38. Ollie
Chapter 38
Ollie
Megan has a date tonight, and it’s all I can think about. She mentioned it casually before heading to bed last night, but was light on details, which only pisses me off more. It’s none of my business what she does with her life, and I know it would be good for her to meet someone, but I fucking hate it.
The thought of her being by herself when I leave is awful, but the thought of anyone putting their hands on her, kissing her, getting to hold her at the end of a long day is worse. It makes me want to rip my eyes out, and that’s before I even torture myself with the vision of someone else getting to undress her.
My brain flits between these two thoughts to the point of distraction, which is a problem on any day, let alone one where I’m plastering walls.
“How’s Megan getting on?” Mr Porter asks when we take a quick tea break.
I know we had an unspoken agreement that I’d keep an eye out for her. He’s a good dad, caring and protective, but talking about her feels like betraying her trust now we’ve grown close. I’m hardly going to tell him about how many nights we’ve ended up hanging out together, or that she’s started dating again.
And I’m definitely not telling him I know what her pretty moans sound like from the other side of the wall, or how much I look forward to that nightly occurrence. Lately she's been going for a second round, as if I wasn't already suffering through the first one.
“Bit stressed about the kids' exams, I think, but she’s good.”
He dunks a biscuit into his tea before shoving the whole thing into his mouth. “She gets herself far too worked up about these things, but she’s always been very dedicated.”
Yeah, dedicated to driving me nuts.
Part of me wants to avoid going home, but piecing together what she’s told me about her ex, this will be her first date in years, and I bet she’s feeling nervous. If she needs a pep talk, then I’ll do the decent thing and try my best, but I also want to remind her she doesn’t have to go along with anything she doesn’t want to do.
The shower is running when I arrive, so I change out of my work clothes and fuss around in the kitchen while she gets ready.
“I’m heading out, Ollie,” she calls out a while later. I take a deep breath and steel myself to say goodbye.
Fucking hell.
I take back what I said about preferring her in loungewear. The woman looks amazing in leggings and old t-shirts, of course she was going to look like a smokeshow all dressed up with her make-up on and her hair tied up in a way that exposes the length of her neck and her collarbone.
“Wow, you look amazing.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I think.”
Her black dress has those thin little straps that were made for slipping off, hugs all of her curves and finishes mid-thigh. If she bent over in it, I'm certain I’d get a perfect view of everything underneath. She gives me a twirl I never asked for, and a view of her bare back where the dress dips down low.
I’m never getting over this.
“Does my hair look OK? Or do you think I should wear it down?”
“Both are good,” I mumble.
“Well, it’s one or the other,” she laughs softly, but I can’t think about her hair because I’m too busy looking at her tits.
She props herself up against the doorframe as she slips her foot into shiny heels that make her legs look even more incredible. My hands ball into fists at the thought of bringing her home and taking her to bed in nothing but those shoes. What it would be like to grip the back of those calves and push her knees up and apart.
“Won’t you be cold?”
“I’ll wear a coat,” she says, tottering to her room to grab one and slipping it over her shoulders. “What do you have planned tonight?”
Fisting my cock the second you walk out of the door thinking about how good your tits look in that dress, probably.
“Oh, I’ll just be working on the van. The solar panels arrived. I’ll stay out of your way if you want to bring him back here.”
Her eyes flash with panic and I wonder why the fuck I’ve said that? I’ll lose my mind if I have to see some other guy look at her the way I wish I could.
She fixes me with a stern glare. “I’m not bringing a guy home on the first date. It’s just a drink.”
I follow her to the front door and watch her check her lipstick in the mirror. Her daintily wiping the edge of her wide open mouth is not helping. Her stomach rumbles so loudly we both look down at it.
“Have you not eaten?”
“I’m too nervous to eat. I thought I’d better not in case he suggests dinner.”
“You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach,” I warn her.
“OK, Dad,” she snorts, snatching up her little purse from the side table and heading out of the door. “Are you sure I look good enough?”
“Give me another twirl.”
Don’t look down.
Don’t look down.
I look. And it’s fucking perfect, too. Fuck, I wish it was me taking her out. Why have I been lounging about in the house with her all these nights when we could have dressed up and gone out?
“You’re perfect.”
She slips her coat on and unlocks the door. I just stand there.
“Have a nice time.”
“I will. Leave the light on for me,” she calls back, throwing me a wink that’s like a bolt of lightning straight to my dick.
I’d never wish ill on Megan, but I desperately hope the guy is a no-show and she’s back here within the hour.