Chapter 16
Sitting on the sofa, staring at this massive home, I remind myself that I don’t require excess. My small one-bedroom often feels too much for just Gonzo and me. If I had money like Olan, would I want to live in a home like this? I’m not entirely sure. I think I’d feel lost. And who wants to clean all this? Wait, he probably has someone who cleans for him.
“Sorry about that. I think she was pushing her bedtime with extra stories. Probably because she figured you’d be a sucker,” Olan says as he lands on the other end of the couch.
“Oh, no doubt she was, and no doubt I was.”
“Do you want to watch a movie? Chat? You’re the guest.”
“How about if we watch something we’ve both seen so we don’t have to pay too close attention?”
“Deal.”
Sitting on the sofa with Olan, I’m starting to understand why friendship might be enough. He’s been through many changes in the last few months, and I’m still unsure how he identifies. Bi? Curious? It doesn’t matter. Two friends. Hanging out.
“So, you don’t drink?” Olan asks.
“No.”
“Not at all?”
I shake my head.
“Mind if I ask why not?”
We’re having such a lovely time. I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, so I simply say, “There’s a family history of…” I mime taking a swig from a bottle. “It’s easier. What about you?”
“Same,” he says.
That explains the lack of booze in the house and provides one less thing I need to worry about. Sober friends are always a plus.
We land on a rom-com from the early 2000s we both admit to seeing (maybe I’ve seen it more than once, but Olan doesn’t need to know that).
“So, you’re an engineer or something.”
“Yes, I’m an engineer or something.”
“What got you into that?”
“I guess I’ve always been curious. My dad had this old dead Dodge in the garage. He was always tinkering with it, determined to make it useful. We’d spend hours each weekend on the engine, dismantling it, cleaning it, and reassembling it. I was fascinated with how engines worked and read every book I could find. I think my dad thought I’d be a mechanic. For a time, I did too, but what I truly wondered about was how to make these engines superior, more robust, more efficient.”
As he talks, his eyes light up and sparkle as his hands move more than I’ve ever witnessed. Enthusiasm vibrates off him. He’s so passionate about this and getting him to chat about it appears to have opened something in him.
“I worked extremely hard. Pushed myself. Took as many AP math and science classes as I could. Once Stanford became a reality and not just a fantasy, I knew this was something I could build a life around.”
“Is that how you got to California?”
“Yup. College and my friends in the engineering program became my life. It’s where I discovered who I am. I’m a nerd who loves jet propulsion technology.”
I chuckle and say, “Um, most nerds don’t look like you.”
Warning, friend zone diversion.
“Marvin, I’ll have you know, I’m what’s known as a hot nerd.”
“Excuse me. Did you actually just call yourself hot?”
His eyes dart down, and I recognize this as his tell. He’s blushing. His skin shines, and bashful Olan feels like the sweetest tiny gift.
I begin to recline and move my feet out a little. With the entire couch between us, it feels like a football field separates us. Probably a good thing.
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Make yourself comfortable.”
We turn toward each other, me sprawled out and him with his legs up under him, making him appear slightly taller than he truly is.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks.
“Shoot.”
“If this is too personal, please tell me, and I’ll cease the subject, but you’re young, handsome, and a terrific guy. Why are you single?”
“What I heard is you think I’m handsome?” His eyes dart down again, and this time, I know he’s blushing, and the mischievous part of me relishes it. “What makes you assume I’m single? Maybe I’ve just got myself a new boyfriend.”
Olan’s eyes go wide, and he looks like he’s just seen a ghost.
“I’m kidding. My last boyfriend kind of broke my heart, so I’ve been, I don’t know, recovering, taking it easy.”
“Oh, Marvin. Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
“The short version, he cheated.”
“On you? I’m so sorry,” he says, and leans over and rubs my calf.
“Yeah, not ideal. I walked in on them in our laundry room. Which probably explains my contempt for washing clothes. I gave my heart to Adam and he squashed it, so that was a colossal mistake. Anyway, I’m focusing on teaching. Which, by the way, can consume you if you let it. And it’s not like I meet throngs of men, teaching kindergarten.”
“This data tracks. And you clearly put everything into your job. I know a little about that.”
He pulls his hand away, and my calf yearns for him to return his powerful fingers.
“I guess after Adam I just didn’t know if a relationship was in the cards for me. I tried loving someone, building a life, and it bit me in the ass.”
“It’s probably not fair for me to speak about someone I don’t know, but he must be a fool to have been unfaithful.”
“That’s sweet. And thank you. When he told me, it was less about asking for forgiveness and more about him asking if we could have an open relationship.”
“An open relationship? Like dating other people?”
“Well, for Adam, more like fucking other people, but yes.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, an open relationship doesn’t fit into my framework.”
“Well, coming from someone who literally has only been with one person, me neither.”
My heart flutters, knowing our relationship rudders work similarly.
“My heart broke so quickly, my head couldn’t keep up. It hit me like a punch to the stomach. So, it’s just me. And Gonzo. He’s hoping to keep me all to himself for the foreseeable future. He’s a fantastic cuddle buddy and only requires minimal feeding and scooping of litter, so I’m not kicking him out anytime soon.”
Olan grins, and damn, his lips curl up enough to allow the tiny gap between his two front teeth to peek out at me, making my stomach wobble. Being friends with a hot man you’ve made out with feels like going to a gourmet ice-cream shop and only ordering water.
“What about you? What happened with Illona’s mom?” I’d had no intention of asking him this, but since he brought up my relationship status, why not?
“Oh, it’s complicated. Isabella and I are more… convoluted. We’re still friends. Illona talks to her every few days. We just, well, working together became an issue. For me, not her.”
“Oh. Is that why you sold your company?”
“Partly. I needed… a break. But we can talk about that another time. I’m enjoying myself. Let’s not ruin it.”
He reaches out and pats my foot. Even with my sock blocking direct skin-to-skin connection, I welcome the contact. Jill and I are affectionate all the time. Being friends with Olan might not be as hard as I thought.
The long week catches up to me, and much like my teenage infatuation for NSYNC, I begin to fade. Friday nights are tough, and I slowly close my eyes, relishing Olan’s hand resting on my foot. Olan grabs a blanket draped over the back of the couch and gingerly covers me. The blanket’s warmth, the crackling fire across the room, the lingering smell of pizza in the air, and Olan’s hand resting on my foot all comfort and lull me out.
My eyes struggle to open. Olan lays before me, his feet up on the chaise portion of the sofa, head tilted back, softly breathing, the right portion of his body tucked under the blanket with me. Apparently, once I dozed off, he followed suit. Netflix mocks us with the damn “are you still watching” message. Clearly, no. Peeking at my watch, I see it’s close to midnight. I should be home by now. Carefully, I attempt to get up without disturbing Olan, but he stirs, and one eye, followed by the other, cracks.
“What time is it?” he grumbles.
“Late. Stay put. I’m going to head home. I had a nice time tonight.” I swing my legs off the couch and prepare to stand.
“Stay. We have two guest rooms. Seriously, it’s late.”
“No, I should go.”
Do I want to walk home? Not particularly. I could call for a car. Would I rather spend the night here with him? Duh. But being Olan’s friend needs to happen in baby steps. Hanging out tonight has been lovely, and though I’ve enjoyed myself, I need to limit my exposure to him because, friend zone or not, chemistry gurgles under the surface.
“At least let me call you a car.”
“You’re sweet, but it’s not necessary.”
“Just stay, please.”
His voice shakes when he says “please,” and he moves closer and under the blanket’s cover, gingerly resting his hand on that spot between my thigh and knee he seems so fond of. A jolt of electricity rushes up to my chest, and I worry we’re teetering into dangerous waters. Doesn’t he know the thigh area lies in the erogenous zone? Friends aren’t allowed to put their hands on their friend’s thigh area when said friends are trying to remain in the friend zone.
He’s peering at me now, and I swear, by all that’s good and mighty, I know I’m rusty, and maybe I’m reading him wrong, but I swear there’s an eagerness and urgency, and um, I’m fairly certain he’s eye fucking me. His fingers crawl up my leg, and he takes my hand. The feel of his warm skin on mine leaves me paralyzed with uncertainty. My head tells me to stop. I’m frozen in motion. My heart tells me to carry on.
“I thought we were slowing things down?” I ask.
“Slowing down, yes. Stopping, no.” Have I missed a step? “Marvin, I want to kiss you so fucking bad.”
Apparently, I’ve missed more than a step. I’ve missed an entire flight of stairs. My breath catches, but I manage to murmur, “Oh. Um, okay.”
“Come here,” he says, his voice low and raspy, and I eagerly scoot over.
And his soft lips are on my face. On my cheek, yes, but so close to my mouth. A question, an invitation. At this juncture, I have a choice to make. Push him away and bolt home or succumb. I give a little sigh. If I died tonight, what a shame it would be to abandon this opportunity.
“Are you sure?”
He nods twice and mumbles, “Uh, huh.”
With permission granted, I adjust my face a few inches, and our lips connect, and though we’ve done this a few times now, the fire between us still makes my stomach do an entire gymnastics floor routine. We’re talking flips and somersaults and long sparkly ribbons waving in the air. A perfect ten. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this aroused from simply kissing someone. With Adam, there were sparks but no sizzle. His bravado always left me feeling inadequate, like I wasn’t quite enough. Olan makes me feel like I’m the entire universe waiting to be discovered, explored, and adored.
Being this close to him urges my soul to crawl out of its hiding place. Olan makes me feel protected from all my worries and fears. The act of kissing does something to him, too, clearly. His tongue dances with mine, and he slowly begins to push me down, my back to the sofa, and crawls on top of me.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
Okay? I give you the understatement of the year, and Olan asking me, wanting consent turns me on even more, which I didn’t think possible.
“Omigod, fuck yes. Come here.”
I put my arms around his torso, drawing him to me, urging his lips to stop speaking and get back to kissing. His tongue brushes my teeth, exploring my mouth. He shifts to my ear again, and there’s no hiding how much he excites me. Having Olan on me, all his weight, the pressure of his body, my dick comes to life, blood rushing to it, aching as he gently thrusts against me. I know I shouldn’t push him off me, but – overwhelmed by the sensations, the emotions, and the moment – I do. Shoving him up, he’s now between my legs, on his knees, staring at me. My spit dotting the corners of his lips, he gives me a what now? look.
“Is something wrong?” he asks. The concern in his voice warms my chest.
“God, no. Nothing’s wrong. But, are you sure?” I ask, nodding toward my pants, unable to hide my rock-hard erection.
“Affirmative.” His voice trembles and he points to his own tented pants.
“Sit,” I command.
With his permission, Mr. Block takes over. Olan swings his legs off the couch, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, I’m up, straddling him. On top, my view shifts. I’m now almost a whole foot elevated above him, and he squirms for a second. Taking charge feels necessary, and being in control makes my skin crackle with pleasure.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Uh, yes. Yes. More than okay.”
His hands land on my hips, and mine explore his neck and back. Grabbing at his glorious hair, my fingers knead like a baker working through dough. The noises he’s producing increase in volume as my lips investigate his neck and ear. I continue using my tongue to paint the inside of his ear with affection. He whimpers louder and I suddenly worry about Illona upstairs, hearing her teacher going to town with her dad.
“Illona, I don’t…”
“Hold, please.” He puts a finger up, wiggles out from under me, and shoots up the stairs like a roadrunner zipping through the desert. He flies back to his spot and I give a little laugh at his eagerness and speed.
“She’s out cold. I shut her door. We’re good.”
With this welcome news, I grab his hand and drag him back to a seated position so I can climb back on top and go back to work. He resumes the low moans, and whimpers vibrate through his throat into my mouth, turning me the fuck on. As I work on his ear and neck, I raise my hands in a “put ’em up” position, cupping each of his firm pecs. With his groaning and occasional lick to my neck, I’m confident this is turning Olan the fuck on too.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you.” I’ve paused because, based on his earlier comment, this might be the first time Olan’s been with a man, and it’s important he wants this. I’ve not only stopped the kissing, but my bottom has come to rest on his lap and based on what pokes my ass from his pants, he’s more than into this.
To answer, he takes my right hand off his chest and moves it to the rigidness in his pants. Lord, that’s one way to reply. He’s rock hard, his poor joggers stretched to their limit. This was most definitely not on my agenda for the evening. The surprise in Olan’s pants sends a shock of bliss up my arm, straight to my heart, up to my head, and zips directly to my groin.
“You’re so fucking hard,” I say with glee.
He replies by licking and sucking my neck. I begin to apply pressure, slowly at first, pausing from kissing and shifting my attention to teasing the head of his cock through his pants. Lower noises rumble out of him.
“Olan?”
He lets out a sound that resembles “unh,” and I take it as verification.
“Um, the thing is, well, this will be more challenging with your pants on.”
He angles his head up and replies, “Well, if you’re adept with your hands, you can always make magic happen.”
“Are you being naughty?” I let out a little chuckle.
He grabs my hips and gently lifts me up, not entirely off him, just enough so in one sweeping motion, he can pull his pants and underwear down around his ankles. He gently pushes me back down and places my hand back where it was, now unrestricted by fabric. He’s solid, firm, and the heat from his dick makes my palm sweat. To continue properly, I need to move down to the ground, so I begin to kiss Olan’s chin, progressing slowly down, caressing his entire neck as I lift up his sweatshirt. He lifts his arms to assist, and I pull the damn garment off entirely. I pause for a breath, numb for a moment, taking him in.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
“No. You’re just fucking beautiful.”
I put my hands back on his chest, my fingers now touching his deep ebony skin, and secretly wish I could keep my hands here forever. As I continue my descent, kissing his neck and moving lower, my fingers play with his chest. Finding new ways to titillate him thrills me. My mouth moves to assist my hands. I lick my thumb and slowly tease his left pec. My tongue mirrors the motions on his right nipple, and they promptly respond to my touch, sensitive and alert, eager for attention. He writhes under me and grabs the back of my head, massaging my scalp as I taste the sweet saltiness of his skin.
“Holy fuck, Marvin,” he breathes out.
“Do you like that?”
“No, I love it.”
By his reaction, I’m almost positive no one has ever paid attention to Olan’s chest this way, and I make a mental note about his fondness for it. I continue down, sampling his stomach and licking the small patch of hair surrounding his belly button. The nearness almost overwhelms me. He twitches under the heat and wetness of my mouth.
“Am I tickling you?”
“Um, a little. But please don’t stop.”
He finally settles, all the jumpiness and worries thawing from him as his abs melt into my mouth. Feeling mischievous, I give him a quick zerbert on his stomach, and he releases a low laugh that makes my insides soften.
Finally, I’m on the floor, the area rug beneath me, all of him in front of me. All of him. He’s completely vulnerable, and I feel beyond lucky knowing I may be the first man to witness him in this way. From my new vantage point, I inspect Olan’s cock, and it’s, well, stunning. The perfect Goldi-cock – not too big, not too small, but just right.
He bows his back, his hand on my head raveled in my shaggy mop of curls, as I begin to stroke him. Slowly at first, until he acclimates. The gentle tugs at my hair signal me to open the throttle. I look up, catch his eye, and spit, adding a slickness as his eyes widen.
“Damn,” he moans.
“Okay?”
“Uh-huh. Yup. Definitely, okay.”
I press on, and Olan begins a continual low growl. I peek at his face and he’s watching me, intrigued. He takes his free hand and caresses my cheek. I turn my head slightly and take his thumb in my mouth, sucking on his finger as my hand continues working his slick shaft. Keeping my eyes locked on his face, I watch him bite his lower lip. His hand, now a fist in my hair, latches onto my head. I move closer to spit on his cock again and bump up the speed.
He leans his head back and sways his head a little.
“Marvin, fuck. Oh god, don’t stop.”
I give him a grin, and he slowly starts thrusting his hips up. Yes, sir, I can take a hint. Accepting his invitation, I lick the tip slowly, teasing him as his thighs shudder, and put the head in my mouth. He tastes salty, delicious, and heavenly. Swallowing him slowly, working all of him in, I begin matching his thrusts. This feeling. I’ve never felt this uninhibited. This freedom from worry and self-doubt drives me wild.
“God, I love it,” he purrs.
“Love what?” I say, pausing, wanting him to name it.
“Watching your lips around my dick.”
Feeling his body in the throes of pleasure sends zings of hunger down my chest to my own cock. Right now, gratifying Olan becomes my sole focus. I use my right hand to create a tunnel of flesh, his unyielding cock sliding in and out. He’s still pumping up into my mouth, but he can only do so much from his seated position.
“Do you mind standing?” I ask.
“Oh, um sure. Am I doing something wrong?”
“Hell no. I want you to fuck my face.”
Olan’s eyes go wide. I fear Mr. Block has shocked him.
“I mean, only if you want.”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I want.”
With that, he stands, the pants around his ankles causing him to wobble. I tug at his left cuff, trying to get it off to afford him more balance. “Lift, please.”
And he does. With his one leg free from the pants, I kneel in front of him and place my hands on his ass. It’s firm, slightly fuzzy, and my fingers delight in grabbing it.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yeah. Oh yeah. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Olan, you’re not going to hurt me, but thank you. If it’s too much, I’ll let you know. Now,” I say.
He slides his glorious cock into my mouth, and I move my hands to his hips. Feeling his hesitation, I give him nonverbal direction by pulling and pushing him with increased speed. Once he realizes where I’m leading and that I’m actually requesting this, he takes over, and I move my hands away. His sturdy hands on my head, massaging my curls, occasionally grip fistfuls of hair. My left hand moves to cup his balls, and I gently begin rubbing and applying a small amount of pressure underneath.
“Oh. Damn. You are so beautiful.”
I peek up, and his eyes are fixed on me. Watching me worship his magnificent dick.
“Your cock is beautiful.”
He laughs and says, “Nobody’s ever told me that.”
“Well, take it from me. It’s beautiful. Gorgeous. And delicious, by the way.”
I resume sucking, slurping, and making a sloppy mess of it all. I’m not exactly sure what’s happened or who I am right now, but something about Olan causes me to let go. Unhinge. Go wild. A huge urgency drives me on, reveling in bringing him to the edge. He begins to breathe faster, thighs shaking, hands gripping my hair hard and tight.
“I’m close,” he says, perhaps as a warning, and I switch back to using my hand, his shaft all slick from both my mouth and his own precum, tangy and sharp.
“Fuck, yes, come for me,” I say.
Olan lets out a sudden sound, a deep moan from his throat, full of air and grit, and the sudden punch in his breath as he comes delights me beyond measure. I do my best to catch it all with my hands, but a few drops land on my cheek, tickling my skin as it drips down, eliciting a giggle.
“You’re fucking adorable. And amazing,” he says, joining me with a laugh.
He sits down, his breathing beginning to slow, my head now resting on his thigh, and because I’m slightly mischievous, I grab his dick and pop it in my mouth to make sure I’ve squeezed every ounce out of him. He shutters and begins to shimmy away, so I relent.
“You’re a mess,” he says, nodding toward my hands and face.
“I’m fucking perfect.”
“Yes, you most certainly are.”
Returning from the bathroom, where I’ve cleaned myself up, I drop down next to Olan, who reaches out for the washcloth in my hand. Holding the fabric hostage behind my back, I tease him. “Not yet.”
Leaning forward, I start at his forehead with a soft kiss, repeat it on his nose, lips, and chin and move my lips on the soft spot just below his neck, tasting his saltiness.
“Let me,” I say and take the powder-blue rag and clean him up judiciously, paying careful attention to make sure he’s spotless.
“That was unexpected.”
“You’re telling me,” I say with a sigh.
“What about you?” He reaches up and playfully tugs at the waistband of my pants.
“Just tasting you was enough. Truly. Plus, it’s late, and I’m exhausted,” I say, letting out a big sigh. Between teaching all week and savoring Olan’s cock, I’m spent.
Olan remains reclined, naked, in front of me, and with the frenzy over, I drink in his gloriousness. He’s got one of those bodies I understand exist from magazines and movies. But sitting here with him, I’m not sure how I’m allowed to worship. This is the physique of an athlete, not an engineer, so I’m slightly confused.
“The abs, you get those from all the engineering?”
Embarrassed, Olan covers his face with his hands and reaches for the blanket tossed aside in the commotion.
“What? I mean, all the aerospace stuff really works your abs, right?” I poke his stomach through the blanket to punctuate my point.
“The gym in the basement provides me with an outlet. For stress.”
“Hmm. Maybe I should channel my stress into something other than ice cream?”
“Marvin, you’re adorable.”
“People don’t generally want to fuck adorable. Wait, do you have an adorable fetish?”
“You’re trouble,” he replies and leans over for a kiss. “I exercise to channel my frustrations. I need an outlet, a safe one, and cardio and weight training help.”
“Please, don’t ever ask me to run with you.”
This makes Olan explode with laughter, and having this effect on him warms the cockles of my heart.
“Deal,” he says, pulling his pants up. “Now, as to the business of sleeping…”
“I should go home. I’d be mortified if Illona woke up and was uncomfortable with her teacher here.”
“I think she’d be thrilled. Maybe not if you were in bed with her dad. We’re not there… yet.”
“Where are we, anyway? I mean, I know we’re here, in your house, on the sofa, but where are we ?” I move a hand between us.
Olan takes my hand in his, enveloping it with his strong fingers.
“We’re okay, Marvin. We’re taking things slow.”
“Yeah, here’s the thing, I don’t usually do this,” and I open my free hand to gesture to the entire area we occupy, “with my friends.”
He smiles, and I have the sudden urge to bite his cheek.
“No, I get that. But we’re good. Let’s take things slow and see what happens.” His words ease my anxious heart. “And maybe it’s best if we keep this between us. For now.”
“I think that’s wise. We’re not breaking any rules,” I reply. But he’s the parent of a student in my class. Teacher of the Year and all riding on it. Technically, no rules forbid this, but there’s no reason to go broadcasting it to the world either.
“We’re not?”
“Nope. I checked. Four times. But I agree. Maintaining decorum feels wise. Now, how about one of those guest rooms?” I inquire.
A few minutes later, Olan has taken me to a comfortable room next to his bedroom that I apparently missed the night I watched Illona. We’re still on the opposite end of the long hallway to Illona and Cindy’s rooms which, given the house size, stretches longer than my entire apartment. Like the rest of the house, the room makes my paltry apartment look like a discount store catalog. The king-sized bed calls me, and I’m quite knackered at this point.
Olan lingers by the door, and I sense his tentativeness to leave. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to stay. Or for me to follow him. But his daughter sleeps thirty feet away, and we’ve had plenty of gratification tonight.
“Do you want to, maybe, lie with me? For just a few minutes?”
Olan gives me an of-course-I-do-but-my-daughter-is-right-down-the hallway-and-it’s-complicated look.
“You can’t blame me for suggesting it.”
“How about for ten minutes?”
“Sold!” I whisper-shout.
And we do. Olan sets a timer on his watch and lies on his back. He opens his arm, inviting me to scooch down and rest my head on his chest, which is becoming one of my favorite areas of his body. His strong fingers rub my head, moving my hair around in circles, placing pressure on my skull, and the room begins to fade away.
“I should warn you,” I say, “whenever my head is rubbed or scratched, I get incredibly sleepy.”
“Roll over.”
I rotate away from him, and he drapes his right arm around me, squeezing me, pulling me toward him. The light scratching from his hand instantly relaxes me. This can’t be super comfortable for him, but he does it anyway. “You sleep, and I’ll sneak out and see you at breakfast,” he breathes into my ear.
Curled on my side, enveloped in Olan’s body, him scratching my head, defines bliss for me. Before I know it, I’m out. The following day, I wake to the faintest taste of cherry ChapStick on my lips. I may be alone in this strange room, but I feel like the sun outside the window rises just for me.