50. Megan
Chapter 50
Megan
Ollie’s bed is warm and soft, and waking up here would be pure bliss if not for the fact I’m alone. I sit up and listen carefully. Perhaps he’s in the bathroom, or he’s slipped out to make coffee, but there is only silence. He’s not here.
Sinking deeper under the covers, I replay the events of last night, cringing, panicking, tying myself in knots, and overthinking everything I’ve said and done.
I made Ollie sleep in the same bed as me, ground against him until he got hard, begged him to kiss me, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I then dry humped him until I came and promptly fell asleep.
Of course, he would leave before the crack of dawn. Who would want to deal with this mess?
After all his talk about asking for what I want and encouraging me to be bold, he was probably trying to teach me a lesson of some sort. Ollie lives a life of adventure and spontaneity, and I was completely deluded to think last night was anything more than me being desperate and him taking pity on me. He didn’t even get anything out of it,the poor man.
My pride is nowhere to be found, but I refuse to wallow in the bed he’s ghosted me in, so I get up and set everything back in place. It's like I was never here. Obviously, I hadn’t forgotten the reason I was sleeping in his bed in the first place, but seeing the contents of my room strewn all over the living room makes me want to turn around and go back. Back to bed and back in time. To before the kiss, the leak, the stolen orgasm. Back even further to when Hattie and I lived together and never had any of these boy dramas to deal with.
While the kettle boils, I move our dining table up against the wall and make a start on organising things into piles. Clothes, toiletries, electronics. I don’t know how long it will take to get my room back to normal, but I love having a tidy, organised space, and living like this is going to annoy the hell out of me.
Thankfully, my boxes of school work weren’t damaged. The last thing I need is to explain to Mr Jenkins that I’ve accidentally destroyed student essays before I had the chance to allocate grades. With my disastrous date on Friday, and Ollie’s parents’ party yesterday, I haven’t had a minute to think about work. There’s a lot to do before we finish up for our two-week break, so I make a coffee and clear a spot on the floor to get started.
When I hear Ollie’s key in the door a few hours later, I panic, but there’s nowhere to hide. Without thinking, I run for the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind me in the hope he’ll think I’m out and just go to his room.
If we can just avoid each other completely for the next few months, he can drive off into the sunset, and I’ll never have to let him see how utterly mortified I am. I’m wondering how long I can stay in here undetected when there’s a soft knock at the door.
“Megan?”
Busted.
“Yeah?”
“Are you hiding from me?”
“What? Don’t be silly,” I say, my voice a pitch too high. “Why would I be hiding from you?”
“Maybe because you're all in your head about what happened last night and you've spent the whole day getting yourself stressed out about what it means.” My jaw drops. For a guy in his twenties, he sure is astute in his observations. “Am I close?”
“Maybe.”
“Can I come in and have this conversation face to face?”
“OK.”
He twists the handle from the other side, but it doesn’t open. I hear him shoving against it. “The door is stuck. Try it from your side.”
I turn the handle and yank hard, but he’s right, no amount of pulling will budge it. Hattie and I never used to close the kitchen door, and I'd forgotten why.
“Stand back,” he shouts.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to force it open. Stay clear.”
Our kitchen isn't that big, but I back up to the far end, and even though I know it’s coming, I still scream when he barges in and barrels towards me. I couldn’t tell you at what point he rewired my brain to find scruffy jeans and a slightly too small t-shirt attractive, but with the addition of his dark green cap, curls spilling out underneath, I’m starting to think I’ve been looking in the wrong place for years.
I wasn’t expecting to be kissed, wasn’t expecting any more kissing full-stop, so it’s a shock when he pulls me into his arms, his big, warm hands cupping the back of my head and tilting me up to meet him.
His lips are as perfect as they were last night, tongue soft as it sweeps against mine. He gets the pressure just right, but it’s all too brief. Tucking my hair behind my ears, his eyes settle on mine, his smile dropping when he sees the confusion on my face.
“Are you OK?” he asks.
“I just… I wasn’t… I didn’t know…” For an English teacher, words are really not my strong suit right now. I pinch my lips together and swallow hard. “You left.”
“You didn’t get my note?”
I shake my head, and Ollie darts to the living room to shift boxes, which I now see I’ve dumped on top of said note.
“Here,” he says, holding the scrap of paper out for me. “I got up early to get the van, then I took her round to see Mr Avery. He helped me fit some new brake pads.”
“Oh.” My shoulders drop. Of course, that’s where he would be.
“I’m so sorry. I would have texted, but I’d left my phone in the van overnight and the battery was dead.”
“I thought you were mad at me.”
His brow knits together. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I forced you to pretend to be my boyfriend, bullied you into sharing a bed with me, basically jumped you, then fell asleep before I could return the favour,” I blurt out, covering my face with my hands. It's embarrassing to say it out loud.
Ollie snorts and pulls my hands from my face. “You didn't need to return the favour.”
“But I wanted to.” I’m not the kind of person who just rolls over and goes to sleep without making sure everyone is taken care of. God knows I had plenty of nights like that with Max, even if I was too stupid to see how unacceptable it was at the time.
All the spicy books Kara has us reading for book club have taught me that women’s pleasure is just as important as men’s, and that sex doesn’t have to follow a linear path that ends as soon as he comes. I definitely harbour a few fantasies of someone spending hours focusing solely on me, but I don’t want Ollie to think I’m selfish in that department.
“No, Megan,” he says, stifling a laugh. “You didn't need to return the favour, because I… Shit, I don’t know how to phrase this.”
He sweeps his hand over his face and a chill trickles down my spine. I knew it. I knew he didn't want to take things any further. I fold my arms, stare at the floor, and brace myself for impact.
“What is it? You can just tell me.”
“Let’s just say I was already satisfied.”
It takes me a second to process his vague words, and then I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.
“Did you really think you could rub yourself all over me and I wouldn't have the same reaction? I’m pretty sure I came the second I saw your tits.”
“I’m so sorry.” I try my best not to giggle, because the only funny thing about this is how scrambled up I’ve gotten over the whole situation.
“No need for that,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging me closer. “Actually, yeah, it kind of is your fault. You're so fucking hot you've got me acting like a teenager.”
“Well, you practically are a—”
His palm clamps over my mouth. “Finish that sentence and next time I won't let you come.”
The throbbing between my legs returns, and I reluctantly pull his hand low enough to speak. “Next time? When?”
He looks surprised, laughing as his eyes bounce from my mouth to my neck to my chest and then back up again. His fingers cup my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“When? Look at you, so eager. You can have whatever you want, whenever you're ready to ask for it. But…” He presses a firm kiss to my forehead, then lets me go. “I can’t concentrate on anything until I fix that door, so you stay right there and think about what you want.”
All I can do is watch him go, my fingertips pressed to my lips, tracing the tingle that tells me that kiss really just happened.
He’s all smiles when he returns with an electric sander and starts running it along the edge of the door frame, finding the bulging spot where the door was sticking.
While he smooths it out, I make more coffee on autopilot, leaning against the counter to steady myself while he works behind me.
Whatever you want, whenever you’re ready to ask for it.
A carousel of fantasies spin through my brain; Ollie bending me over the back of the sofa, Ollie on his knees, Ollie watching me touch myself, gripping my hair, dishing out instructions, whispering the dirtiest things in the dark.
“There we go. Shouldn’t be a problem now.” He wets a cloth from underneath the sink, wipes up the dust residue from the floor, then washes up. I can’t take my eyes off of him, no matter how subtle I’m trying to be. “Are we expecting someone?”
“Hmm?” I squeak out.
He nods towards the counter. “Three coffees.”
Sure enough, amidst all my daydreaming of deep moans and sticky thighs, I’ve made one extra.
“I don’t know why I did that,” I say, handing him the closest one.
I let my hand linger, like I’m living in some sort of romance movie, and he takes the mug with his other hand, drinking while our fingers weave together.
When he sets his mug down, he spins his cap backwards and steps closer. A deep groan rumbles out of me.
“Excuse me?” he says, and I yank my hand out of his, mortified. “What was that noise you just made?”
“I didn't make a noise.”
“It sounded like a whale. Are you in pain?”
“Backwards cap,” I mutter around the rim of my cup.
“Huh?”
“You spun your cap around.” Totally normal, Megan, well done. “That's extremely book boyfriend behaviour and the noise that came out of me was entirely involuntary. I apologise. Again.”
“ Oh , you like that?”
“No,” I protest and open the fridge door to hide my blushes.
“You like that! What about if I do this at the same time?” I peek around the door and find him leaning against the doorframe, arms up high above his head. “Wait, hang on.”
He removes his cap, grabs his t-shirt by the back of the neck and rips it off in one quick motion. The cap goes back on, he spins it again, and resumes his position, flexing his muscles.
He’s a bit sweaty, and his best supermodel pout is ridiculous, but this might just be the horniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My blushes can probably be seen from space.
“Oh my God, stop it.”
“Or what?” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. I cover my mouth with my fist. He stalks towards me, scooping me up and dropping me onto the kitchen counter. My fingers grip the edge of it, knees parting all by themselves to make room for him to step into. “Or what, Megan?”
These have been the most confusing twenty-four hours of my life, but Ollie’s acting like it’s perfectly normal for us to touch each other. Like this is how we spend all our Sundays, playfully flirting in the kitchen. Kissing up against the counter.
Maybe that is normal for him. Maybe that’s just how he is with his friends. Maybe I need to take a page out of his book, stop overthinking things, and start living more adventurously. Ollie might not be a permanent fixture in my life, but if last night was anything to go by, he could definitely be someone to have some fun with while he’s here.
I let my hands fall to his waist, and watch my fingertips trace a line along that groove near his hip. I want to lick it. That’s definitely on the list.
“How do you know these things?”
He sweeps my hair clear of my neck, dipping to press a kiss below my ear. My fingers curl into his sides, pulling him closer. “I know things.”
His hips tip in the subtlest nudge against me, but I feel it everywhere.
“I’m done for,” I moan.
I tilt my head so he can kiss more of me, but before he has the chance, my phone buzzes on the counter behind me. I grapple for it, and show Ollie the screen before I answer. He takes a step back, leaning against the counter opposite me, his arms folded across his chest. It does nothing to help the heat surging south, and crossing one leg over the other doesn’t either.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, exhaling silently to steady myself.
“You OK, sweetheart? Sorry I missed your call.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just calling to tell you there was a leak from the flat upstairs and water came in through my bedroom ceiling last night.”
“You’re joking?”
“Unfortunately not. Ollie says the entire ceiling needs to come down, but he—”
“Put him on,” Dad says, so I switch to speakerphone and hand it over.
“He wants to talk to you.”
“I’m here,” Ollie says, taking the phone.
“How bad is it?”
“Well, the upstairs neighbour left her bath running. Megan’s room is pretty destroyed. We got most of her stuff out, but her bed is soaked. She’ll need a new mattress and bedding. Possibly carpet, but I won't know until I get a better look at it today.”
“Where did she sleep last night?” Dad asks, and my eyes fly to Ollie’s just as the corner of his mouth tips up into a knowing smile.
“In my room.”
“What?” Dad booms.
“I slept on the sofa,” he answers without pausing, but his eyes cast down to my chest and I know he’s thinking about how he very much did not sleep on the sofa.
I’ve been stressing out about how inappropriate it is to kiss someone younger than me, but only now do I realise this situation is so much worse. I let one of my dad’s employees feel me up in the dark and tomorrow he’ll have to go to work and act like nothing happened.
“I picked up new ceiling panels this morning. Can I borrow a dehumidifier for the week? I’ll get it all ripped out and fixed by next weekend?”
“Sure,” Dad says, “I can spare you from the extension job and pull one of the other guys from another one.”
I zone out, pottering around the kitchen while they hash out the details of the repair, until Dad needs my attention again.
“Megan, you still there?” he says, and Ollie holds the phone closer to me.
“Yep.”
“Don’t you worry about all of this, sweetheart. I’ll come over now and we’ll get this sorted. You can stay with me and your mum in the meantime.”
“OK,” I agree, hoping he can’t hear how hard I’m blushing under the intensity of Ollie’s gaze. “We’ll see you soon.”