49. Megan
Chapter 49
Megan
I rummage in the living room but my clothes are a mess. I don't know what's appropriate attire for a night sharing a bed with the roommate, but I settle on a pair of shorts and the hoodie I never gave back. Ollie disappears into the bathroom, and I sneak into his room and burrow under the covers.
Apart from the slow dripping from my bedroom, the only other sound is my heart pounding out of my chest while a million questions whirl around my mind. Should I change into something more sexy? What does Ollie even find sexy? Should I surprise him by getting naked? Should I pretend to be asleep? It wouldn’t be hard, I’m bone tired after the past twenty-four hours.
There's no time to make a decision before he reappears in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips, his skin still damp from his shower. He’s roughly dried his hair, and it hangs in those beautiful curls, one falling over his eyebrow just begging to be pushed back.
“Sorry, I forgot to take clothes in with me,” he mumbles. I roll away to give him some privacy while he changes, wishing I was the sort of person who was bold enough to watch him without shame. Hattie would have zero qualms about looking.
The bed dips behind me when he climbs in and settles into a comfortable position on his back.
“Sorry, I wasn’t sure which side you sleep on,” I whisper over my shoulder while he adjusts the blankets.
“Usually in the middle, but this is fine.”
I stare at the wall in silence, never more unsure of myself. Ollie sighs, and flicks off his bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. He lies stiff as a board behind me, careful not to breach some invisible boundary line that I’m desperate for him to ignore.
“Goodnight then. Again,” he says.
“Goodnight.”
That can’t be it. Not after everything that’s happened today. I figured we’d both get a good night’s sleep in our separate beds and talk in the morning, but lying inches apart in dead silence is unbearable. Two people who shared a kiss that hot can’t act like strangers. Or, at least, I certainly can’t.
I thought I’d made it obvious when I asked him to sleep in the same bed as me, but if he won't take the lead like before, perhaps I need to make my feelings even clearer. Ignoring my nerves, I scoot back until my bottom meets his hip.
Ollie swallows hard, but does nothing. I inch back a little further, then further again. Finally, he moves, rolling to gently shake my shoulder.
“Megan, wake up,” he whispers.
“I am awake.”
“You’re backing up against me. Are you warm enough?”
My lips roll together, and I bury my face in his pillow to hide my smile. His hand stays perfectly still on my shoulder.
He cannot be that stupid.
“I’m warm enough. Are you?”
“Yeah, but if I’d known you’d be such a bed hog, I might not have agreed to share.”
“Oh, am I?” His hand is still there, so I shift again. Once he’s practically spooning me, I tip my hips back, rubbing against the front of his shorts. The breathy groan that rumbles out of him warms the back of my neck, sending a zip of electricity down my spine. It only spurs me on. “Well, if you want me to get back over to my side, you might have to put me there.”
“Megan,” he says sternly, and I roll over to face him. He’s in a t-shirt now, faded but clean, with a little rip in the collar. Before he moved in, I’d have found it a turn-off. Now I want to grab hold of it and rip it more.
I can just make out his features in the darkness, his eyes scanning mine. He must know what this is. Our faces are so close. My heart beats out a plea, desperately hoping he’ll make the first move again.
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
The silence drags on while we watch each other.
“Earlier,” I whisper, and he waits for me to elaborate. “The kiss.”
“What about it?”
“You’re a good faker.”
His mouth pinches into a hint of a smile, and my toes curl in response. “There was nothing fake about it.”
Oh. Thank god.
“I liked it.”
“Do you want to do it again?” he asks, and I nod, so close the tip of my nose almost brushes against his. “Then ask me.”
Even in the dark, I can see the teasing smirk on his face. I don’t want to ask, I want him to take the lead. I want to feel like he’s as desperate to touch me now as he was then.
Two can play at being dummies, Ollie.
I run a fingertip along the length of his collarbone, dipping in the middle, then sweeping up the other side. “I’m not good at asking for what I want, remember?”
“Bullshit.” His hand comes up to grip my chin between his finger and thumb. “You walked into a pub full of strangers and asked for a lift home, which you are never allowed to do again, by the way. You asked me to sleep in here with you.”
I hold my breath when he sweeps the pad of his thumb across my lip then presses harder, nudging it from side to side.
“I didn’t have your permission the last time, so if you want me to kiss you, you'll have to ask.”
“Fine,” I huff, rolling away. “Forget about it.”
I curl my body into a ball, right up at the edge of his mattress. He tries to suppress his laugh, but it comes out as a little snort.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m not going to beg you to kiss me.”
“ Boo ,” he teases, hooking his fingers into the waistband at the base of my spine. “Get back over here.”
He drags me across the bed until my back hits his chest, his arm wrapping around me, holding me in place. His laugh tickles when he buries his face into my neck, and though it’s heavenly, it still makes me squirm.
“No! Stop!” I shriek, wriggling against his grip.
He releases me right away, his tone turning serious. “Shit, sorry, I was just playing. I thought you did want me to kiss you.”
“I do,” I wheeze. “I’m just very ticklish.”
Rolling back into him, I find myself even closer than before. His hand cups my waist, squeezing me gently through the soft, worn fabric of his hoodie. We stare at each other, chests rising and falling as we take a beat to calm down.
I've been sneaking glances at Ollie for weeks now. Nothing too obvious, mostly watching when he’s not looking. The way his body moves, the way he hums to himself, the way he’s so at home here. Now that I’m lying in his bed, I wish he’d left the light on so I could take in every detail.
He curls a loose strand of my hair around his finger, tugging it gently while his eyes take their own tour of my face.
“Well? I’m waiting,” he whispers.
I pout and jab him with my knee, but he shifts quickly, trapping it between his. His thighs are heavy and warm, and the heat spreads through my leg like wildfire. When I opted for shorts, I had no idea I’d end up with my legs tangled around his, but I’m sure glad my full length fleecy penguin pyjamas were nowhere to be found.
I don’t know how long we lie like this; his mint-fresh breath dancing against my lips, hands moving slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll spook me and I'll bolt. At some point, my fingers find their way into his hair, too, and it's so soft, it calms me more. I twist them through the strands at the nape of his neck and the sound of his moan makes me moan, too.
Ollie draws a line across my cheek with the tip of his nose, driving the ache inside me. I wonder how long he would let this go on, the teasing, the waiting. My patience wouldn’t fill a thimble.
Every sensation has me craving him more and more, until suddenly it’s unbearable, and if he doesn’t kiss me soon, I’m not sure I’ll survive the next thirty seconds, let alone the night.
“You're being such a pain right now,” I huff out.
“Ask nicely .” He tugs that strand of hair a little harder, his other hand fisting the waistband of my shorts, keeping me close.
“Please kiss me, Ollie. Please?”
“Hm.” His nose strokes up to my hairline. He nudges my hair out of the way and when his breath coasts over the shell of my ear, a needy whimper escapes me. “I’m not sure that was nice enough.”
“Now you’re just being cruel.” I shove my palms against his chest, but his grip is stronger. I’m not going anywhere. “You’ve had your chance, and you’re blowing it.”
It's an empty threat, but it works. Then there’s nothing between us, not a breath or a whisper, just his lips on mine as he surges forward and ends our standoff.
I wasn’t sure he could beat the kiss from this afternoon, but this one is special, soft and unhurried. Ollie takes his time, kissing my bottom lip, then the top one. The side of his thumb rubs at the skin on my hip while his other hand slips into the hair at the back of my neck. I bask in the sensation of having him touch me so delicately. I was ready to sleep for a week, now I've never felt more alert.
His other thumb finds that spot on my chin again, and he guides my mouth open to deepen our kiss. Every new touch has a domino effect. His tongue strokes mine, I moan against it, his hips jerk, my hands tug his hair harder, needing him as close as possible.
Ollie skims one hand up my side, sneaking underneath his hoodie, until his thumb meets the curve of my breast and he pauses. I arch into him, and it’s all the permission he needs to keep going. He fills his palm, his fingertips circling over the hard point of my nipple. He pinches and I grind against his leg.
His moan is full of anguish. “Fucking hell. You've been hiding these under my hoodie the whole time?”
“You said I could keep it. It’s mine now.”
He squeezes me harder, then releases, and because my brain always recalls the stupidest things at the worst time, I think about the way he dropped my hand in the pub and can’t hold back my laughter.
He pulls back enough to examine my face. “What’s so funny?”
I compose myself, stroking my hand down his cheek until it rests on his warm chest. God, I really wish he slept naked. I want to touch him so much.
“You called me your landlady earlier. Is that what I am to you?”
“Well, you kind of are,” he sighs, shifting the focus of his kisses to my cheek. “You might not charge me rent, but I follow all your rules.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff, and he tugs the collar of his hoodie to one side to trail kisses along the slope of my neck.
“Is this breaking a rule?”
“I’m not sure we ever talked about rules when it comes to…” I struggle to find the right word, but there’s only one that fits. “Us.”
“Should we talk about it now?”
I don’t want to talk. Talking sounds serious, sounds like coming to our senses, sounds like building up a wall that I’m glad we’ve knocked down.
“Tomorrow.”
I roll my hips against him, cupping his face to bring his mouth back to mine. Ollie shifts, tugging me underneath him, kisses turning frantic, while he finds a comfortable position hovering above me. He shoves his hoodie up, exposing my breasts, and I keep my hands in his beautiful hair while he admires me.
It's quite something, the way his expression shifts from reverence to pain, as though he can't bear to be this close and not do anything about it. He presses his forehead to my sternum and shudders out his low praise.
“Fuck, you’re so hot.”
This constant shifting between fast and slow has me drowning in need. He circles my nipple with the tip of his tongue, and I whimper when he blows cool air across the wet skin. One of his knees nudges my leg wider, up and out to the side to make space for him between my thighs. The solid length of him pressed against the seam of my shorts has me moaning again. I want his mouth back, and I'm not above begging now.
“Kiss me more.”
He sucks at my lip, and I bite him just hard enough to make him groan. His hips surge, an upward drag that hits me at the perfect angle.
“More,” I plead, and he does it again, his hand finding its way back up to my breast, pinching and rolling my nipple until I’m pushing back against him.
The friction between us has my entire body lit up, and I hitch my knees up to his hips, making more space for him to grind against me. One hand grips the back of my thigh, pressing it higher and hard enough to leave a bruise. I hope he does. The other fists my hair, pulling my head back far enough for him to lick at my throat.
My hips find their own rhythm, grinding against his erection in small circles, begging for release while my mouth keeps me anchored to him. Ollie keeps thrusting, and the sensation is everything, but it’s his guttural moan that tips me over the edge.
“I… I…”
I can’t get the words out, tensing beneath him, gasping for air, then shattering into pieces. My entire body shudders, clinging on for dear life as my orgasm rockets to parts of me I didn't know it could reach.
“Oh fuck, Megan,” he moans, dropping his forehead to mine, hot breath against my tingling cheek. “Did you just—”
“Yeah,” I pant, squeezing my eyes closed, fingers still digging into his shoulders as the aftershocks ripple through me.
I want more, need more, but when I trail my hands down to the waistband of his shorts, he pulls away, climbing off the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving me there in the middle of his sheets, a trembling wreck even though I’m still fully clothed. I pull the blankets up to my chin, and thirty seconds is all it takes for my body, in a blissful post-orgasmic haze, to succumb to the allure of sleep.