Chapter 14
Huxley
Since arriving home a few hours ago, my thoughts have continued to spiral, worrying about how I treated Oliver at lunch.
I’ve sat in my rocking chair, gone on a walk, and tried to read.
Nothing has worked. It was stupid to question Oliver like that, but I didn’t want to tell him about Jake.
Bottom line: I’m afraid Oliver will see me as weak.
Shit, I overreacted, didn’t I? Snatching my phone off the coffee table, I quickly tap out a message.
Me: I hope I didn’t come across as angry at lunch today. I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t understand about discrimination. I’m sorry!
When no reply comes through after fifteen minutes, my anxiety spikes. Having given up on my strategies, I simply sit and catastrophize. Maybe Oliver’s re-thinking our date. Maybe I’m no fun. Maybe I’m just too much.
Louis potters into the living room, takes one look at me and jumps into my lap. After a couple of licks to my face, he does one rotation, then sits. “Thanks, Louis,” I murmur, patting his back.
It’s an unbearably long hour before my phone vibrates.
Oliver: Sorry, was at the gym. No, you didn’t sound angry and what you said made sense. I want to hear your opinions. Seeing other people discriminated against and experiencing it myself are two different things. You were right to bring it up.
“Oh thank God, Louis. He’s not upset with me.” I'm replying when another text appears.
Oliver: Hey, is it normal to constantly think about kissing someone?
Oliver may not realise it, but he’s pretty good at flirting. I probably shouldn’t scare him by sharing that I think about way more than kissing.
Me: Is this your way of telling me you’re thinking about kissing me? Or some other boy?
Oliver: Definitely you. Do you think about kissing me?
Oliver make me feel like a teenager. “Should I go for it?” I ask Louis, giving his head a pat. He doesn’t even open his eyes, so I go ahead anyway.
Me: I think about way more than just kissing you
Oliver: Now you HAVE to tell me what that means!
Me: Use your imagination Oliver ;)
Oliver: Do you ever think of me when you’re, you know?
Is Oliver asking me if I fantasise about us fucking when I’m jerking off? He is full of surprises today. What next, a dick pic? Guess it’s time to confess.
Me: Yeah, I do. What about you?
Oliver: I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.
The image of Oliver stroking himself to completion while fantasising about me is so damn hot. All that stressing out today for absolutely nothing. When will I ever learn?
I’ve just settled into bed on Thursday evening when my phone vibrates.
There’s been no further trouble from the year twelves, so I’m feeling more settled.
Jake tracked my every move in class yesterday, but he completed his work without a word of complaint.
Hopefully he’s thought better of his behaviour and the detention he received from Principal Williams did the trick.
Now it’s time to look forward and focus on my date with Oliver.
The man is romantic in ways that seem almost old fashioned.
Oliver finds moments to steal touches—like a brush of my hand or a squeeze to the back of my neck—alongside stolen kisses in his office, or the supply room.
He’s gentle and caring in a way I’ve never experienced before.
But he also gets my pulse jumping with his increasingly dirty text messages.
Picking up my phone from the bedside table, I groan when I see it’s a message from Bradley.
Bradley: Hey honey - are you free to catch up for brunch on Sunday? It’s important. I have something I need to speak to you about. We could meet at our spot, say 10?
Oh blah blah blah. My psych keeps encouraging me to be more assertive, so I should reply and tell him that I don’t want to be contacted.
But I honestly think it would motivate Bradley to ramp up his efforts.
I really should delete all those photos on Insta though.
Keeping them might be sending Bradley the wrong message.
“What do you think, Louis? Delete them all?” Louis’s ears prick up, but he doesn’t even bother opening his eyes; his ears drop back down a moment later. “Thanks so much for your input. You’re probably dreaming of Cazaly.”
Louis immediately opens his eyes and sits up, cocking his head to one side.
“You did not just wake up when I said Cazaly.” The pup lets out a little whimper, and I snort a laugh. “I promise you’ll see him soon. Earlier today, Oliver suggested we go to the park again.”
Louis turns around in circle, gives a little bark, then settles back down in his bed.
My phone vibrates again.
This time, thankfully, it’s Oliver. We’ve exchanged texts every night this week. Last night, they were bordering on explicit. Waiting all week to have some privacy and pick up from where we left off last weekend is killing me.
Oliver: Hey Huxley, are you still up?
Me: Yeah – just reading in bed
Oliver: I’m in bed too, thinking about you. About our date.
Me: Yeah? What are you thinking?
My pulse quickens. I like where this conversation is going.
Oliver: About kissing you. And taking things further
Me: Are you sure you’re ready for that?
Oliver: So ready. I can’t stop thinking about how hard you made me last Sunday. How hard you were for me.
Oh fuck! I slip my hand into my PJs, wrapping my fingers around my dick, and stroke it slowly. Texting with one hand is difficult, but I manage.
Me: Are you hard right now?
Oliver: You know I am. Are you touching yourself?
My God how does he know? Guess there’s no point lying.
Throwing the doona back, I scoot out of my PJs.
Me: Yes, are you?
Oliver: Yeah, but I wanna hear your voice. wanna hear you cum
OMG! I tease my cockhead, spreading the precum that’s already leaking from the tip. I imagine Oliver doing the same, his big hand tight around his cock. I roll my balls, then massage my taint, stupidly turned on. Spreading my legs, I find my hole and tease myself, circling the rim.
Oliver: Can I call you?
What? I freeze. The idea is so fucking enticing and yet terrifying at the same time. It’s not that I haven’t sexted with boyfriends before, sent videos, and had sex on FaceTime. It’s that I’ve never done it with someone I wasn’t officially dating. And never before I’ve had sex with them.
I consider it for a minute, slowly jerking my cock, keeping myself hard. For Oliver, who’s never really done anything with a guy before, this might seem less confronting than in person.
I send off a simple yes, then immediately panic. Phone calls make me anxious.
Too fucking late: Oliver is already calling.
“Hey,” I sigh into the phone, pausing my ministrations.
“Hey, Hux,” Oliver replies, his voice husky and out of breath. “Put your phone on speaker so you don’t have to hold it.”
“Okay.” I do, then place it on the bed beside me.
“Wish I was there with you. Fuck, I’m so hard. Wanna touch you, wanna…I wanna taste you, Hux.”
Holy shit. I bite down on my lip, trying to suppress a moan, but it slips out. My hand speeds up. “Oh fuck, Oliver. I’m already so close.”
“Me too. Tell me what you want. Need to know what you like.”
Oliver pants, breathy and so damn sexy. I swear I can hear the slide of lube on a hard cock, which is doing things to me.
I want to tell Oliver the dirtiest, filthiest things.
I want him to know I like getting my ass eaten and that I love riding dick.
I want to share my fantasy of being held down and feeling his weight over me.
But it feels too soon to share that stuff. I need more time and more trust. So I redirect the conversation. “I want you to come, Oliver. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“Oh fuck, Hux. You’re riding me. Bouncing on my cock. Moaning and stroking your dick until you spill all over my chest.”
With that confession, I have no chance.
My orgasm hits hard, and I groan, my body shuddering through the waves of pleasure. Oliver wants to fuck me, and his voice tells me how much he needs it.
I’m still riding out the end of my orgasm when Oliver falls over the edge. He calls out, “Oh fuck, Huxley,” moaning low and long.
Afterwards, the only sound is our heavy breathing.
I’m a mess, with cum splattered all the way from my stomach to my chin.
Damn, that was a good orgasm. But now that it’s over, I'm embarrassed. Thank God we didn’t FaceTime.
And how will we take things slowly on Saturday night now that we’ve done this?
My self-control seems to evaporate when I’m around Oliver Turner.
“Huxley, are you okay?”
“Yeah, are you?”
“Fuck, did we really just do that?”
I can’t help it; I start to giggle. “We did. Are things going to be awkward tomorrow at school?
“I might blush tomato red when I see you. Cos I’ll definitely be thinking about this.” Oliver drops his voice to a whisper, his uncertainty obvious. “Did it feel good?”
“Amazing,” I say, wanting to reassure him. “But we should still take things slowly. This isn’t the same as in person.”
“I know. But being around you is…you know.”
My stomach flip-flops at his words. “Yeah, I do. I feel the same. It’s hard controlling it at school.”
“Exactly. I can’t concentrate half the time when I’m teaching. What are you doing to me?”
I’m glad we’re on the phone because if Oliver saw the ridiculous smile on my face, it would be beyond humiliating. “I’m just being me,” I say.
“Hmm, well I guess I like you. We better get off the phone and cleaned up. Don’t know whether I can sleep now, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Oliver.”
“Night, Huxley.”
I end the call, flabbergasted. Did he just say he likes me? Did we really jerk off and come together on the phone? How is this real life?
I head into the bathroom and hop straight into the shower to clean up. By the time I climb back into bed, my body feels satisfied and sleepy. And there’s another text from Oliver.
Oliver: I’ll be dreaming of you x
My chest aches at the romance of it. I heart emoji the message, not trusting myself to reply, then turn out the light and settle under the doona. “I like you too, Oliver Turner,” I whisper into the night. “Perhaps a little too much.”