43. Megan
Chapter 43
Megan
As the afternoon wears on, Ollie never leaves my side, and he’s becoming freer with his touches. An arm around my shoulders, his thumb stroking mine as he holds my hand to keep up our charade.
He might not know what he’s doing, but I feel it in every nerve of my body. By the time the sun is setting, the combination of champagne, Ollie’s suit, and the constant skin contact are driving me insane. My body is thrumming with need, and I can’t stop smiling when he looks at me, no matter how fake our actions may be.
His hand stays pressed to my lower back while face after boring face forces us to answer the same questions over and over. Ollie keeps his responses short and vague, not wanting to give up anything about himself, his life, or what he’s actually up to these days.
Unfortunately, we find ourselves back in the company of his sisters, and I try not to roll my eyes while we listen to Caroline complain about the service on a recent business trip to San Francisco. Honestly, it must be so awful flying first class.
By my side, Lauren is distracted, and I nearly jump out of my skin when she yells across me. “Mummy, have you met Oliver’s girlfriend yet?”
“Girlfriend?” comes a high-pitched reply. “Where?”
Several guests turn to look at us, and the crowd parts for a tall woman in a deep red dress that hugs her curves. Her blonde hair is expertly styled in an up-do, and she looks like she belongs on the red carpet at some movie premiere. Ollie’s grip on my hand tightens as she strides towards us with purpose.
“Oliver, my darling,” she says, cupping his face and kissing both cheeks. “You made it!”
“Hi, Mum.” He stands up straight and tall. “This is Megan. Megan, this is my mother, Annabelle.”
Before I can offer her my hand to shake, she pulls me in for a firm hug. The scent of her perfume engulfs me, and I know right away it’s an expensive one I could neither afford nor correctly pronounce the name of.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I smile, and when she releases me, I lean into Ollie’s side. After a few drinks and the curse of these heels, it’s partly for show and partly for balance. “Ollie’s told me so much about you.”
“Oh gosh, aren't you a gem.” She rolls her eyes, batting away my compliment. “Unfortunately, my son has told me nothing about you, though you mustn’t take that personally. He never tells me anything, so now you can tell me all about yourself instead.”
I give her the top line stuff; where I’m from, what I do, how we met. She nods along, but her gaze keeps wandering past my shoulder as I speak.
“Darling, I’m so sorry, I’ve just spotted a friend I haven’t caught up with in weeks . You must excuse me. I’ll be back soon.”
She slips past me, leaving us in a cloud of perfume and hairspray that threatens to bring on a sneezing fit.
“So, that was my mother,” Ollie says, shoving his hands into his pockets. The confident, determined man I live with is nowhere to be seen, and I’m baffled by what’s just unfolded. “Probably won't see her again now.”
As far as I know, Ollie hasn’t seen his family since Christmas, so ditching him for a friend she hasn’t seen in a few weeks is incredibly rude. Come to think of it, she didn’t ask him a single thing about himself or how he’s doing. The whole thing is just sad, and when I catch him chewing the inside of his lip, I know he needs some space to breathe.
I tug one hand free from his pocket, slip my fingers through his, and give him a squeeze. “Can you show me your room?”
“Sure,” he says, squeezing back.
Ollie leads me away from the crowds and through the halls in silence. The house is so grand, it's easy to pretend we’re in a historical romance, and he’s some debonair sneaking me out of a ballroom, into the depths of his home, to have his way with me. Ideally, up against some bookshelves in a library with a rolling ladder. They almost certainly have one. Damn him for looking so handsome and planting these ideas in my head.
Up the main staircase, along a corridor, around a corner, and down another, I follow closely until we reach a door at the end of the hallway. His hand falters on the doorknob for a second before he takes a deep breath, pushes it open, and steps inside.
“What the fuck?”
He drops my hand and I peer inside. “This doesn’t look like your room. Did you get lost in your giant Saltburn mansion?”
“This was my room. I had no idea they’d turned it into… whatever this is.”
The walls, ceiling, and tall windows are draped in swathes of gauzy fabric in deep purple with gold embroidery. Two thick mats lay side by side on the floor, surrounded by bowls of water and hundreds of candles. To one side, on a low table, is a row of little bottles of amber liquid, a selection of wicker fans, and bamboo canes of varying thickness. I’m not sure I know what this is, either.
“This looks like something you'd set up when you’re trying to manifest a boyfriend,” Ollie laughs.
“It looks like a sex den.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he moans. “You did not just say that to me.”
I offer him a shrugged apology, but that’s absolutely what it looks like. Stepping further inside, I walk over to the mats and lay face down on one of them.
“See. I bet your dad lies down here and your mum whacks the hell out of him with that cane.”
“Megan.” His tone carries a warning, but the champagne has gone to my head and I’m on a roll here.
“I’m sorry, but it’s true.” I loll my head from side to side to find a comfortable position, then settle for propping myself up on my elbows. “Oh! Maybe they both lie down and pay someone to come in and do it to them both at the same time? That must be why there are two mats. I’ve read a lot of billionaire romances. Rich people love kinky stuff. And group sex!”
Ollie steps closer until I’m face to face with his shiny shoes at the top of the mat. “And what would you know about group sex, Megan?”
The ache in my core tightens. I press up into cobra pose and his jaw ticks. I’m sure he has a view right down the front of my dress and I don’t care, even though I really should. I like the way he looks at me, the anguish written all over his face, like it pains him to be in the same room.
Shifting back into a kneeling position is no better. Ollie parts his lips ever so slightly, and I can’t look away. I know his usual soft, kind self is lurking underneath the suit, but from this angle, he looks handsome and powerful. Dominant.
He looks like a man who’d bark at me to open my mouth, and I’d do it without hesitating. I want to be on my knees for him.
Ollie tugs his tie loose at his throat, and I want to know what that triangle of skin tastes like. How it would feel beneath the press of my lips. I want to know what sounds he would make if I lingered there, if I sucked hard enough to leave a mark.
“Well?” he asks, tapping his foot. “I’m waiting.”
I’m so lost in my fantasies I can’t even remember what he asked me.
Oh right, the group sex.
Shame floods the heat in my belly, and when his gaze intensifies, I feel as though he can see into the murky depths of my desires. I’ve never had the opportunity, never even come close, but I’ve read enough Why Choose? romances to cook up a few fantasies..
The idea of having multiple men focusing on my pleasure at the same time is obviously a turn on. Two, three, more. Nothing but hands and mouths and bodies, just giving and taking and filling me up, turning me into a quivering mess who can’t think straight, who can’t do anything but come until they decide it's time to stop. Sweat pricks at the base of my spine. It’s a fantasy, nothing more, but the way he’s looking at me has me wondering if I just said all of that out loud.
“I don’t… I’ve never… I’m not…” I babble until he extends a hand and helps me to my feet. His hand is warm, and my arousal kicks up a notch when his fingertips graze the delicate skin of my wrist.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” He drops my hand and puts distance between us, clasping his behind his back. “You can probably see now why I’d want to get as far away as possible. I shouldn’t be surprised they cleared my room out. Mum probably paid some interior designer thousands of pounds to do this.”
Slowly it dawns on me that he's expected to be a certain way around these people, and in this house. I’ve only known him a few months and I know this is not him at all.
“You look different here. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either. Everyone here is so fake. Have you seen a single genuine smile today?”
The real Ollie doesn’t care about flashy or expensive things, he’s a man of simple tastes. He likes his home comforts, a place where he can relax and enjoy a delicious meal at the end of a hard day of work, not tiny bites of food on a silver platter. He’s like my dad in that sense, decent and kind.
It makes me happy to know my house is somewhere the total opposite of here, somewhere he can truly be himself, but it makes me wonder why he doesn’t just get a place of his own.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Always.”
“Why are you living with me? You clearly have money.”
He turns away, pushing aside the new makeshift window dressings until he finds a place to perch on the sill.
“My family has money, but none of it's mine if I'm not playing by their rules.” He hangs his head, running his fingers through his hair and fluffing it back into its usual state. “My sisters all got a deposit for a house when they graduated. When I told my parents I wanted to go to college for construction instead of doing some bullshit degree I had no interest in, my father didn’t speak to me for months. Mum took his side, and when I moved out, he made it clear I’d be supporting myself.”
Words fail me. I know I’ve been incredibly lucky to have the love and support of my parents, but I can’t imagine anyone being so cruel to their child just because they didn’t agree with their outlook on life. What parent wouldn’t want their child to be happy above all else? It’s desperately sad that they don’t want to see him follow his dreams.
I cross the room until I’m standing right in front of him. He tips his head back, shifting his pout from one side to the other. Cupping his face happens without thinking. He nuzzles into my touch, his eyes fluttering closed. I brush my thumbs over his smooth cheeks, fingertips curling underneath the sharp line of his jaw. He has such a beautiful face, and it’s an honour to admire him up close.
He shifts one of his legs, his knee falling to the side, his ankle hooked behind mine, pulling me in. Eyes still closed, he drops his head forward to rest against my stomach, and my fingers snake their way through his hair. I hold him close and he hums softly.
In our time living together, there’ve been more than a handful of occasions where I’ve needed a hug, and Ollie has given them without me even needing to ask. This is the least I can do to repay him for all the kindness he’s shown me.
I close my eyes too, and we stand there for a while. Two figures in the window. Me stroking soft, silky locks, him running his thumb along the spot where the seam of my dress hugs my hip.
“Come on,” he huffs out eventually, standing and composing himself. “There’s something I want to show you that they definitely won’t have fucked with.”