Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
BETH
I definitely needed another shower after my trip to the market. I shouldn't have been as soaked as I was, but apparently, all I need to be ready to go is for Oliver Doyle to look at me as if we're the only two people in the world.
My pussy must be broken.
Judy would have me committed if she knew the unholy ways I want that man or the different fantasies I have where he is the main star.
What the hell would Nigel do if he knew? I shudder to think.
I pull on the raggedy t-shirt I've been sleeping in lately that falls just below my ass and make sure my panties are in place before leaving the room. The house is still silent as I walk down the stairs and head for the kitchen, but stop short when I see the one I should be avoiding like the plague. Not only is he in the kitchen, but he leans back against the counter without a fucking shirt, exposing miles of tight muscles and the most glorious canvas I've ever seen.
My heart races from my stomach to my throat over and over from the idea of having another conversation with him so soon. I've never been the nervous type, but since the first time I looked into his icy blues, he has instilled that in me repeatedly. Nervousness and fear doesn't stop me though.
"I didn't realize anyone was here," I say as I walk into the room and his eyes lift, a cigarette in his mouth.
He doesn't speak, but he watches every move I make like he always does. Oliver removes the smoke from his mouth and lets a stream of smoke leave his lips. It falls down his body and I barely manage to stop the shiver running through me to be shown.
I feel thirsty all of a sudden.
I pull open the fridge to grab the things I was planning to cook for dinner when he opens his mouth. "How long have you been fucking Martin?" His voice skates across the room to me and my head snaps around.
"What did you say?"
He raises a brow at me and a heavy weight settles in my stomach.
Shit. He did hear mine and Martin's conversation.
"How long?" he presses again.
I close the fridge back and push my hands down on the table, not allowing my gaze to waver at all from him. "I'm not, period. Next question."
"That's not what I heard you say at the market." He lifts his cigarette back to his lips.
"Then, you weren't listening closely enough. Eavesdropping is not your strong suit and neither is stalking."
He drops his cigarette in the empty sink without removing his gaze from me and he pushes himself away from the counter. "I wasn't eavesdropping and I'm not stalking you or Martin."
"Sure, you're not." I roll my eyes. "I don't believe in coincidences and you popping up while I was there seems a little suspicious." I actually do believe in coincidences, but not where he's concerned. Could he have been there to pick something up? Sure, but it's doubtful. He could've gotten food at any of the fast food establishments in the area.
He presses his hands against the table, mimicking my stance, but his expression remains unfazed, like it always does. I'm pretty sure this man still looks unbothered when he's screwing, which I would've known for sure if he hadn't bent me over the hood of his car when he split me from pussy to ass.
"I'm not stalking you. I was picking up an order my boss placed with the bakery for the receptionist's birthday, not that it's any of your business, princess."
I'm not so sure he's telling the truth, but not even his voice wavers at all. Maybe he is being honest. It's plausible, but I doubt it's true.
"Sure, you were and I'm Lady Tremaine."
His eyes narrow with irritation as his mouth sets in a thin line. "Don't jump around the subject. What were you and Martin talking about if not you screwing around on Nigel?"
I take a deep breath as he walks around the table before standing in front of me. I don't speak, even as he stares down at me intimidatingly.
"Well?" he presses.
"I'm not screwing around on Nigel, okay? Let's get that straight first. This was…before I moved to Grove Hill." I take a seat on the table as I push my wet hair out of my face and Oliver stands over me, waiting for me to continue. "Two weeks before I moved here, I went to a bar with some of my friends. They were moving out of state the next day and it was our big send off. I got really drunk and blacked out. The next morning I woke up in my bed. My friends told me I hooked up with a guy they'd never seen before in his car. The only evidence I had other than the jizz between my legs was a piece of paper with a phone number and some initials: M.G. I never cared to call the number, but I put it in my phone just in case I needed it."
"M.G. meaning Martin Gray?" he presses.
"I guess. I mean, it makes sense now why he thought he had a right to grab my ass the first time I saw him after I moved here. He thought I remembered what happened and was just pretending I didn't. I really don't remember any of it." I meet his eyes. "Are you going to tell Nigel?" I ask and for the life of me I can't figure out why it feels like I'm waiting to be grounded.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks, completely avoiding the question.
“What?” I blanche because his question throws me off that much.
“Did Martin hurt you that night? Did you have any bruises?” he presses, his expression so serious it gives me pause.
“No. I wouldn’t have even known I had sex at all if it wasn’t for the evidence on my thighs in the morning.”
He hums under his breath, but doesn’t explain.
“Why would you ask that?” It’s my turn to push him for answers.
He lets out a long breath. “The guys–Nigel specifically–have had a close eye on Martin Gray for a long time. Any woman who spends any kind of time with him privately is always seen with bruises afterward. Some are even hospitalized. None of them would talk about what happened to them as if they were either paid for their silence or scared of what would happen to them if they talked.”
My eyes widen from this revelation. “You think Martin has been hurting them?”
Oliver quickly shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I never did. He’s harmless. He keeps a mask in place to keep people from seeing what’s underneath, but based on what you’ve said, it’s all the evidence needed to know for certain he’s not the one hurting those women. He was given the perfect opportunity to hurt an unsuspecting victim and he didn’t take it. Any predator would.”
“What does that mean though?” I know what it is, but I need to hear him say it so I know my mind isn’t messing with me.
Martin Gray didn’t hurt me at all. Not the slightest bit.
“He’s not hurting anyone, but he is either protecting the person who is or he’s a victim himself.”
My heart accelerates as I think back on everything I know about Martin Gray. When he grabbed my ass at the fight, he probably thought it was okay because he had no idea I didn’t remember what happened between us. That’s understandable.
Then, there’s him instigating Nigel in the ring.
I remember my dad once telling me about a patient he had that would pick fights with random people after they were abused by their partner. My dad described it as one of the worst forms of self-harm he had ever seen. Self-harm is horrible, but in a lot of situations it’s a controlled variable. It’s not controlled when you involve someone else in the equation.
It’s true. Martin Gray is a victim of abuse and that leaves me with the sense of him being a kindred spirit.
“You didn’t answer my question.” I move away from the subject of Martin. “Are you going to tell Nigel?”
"And, why would I do that? Telling him doesn't benefit me in any way. I can keep a secret. Plus, I kind of like having you around."
I look up at his face and see his expression still unchanged.
He likes having me around? Why?
We've only interacted a few times and he mostly stays silent around me unless we're alone, like now.
"Are you sure you don't just like fucking me?" I taunt him and his eyes narrow as he lifts a handful of my hair, running his thumb over the strands.
"You're right. Maybe that's it."
God, he's such an ass. He had the chance to say something sweet or disarming, but no, he went with that. I open my mouth, intent on giving some sassy rebuttal that was more likely to get me spanked than anything else, but Oliver's mouth slams down on mine, hard, demanding, and dominating.
My body tenses and relaxes simultaneously as he grips the hair at the base of my skull. He deepens the kiss, taking more and more of any resolve I would've had.
I've never been kissed in such an animalistic way, like he's trying to eat me alive and spit me out when he's done. I shouldn't be accepting his kisses or grabbing him just as desperately. I should push him away.
This is crossing a line and who knows what Nigel would do if he knew his best friend was touching me like this. The threats he has made are prevalent in my mind, but I can't stop. This is everything I've been fantasizing about since the last time he touched me.
Oliver uses his free hand and shoves the stack of clean, ceramic plates off the table. They break against the linoleum and my body jumps from the surprising sound, but the move just presses my body up against his. He growls against my lips as my nails dig into his bare back.
Suddenly, Oliver pulls out of the kiss and pushes me back onto the table, my spine vibrating from the impact. His eyes are wild in a way I've never encountered as he grabs my knees and yanks me to the edge of the table.
His cock, hard as steel, stabs my cunt through his jeans and the moan that escapes me is the most embarrassing sound I've ever made, but I'm too full of lust for the horror to take full effect.
I want him so bad.
He pushes the shirt up my stomach and, unlike other times I've had my top part undressed, the thought of this man seeing me exposed doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. As the shirt comes over my head, I feel empowered, sexy, unstoppable.
He trails rough kisses full of teeth and tongue from my throat, across my collarbone, and he nips the swell of my breasts. I whimper as he grabs my hips in his large hands and grind himself against me. His hand snaps up and wraps around my throat as his teeth dig into the flesh of my nipple.
I swear, he's going to make me come before he's even inside me.
I arch my chest into his mouth as I tangle my fingers in his hair, anchoring my body to his in the only way I can. He pushes his only free hand inside my panties. I gasp as he pushes two fingers inside me, curling them just right. He tightens his finger around my throat, cutting off my air for only a moment before he loosens his hold, simply a warning like everything he does always is.
A warning for the damage he could inflict if he ever lost grip of his control.
He pops my nipple out of his mouth before moving up to me, pressing his forehead against mine. He growls as his digits pick up tempo, taking more and more with every stroke. My jaw slacks as I grind against his palm, taking as much as I can.
"Who's pussy is this?" he rasps in my face and I drink up every breath he releases.
"Yours," I moan, but he shakes his head.
"No, no, no, princess. It's not mine." His stormy blues take my gaze hostage as he slams his fingers into me and I cry. I cry because it hurts so good and in all the right ways. "It's yours and you're giving it to me."
Oh, my god. Why is that so hot?
"Now, who's pussy is this?" he demands as he swipes his thumb across my clit and my vision blurs for a moment.
"Mine," I moan.
"Good fucking girl. Now…" he trails off as he pulls back and releases my throat. Oliver pulls his fingers out of me and rips the hem of my panties in a hurry before pushing the fabric out of his way. "… I need this fucking cunt." He hooks my legs in his hands and holds them apart as he drops down, trailing kisses up my thigh.
My fingers tighten in his hair more as he teases me, sending shockwaves to my pussy with every nip, every lick, and suck on my flesh leading to my cunt.
I whimper and let out a loud gasp as he swipes his tongue along my opening.
"Fuuuuck," he curses and my hips jolt.
"What's wrong?"
No one has ever said that from tasting me and it's the last thing I expected the first time he eats me out.
"Nothing is wrong," he groans before licking up my slit and to my clit. "I just found the tenth wonder of the world."
I blanche, trying to catch my mind up with what he's saying.
"What about Wonders eight and nine?"
There are seven wonders of the world. Where did he get the number ten from?
He digs his teeth into my thigh and my jaw drops from the shock, my hips pistoning toward him like a magnet force was just unlocked. "Eight and nine also belong to your body. Eight was your smartass mouth and nine was your perfect ass."
I think I just found my new favorite praise. If a man isn't saying that my pussy, ass and mouth are three wonders of the world to add to the list, I don't fucking want it.
He throws my legs over his shoulders before wrapping his hand around my throat, and he fucking devours me. He licks, sucks, and bites my clit as if it's his last meal and I come harder than I remember ever doing before. I come while screaming his name at the top of my lungs until my voice cracks from the strain.
Oliver stands to his feet and pulls me to him by my throat before slamming his mouth down on mine. His tongue connects with mine and my head spins as I taste myself on his tongue. I work on his jeans before pushing them down over his ass.
I really hope no one interrupts this.
"Tell me you want me," he demands as he releases my mouth. Using his free hand, he teases my pussy with the head of his ungodly cock and I moan with him barely not touching my lips. I bet he can taste my breath from this close.
"I want you so bad. Please."
"Tell me what you want then," he presses, his voice full of need.
"I want you to fuck me. Make it hurt, Oliver."
Then, he slams his cock inside me, even rougher than the first time, and I cry from the pain of being stretched and torn and all the pleasure that comes along with the torment.
"You can call me Ollie," he whispers as I thrust back against him, making sure he's fully inside me. I need every last inch of him.
Ollie? That's what the guys call him. Nigel said he only lets those close to him call him that. He said he once nearly beat a man to death for using that nickname because he didn't give him permission to call him that.
Only those close to him.
He sees me as one of those people. I fucking matter to this psychotic man. This thing I've felt between us isn't one-sided at all. He feels it, too.
"Ollie," I moan. The nickname feels good as it falls from my lips. Perfect, even.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull myself up before stealing a kiss. Every touch, every thrust, every second is magnetic. I tangle my fingers in his hair as he picks me up in his arms, still buried balls deep inside me, and slams my back against the wall.
My cunt vibrates as he slams into me again. "Oh my god," I cry as he removes his mouth from mine.
"God-fucking-dammit," he growls as he thrusts harder and faster into me, his fingers digging into my hips to the point I know I'll have very telling bruises in the morning. "Your pussy is heaven, princess."
"Fuuuck." I'm so close. A few more strokes and I'll surely come apart in a way that will be embarrassing in the morning.
Then, the front door opens and a loud gasp escapes me.
Oh, god, no.
With zero time to consider the right thing to do, Ollie grabs the back of my head and presses my face into his chest, like his body has the capability to hide the identity of the woman he is fucking within an inch of her life.
I have no idea who it is, but anyone witnessing this spells trouble.
"Seriously, Ollie! We eat in this kitchen!"
"Couldn't you have taken this to the bathroom?"
Of course, it would be Ronan and Charlie that would walk in on us.
"Get out! I'm fucking busy, dipshits!" Ollie enunciates his point by thrusting into me again and I can't control the volume of the moan I release as a result.
Is he crazy?
If they realize I'm the one who's organs he is rearranging, we'll both be in big trouble.
"At least do it in the damn bathroom, man. My girlfriend doesn't need to see your ass or hers." Then, I listen closely as they leave the room and I relax.
"That was a close one," I whisper to myself.
It was a little too close for comfort, but if I thought that would be enough to kill the mood for Oliver Doyle, I would be underestimating him. He was probably just irritated from the interruption. Fucking psycho.
Ollie slams his cock inside me, rutting into me, matching the pace of my steadily increasing heart rate. He continues even as I dig my nails into his back, skin and blood coming up with it.
"Ollie, oh, fuck," I cry out as he grunts in my ear, the noise vibrating down my spine.
"You're making a fucking mess."
And who is the one using his monster cock to get such a reaction from me? Oh, right. Him .
* * *
"Come on, Beth. You don't have to do that," Oisin mutters as I pick up the big chunks of broken plates off the ground. My eyes snap up as he puts the plastic plates on the table. Ollie leans against the counter, fully clothed this time, with Ronan on one side and Charlie on the other. "Ollie made the mess with whoever he was fucking earlier. He can clean it up."
"Yeah, you did enough by cooking."
I keep my poker face in place as I stand up, carrying the broken pieces to the trash. My gaze finds Oliver's but he seems just as unmoved as I am.
It's okay. They don't know it was me.
Our secret is safe.
I grab the broom and dustpan. "I don't mind. It's better to clean it up than someone getting hurt. These pieces are pretty sharp."
"Seriously, man. Why the kitchen?" Charlie laughs.
Because we were a little too caught up in the moment to move it anywhere more private.
"You really need to get over your whole no one comes in my room thing, man," Oisin mutters while shaking his head. "Either that or move the fuckfest to the bathroom or your car."
What? Oliver doesn't let anyone in his room. Why? Is it a personal space thing or just a general boundary?
"We all can't be like Ro." I take a jab at my friend's boyfriend who looks at me confused. "You let everyone into your personal space."
Charlie throws his head back laughing. "Oooo, burn!"
"Don't throw your daggers at me. I didn't do anything!"
I roll my eyes before putting the cooled down pot in the middle of the table. "I bust everyone's balls. Just because you're dating my best friend doesn't make you exempt."
"Be careful there, Mercer. Judy can be pretty feral," Oisin warns as he drops a handful of forks on the table, giving me the first smile I've ever seen on him. "She has nails."
I arch a brow at him as I put down a stack of cups, accentuating my words carefully. "And, I have claws…and a knife." I lift the hem of my skirt just enough to reveal the knife I have strapped to my thigh.
"Why…are you carrying that around?" Ronan asks, looking a bit uneasy. Actually, the only one who doesn't is Ollie himself.
"Because sometimes claws aren't enough." Really, what other reason would there be to carry a deadly weapon? I'm not planning to kill anyone, but if it comes down to me or them, I'll choose me. It's not a hard choice to make.