even through two layers of fabric, it sends a shock straight to the base of my spine.
“Ever heard of frotting?”
“Gay brother, remember?“
I reply, quivering with the effort to keep still. “Ellis doesn’t have much of a filter. Just because I’ve never done any of it before doesn’t mean I don’t know a lot about how guys have sex.”
“Lucky me,“
he purrs, followed by another tantalizing nudge, and I make a strangled sound in the back of my throat. “But you probably don’t want to be thinking about him right now.”
“God.“
My hands fly to his hips, locking him in place to rut roughly against him a few times. A satisfying curse escapes him as he throws his head back, bracing himself on my knees. He’s spectacularly sexy like this, the hard ridge of his cock slotting along mine, and every nerve in my body starts to fray at the edges.
I force myself to slow down. The last thing I want to do is blow all my big talk by, well, blowing ten seconds in. Releasing his hips, I trail my fingers over every piece of him I can reach—up his spine and down over his ass. Breath ragged in my chest, I circle his ankles, then slide my palms up the curve of his calves.
“Jesus,“
I rasp. “How is your skin so smooth? Do you shave everywhere?”
Wrapping his arms around my thighs, he lowers his cheek to my knee and peers back over his shoulder. “God, no. Only Neanderthals shave. I wax.”
“Pretty sure Neanderthals are canonically hairy.“
I dig my thumbs into the creases behind his knees, and he squirms, making us both gasp.
“Are you nerdsplaining to me right now?”
“Absolutely not. It’s only nerdsplaining if it starts with the phrase ‘um, actually.’“
I trail the back of my knuckles up the underside of his thighs, marveling when the flesh quivers under my touch.
“Is that so?”
“Mmm.”
“Then, actually, you’re missing the point.”
“Which is?“
My hands have found his ass again—a perfect sculpted peach with its fuchsia valentine. I rub my thumbs over the fabric, still damp and richer than I’m expecting—a velvet contrast to the pale silk of his skin.
“That I wax.“
He arches his back, slow and deliberate and sinuous as a snake. “Everywhere.”
Color me fucking charmed.
He starts to move again, this time with purpose, grinding and rocking and driving me ever closer to the brink. Delirious with the waves of pleasure coursing through me and emboldened by his breathy moans, I slide my fingers down the seam of his panties, tracing the crease of his ass before spreading him open. The thin strip of fabric barely covers his hole, and when I brush over it, his hips stutter and his lips part on a sharp gasp. Encouraged, I do it again, this time pressing lightly with the pad of my thumb.
“You like this?“
I ask. “It’s okay?”
“Yes, Ollie.“
My name is a low caress, spilling from his throat. “More than okay.”
My hips jerk in response, forcing him back into my eager grip, and the satin dimples as I breach his rim.
“Fuck,“
we curse in synchrony.
“That feels really good, Ollie.”
“It’s so tight,“
I marvel. “You’re…“
The rest dies when he resumes rocking his hips, a steady rhythmic motion, faster than before. Bracing my feet on the mattress, I meet his thrusts with my own, chasing the inevitable abyss.
My thumb stays where it is, barely buried inside him and sheathed in satin, while my other hand kneads frantically at the working muscles of his ass.
“I can’t—“
I warn. “You—oh—I’m gonna—fuuuuck.“
Sticky warmth floods my shorts as I arch off the bed, fingers clutching and sparks racing up my spine to explode behind my eyes. “Shit. Shit. I’m sorry.”
He’s gone still above me, and I’m babbling and boneless and blown out, but I heave myself from the pillows to curl myself around him. He drops his head to my shoulder and sags in my arms while I trail drowsy kisses up his neck to the pulse point below his ear.
“That was insane.“
Resting my chin on his shoulder, I drag my hand down his stomach and brush over the head of his erection, straining in its cradle of silk. “What do you need?“
I ask. He twitches under my touch, and I slide lower, cupping him in my grip. “I’ll give you anything you want right now.”