59. Megan
Chapter 59
Megan
My head falls back against Ollie’s pillows, but the rest of my body is levitating. He catches his breath with his cheek pressed against my thigh, warm breath huffing against where I’m soaked and throbbing from his expertly delivered orgasm.
‘The only woman I’ve wanted all year is you.’
His words, his touches, all these nuggets of information slide into place with everything else that’s happened since he moved in three months ago. I’ve been looking, trying desperately not to be attracted to this beautiful stranger, and it turns out he’s been looking, too.
My body is still trembling through the aftershocks, and I ground myself by stroking through the strands of his gorgeous hair.
“That was…” I don’t have the words. “I’ve never… Nobody has ever…”
For a moment I think I might cry, but I don’t want to spoil this moment. What he just did unlocked something deep inside me. A raw hunger. I need more, and I need it fast.
“Come up here,” I plead, swallowing hard right before his mouth lands on mine.
I taste myself, slick and heady, on his tongue. It’s another first, and it only spurs me on, shifting beneath him, my legs hooking over his hips and pulling him closer.
“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, his cheeks pink and flushed from his time between my legs.
“Yes, please.”
He presses a kiss between my breasts and I can feel him smiling against me. I’ve never noticed things like that with anyone else. Normally, I’m so deep in my worries about how I look or how I feel. Do I taste weird or smell bad or make the wrong sounds?
Those feelings are so fleeting with Ollie. All I want to do is focus on him, and I notice everything. The way he smells like a mix of shower gel and sweat. The way he tastes uniquely him. The way he sounds delighted and eager to please me.
He kisses my jaw, then my shoulder and leans over me, reaching for the bedside drawer. When he pulls out an unopened box of condoms, my heart swells. He’s clearly prepared for tonight and I'm grateful we don’t need to have a discussion that I’ll probably make awkward.
While he struggles to break into the cellophane wrapper, I stroke my fingers down the sides of his stomach and cup the intimidating bulge in his underwear.
“That’s not helping,” he chokes out, but I enjoy having this effect on him.
Sliding out from between his legs, I shift to my knees and kiss him while he fumbles with the pack, eventually giving in and tearing the box in half. Condoms tumble all over the blankets and he laughs into my mouth.
Sucking at his neck, I push his boxers down past his hips until his solid length springs free, smacking against my stomach.
I almost scream when I look down. It might have been a while since I’ve seen a man naked, but never have I seen something like this.
“Are you joking?” My eyes flick up to his, and he has the audacity to smirk.
“I have lube. We’ll make it fit.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
He bursts out laughing, one hand cupping my waist and pulling me flush against him.
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Ollie and I’ve got a massive cock?’ ”
With our height difference, his swollen crown presses against the underside of my breast and I feel light-headed. There is no way it’s going to fit. I’ve thought about this moment a lot, but in all of my Ollie-fueled fantasies, he’s been perfectly average in that department. My mind is scrambling, failing, back-tracking.
“You’re really just out in the world with that thing, huh? Why are you working in construction? You’d make a killing on OnlyFans.”
He grinds harder against me and I’m still looking at it, captivated by the pre-cum beading at the tip. “Now what does a nice girl like you know about OnlyFans, Megan?”
“I know things,” I tell him, and swipe my thumb through it.
I know things because our spin-off group chat, Filthbags , is an endless stream of porn GIFs Hattie sends, but even she would have a conniption if she saw what I was dealing with right now. Reaching down, I wrap my fingers around him, but the tips don’t even touch.
This might kill me.
“So how? What do I…” I was doing a good job of pushing past the nerves before. Now I’m just a babbling mess.
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, I want to. I just don’t know how. ”
He shifts to lean back against the headboard, pulling me with him.
“How about I sit up here, and you can take all the time you need to get comfortable?”
With a deep breath, I climb into his lap, knees sliding into place around his hips. I rest my hands on his shoulders and will myself to do something, anything, to take control.
“Can you take your hair down?” he asks, watching intently when I reach back to pull it free. I drop my hair-tie on his nightstand and shake it loose. He twirls a length around each hand, pulling me until our foreheads touch.
Pure heat spreads between my thighs as I shift closer, then look down between us. We look obscenely hot pressed together like this, and a depraved part of me wants to take a photo. Me, all smooth skin save for a neat strip of hair, pink and splayed around his thick, veiny shaft. Him, visibly throbbing against my clit, hips shifting with subtle movements that set me ablaze with each strike.
“Can I just…” God, I wish I had the confidence to be as vocal as he is.
“Yeah, you can grind against it like that.” His eyes flutter closed, and his out-breath is shaky. “Feels so good.”
Rocking slowly back and forth along the solid ridge, I let myself give into the sensation. His hands caress their way from my thighs to my hips, sweeping up and down my back, forward again until he fills his hands with my breasts, massaging, pressing, pinching. I could come from this, I’m sure of it, my whole body dancing on a knife edge.
“Megan, if you keep doing that…” His hands grab my hips and still me. “Do you want to pass me a condom?”
I scramble behind me for a foil square, rip it open, and hand him the contents. I’ve left a slick mess on him, and I’d be embarrassed, but he swipes a finger through it and licks it clean. For that alone, I’m glad I didn’t insist he turn the light off, but watching him roll the condom on becomes the new hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
He rummages in his bedside drawer, kissing me the entire time, and when he finds the lube, I hear him squirt a little between us.
“Ready whenever you are,” he moans into my mouth, and I know if I pull away enough to make eye contact, this will all feel too real. I’ll chicken out and make some silly excuse. All because I’m almost certain that having sex with Ollie is about to change my life in more ways than one.
My body doesn’t give a damn about my brain’s stalling tactics, hungry as it is for touch and pleasure. I shift onto my knees and hover over him, his thick head parting me easily. Even that slight pressure as he notches himself inside me is heaven, full of heat and promise.
“Ollie, I’m scared,” I whisper, and his amused sigh warms my cheek.
“Of my dick?”
“Yeah, a bit. Sorry.”
“God, don’t apologise.”
He cups my face, tipping it to make me look right at him. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, with someone who communicates during sex, who listens, who pays attention. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever slept with someone who actually cared about my role in the proceedings. Max made me feel like a passive participant, but Ollie makes me feel like his equal.
‘You can have whatever you want, whenever you're ready to ask for it.’
That's what he said in the kitchen the night after our first kiss, and I know in my heart he meant it.
“Why don’t you sit down a tiny bit and breathe through it? If it’s too much, we’ll stop.”
That’s all the encouragement I need to drop a little lower, groaning at the delicious stretch. His eyes flit between mine, watching for my reaction, and the combination is so intense.
“That’s it, there you go,” he moans, warm breath dancing over my lips.
He drops one hand to stroke up the inside of my thigh and fist the base of his cock. It gives me a little breathing room, and I’m grateful.
“Just stay like that for a minute,” he says, licking the thumb of his free hand, then slipping it between us. He rubs my clit in lazy circles, his mouth falling open as I throb around him, an involuntary reaction as my body adjusts to his size. “Breathe with me.”
Soon, my hips find a rhythm, and with each push and pull, I’m able to take a little more of him. The fullness feels incredible, and there was no need to be nervous. Everything about him feels good, feels right. His hands roam everywhere, and he watches me ride him, never looking away.
“This is the part where you call me a good girl and tell me I’m taking you so well.” I shudder, clamping hard around him as my orgasm builds.
“Excuse me?”
“Book boyfriend behaviour.”
“You know this isn’t fiction, right?” He laughs, kissing his way up my neck to my earlobe. “We’re really doing this.”
For a second, I’m mortified. Bringing it up is exactly the kind of ridiculous thing I would do, but then he bites the shell of my ear and growls. A shiver rolls down my spine, and my body relaxes enough to sink even deeper. When I lift again, he thrusts up into me, firm hands on my hips, pulling me down. I want to throw my head back, but he keeps me held there between his teeth, a firm grip twisting my hair around his fist.
“I don't need to tell you how pretty you look stretched out on my cock, Megan. You already know. You’re perfect. It’s like your pussy was made to take me.”
He matches my rhythm with his own, bucking up into me while I lose the ability to think, to speak, to do anything but push and be pushed.
“That what you want? Someone who talks dirty in your ear while he makes you take it all?”
“Yes,” I moan, sweat pricking at my skin.
“Someone who’ll learn every inch of your body, worship it, devour it? Someone to put you on your knees and make you earn that Good Girl title?”
“Yes,” I whimper, then change my mind. “No.”
Ollie stills beneath me. “No?”
“Not someone . Just you.”
“You have me,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face against my breasts. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
“I want it all,” I tell him, pushing down to take that final inch, knowing full well I don’t just mean this .
Our bodies freeze then, clinging onto each other, panting for the same air until I feel ready to move again. I’ve never felt a fullness like it, and within minutes that much longed for feeling builds from the base of my spine, flooding my limbs. It takes over, vibrations and trembles and pulses and shakes. My hands fly to my mouth while my hips keep bucking.
“Don’t cover your mouth,” he says, pulling my hands away. “Let me hear you.”
All my life I’ve felt like I was too much. When one boyfriend said I was too loud in bed, I stopped making any noise. When another only ever wanted to have sex from behind, I assumed that was because the front of me was too awful to look at. And when Max only wanted a quick release before he fell asleep, I told myself my needs didn’t matter.
None of that’s true, but it’s taken me a long time, and a large stack of romance novels to even understand that of course my needs matter, of course I look great from all angles, and of course I’m allowed to make noise in bed.
Learning to love myself was a solo project, but Ollie is finishing the job in more ways than one.
With his encouragement, the shyness slips away. I shift my hands back to his shoulders and let my body find the best angle.
Who am I kidding? There’s no best angle when he’s filling all of me.
“Take your time. There’s no rush.” He anchors his fingertips around my ribs and helps me rise and fall. “I’m so fucking close. So hard just from looking at you. Your perfect fucking body. You’re perfect—”
We don’t need words now. I lean back, my hands gripping his thighs for support, and drag myself up and down him.
“Oh, fucking hell,” he groans, his eyes trained on the place where our bodies meet.
The sensation of him stretching me is one thing, the sight is another. A filthy visual I wish I could photograph. Or better yet, video. Something to revisit on the lonely nights after he leaves, the ones where my body cries out for him and knows nothing and no one will ever satisfy it in the same way again.
This angle is perfect. I’m so full in the best possible way, but my clit is missing the friction from where I ground against him. He knows, because of course he does, fingers shifting to rub tight circles there, driving my need higher and higher.
“Jesus Christ, Megan,” he moans. “That’s it, use my dick, take what you need.”
His words are the push I need to tumble straight over the edge, and this time when I come, I really let go. No more being quiet. No more holding back.
My moans fill the room, along with the smack of skin against skin, our desperate gasps for air, only dampened when I slump forward and bite into his shoulder.
My orgasm keeps going, a sharp snap followed by wave after wave that leave me boneless in his lap. Ollie pulls my body tight to his, bucking up with his own release, his open mouth panting at the base of my throat.
I turn my cheek to rest against the top of his head while I catch my breath and wait. Cry-maxing isn’t my preferred way to follow an orgasm, but I’ve got plenty of experience of tears sneaking up on me.
I wait, and I wait, but I’m not sad, or panicking, or overthinking. I’m just deeply happy. Satisfied. Content. Fulfilled.
Ollie smiles up at me, my nipple resting against his bottom lip. His hair is damp with sweat, but I can’t tell if it’s his or mine.
“You good?” he asks, flicking his tongue out to tease me a little more.
“So good. A little too good, honestly. Not sure I can move.”
Holding my hips steady, he scoots himself further down the bed and rolls me to my back, before gently easing himself out of me. He stays close though, more kisses across my chest, my belly, a soft one on the sensitive bud of my clit that makes me yelp and almost knee him in the face.
He rests his head against my thigh, staring up at me. Time slows as we stare at each other in the dim light.
“What are you thinking?” I ask him, then immediately regret it. Max was such a closed book, and whenever I asked, he’d get defensive and tell me to stop pestering him. I’m about to tell him to forget I asked, but his words smash right through the wall I’m building back up.
“I’m thinking that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. That that was fucking hot.” He kisses his way back up my body, and he has no idea that each one is healing a part of me that someone else broke. “That I’m the luckiest guy in the world to see you like this.”
Now I might cry.
“And I’m thinking, darling, about whether you have a rule against eating dinner in bed?”
I press my mouth into a tight pout and pretend to think about it. “I could probably make an exception on this occasion. Since I was reliably informed there is tiramisu.”
“Great,” he says, hopping off the bed and grabbing an old t-shirt to protect his modesty. “Let me clean up. You stay warm, and I’ll be right back.”
He walks backwards out of the room, his grin wider than I’ve ever seen it, and when his body disappears into the hallway, his head stays poking round the edge of the door.
“So fucking hot, Megan,” he tells me again. “You're the best landlady ever.”
“Less of the landlady,” I yell, throwing a pillow across the room at him. Though I’d happily take a thousand more of those ‘ darling’ s.