41. Megan
Chapter 41
Megan
I have got to stop masturbating and thinking about Ollie, but if he’s going to stomp around the house all moody and possessive telling me ‘the things I’d do to you’ then you can’t blame a girl for getting a little turned on. OK, a lot turned on.
My silly little crush on him is so all-consuming I had to make myself come once last night and twice this morning, just to get all my pent up sexual tension out before spending the entire day with him at his parents' anniversary party. I have a horrible feeling I’m going to regret agreeing to this.
The party begins at four, and Ollie spends most of the morning working on the van while I take a long bath and watch a few episodes of a reality TV show while doing my hair and make-up. When he comes inside to shower after lunch, I walk down the street to pick up gifts for his parents; a bunch of flowers and an expensive bottle of Ruby Port.
Bright sunshine bathes everything, and I feel instantly lighter as I weave my way through people running their errands, too. These are the kind of spring days that make me feel alive. There’s a buzz in the air, and with only two weeks until the Easter break, I feel a sense of hope that I haven’t in a while.
Hattie and I had briefly talked about going away for a few days somewhere, but there hasn’t been any mention of that since she moved in with Rob. It’s probably for the best since going on holiday during school break costs a small fortune, and there are children everywhere. I’ll be better off spending my time at home catching up on reading and giving the house a good spring clean. Then I can get to work refocusing on my goals for the year which, judging by last night, aren’t going well.
Back home, I jump at the sight of Ollie fixing his tie in the hallway mirror. He’s wearing a white shirt with a dark suit that fits him perfectly, broad at the shoulders, hugging his biceps and tailored at his waist. His hair is styled neatly away from his face, he’s freshly shaven, and he looks utterly delicious as he lifts his chin to slide the knot of his tie into place.
“Roses? For me?” he teases. “You shouldn’t have.”
I swallow hard and look away. “They’re for your parents.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, that serious furrow appearing in his brow.
“I’m a guest at their party. Of course, I’m bringing a gift. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but my sister handles that stuff and sends me a bill for my contribution. We’ve bought them dinner at a three Michelin star restaurant in Cambridge.”
“Oh my gosh, Ollie,” I groan, throwing my head back. “Well, that makes my gift look pathetic.”
His palms cup my shoulders with a reassuring squeeze. “I’m their son. You’re a guest they’ve never met before. No offence, but it would be bloody weird if you bought them dinner.”
“Right, OK. Sorry, I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Meeting people. I’m nervous.”
“Babe, you’ve got nothing to be worried about,” he says casually, and when my eyes flash to his, I catch the moment where he realises what he’s just called me. His hands fall back to his sides, and he gives himself a final once over in the mirror. “It’ll be fine. You ready to leave in ten?”
“Yep.”
Leaving my gifts by the door, I disappear into my bedroom to get changed. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if there’s enough time for another orgasm before mentally slapping myself around the face instead.
I’m not doing that anymore, even if the sight of him looking so handsome in his suit means I definitely need a fresh pair of underwear. I slip into my dark green dress that I hope will be suitable for such an occasion and dig my nicest heels out from the back of my wardrobe.
Floor length, with a cowl neck, it makes me feel like a million bucks. A swipe of lipstick is the final touch and then I’m all set.
I expect a compliment, or at least a comment, when I meet him at the door, but he’s too busy fiddling with his cufflinks to notice.
“Right, Miss Porter,” he says, opening the door and ushering me out. “Your chariot awaits.”