60. Megan
Chapter 60
Megan
I have always loved being the little spoon, and Ollie makes the perfect big one. His arm covers mine, his fingers circling my wrist and nestled between my breasts. The expanse of his smooth chest warms my bare back. Nothing between us but secrets.
I try to focus on his heartbeat, to see if mine has fallen in line with his, but the thought is fleeting as I doze in and out of sleep in the dim morning light.
“Megan,” he whispers against the nape of my neck, sometime later. “I’m going out to get pastries. Don’t freak out and think I’ve left.”
I roll over to face him, pressing the length of my body against his. “But you’re so warm.”
“Don’t pout,” he teases, pinging my lower lip with his finger. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
After he leaves, I plug my phone charger into the spare socket next to his bed and check my notifications.
There’s an alert from my dating app about a match with someone I swiped on long before the Pi incident. I tap into it, log out without reading his message, then uninstall the app.
This thing with Ollie may be temporary, but I don’t want to make it more complicated than it already is. We definitely need to talk, but I’m hoping we can do more of this before he leaves, and having random men message me at all hours feels somewhat inappropriate.
I work through the other notifications while wrapped in his blankets. An email about a sale at my favourite online store, a message from mum wishing me and Hattie a fun night together. Guilt creeps in, followed by panic. I’ve never lied to my parents before. What if they bump into Hattie and Rob and my fabricated version of events unravels?
Texting Hattie and asking her to cover for me isn’t an option, either. She's a bloodhound for gossip and drama. One look at me and she'll know what I've been up to. A voicenote from Kara pops up, sending me deeper into paranoia.
Morning babe. Hope you've had a good week. I'm sorry it's such short notice, but I was wondering what you're up to this weekend? I've got nothing on at all, so if you fancy lunch or a walk, I'd love to catch up with you. Not sure what Hattie's doing, but I want to hear all your news. And if this weekend doesn't work, maybe we can make some plans for Easter break? Let me know. Miss you, love you, bye!
I chew on my lip while I think of a reply, but give up and shove my phone under his pillow. I hate secrets, but I’m not ready to deal with the real world, or their reactions when I tell them what's happened.
I pull on clean underwear from my drawers in the living room and one of Ollie’s hoodies. In the kitchen, I get to work cleaning up the dishes we abandoned last night in favour of each other, and when Ollie returns, he slips his arms around my waist and nuzzles into my neck while I wash up.
“I see the hoodie thief has struck again.”
“You can have this one back. I just wasn’t ready to shower and get dressed yet.”
“Definitely too early for that.” He lifts the hem at the back and sucks in a hiss when he sees what I’ve slipped on, black lace underwear that sits high on my hips. I forget what I’m washing when he drags a knuckle down my spine, circling the base, then kneading the full curve of my backside.
“Are you sore?” he asks softly, his touch shifting to a light stroke down the backs of my legs and up again.
“No, why?”
“Kind of feel like I might want to fuck you right here while you try to concentrate on the dishes,” he hums, pressing his growing hardness against me.
“Oh my god, you are insatiable.” With my hands covered in soapsuds, I can’t shove him away. I nudge back, which only has him grinding up against me. “Is this what it’s like to be in your twenties?”
Pressing me harder against the edge of the sink, he sneaks his other hand up underneath to squeeze my breast. “No, Megan, this is what it’s like to be with you.”
Physical touch is definitely Ollie’s love language. He's barely stopped touching me since the moment he started. With other men it might be annoying and grabby, with him it’s affectionate and responsive. Like he can’t get enough of whatever I’ll offer him.
His fingertips toy with the waistband of my underwear, threatening to slip inside. He pulls back a little, then coasts down over the smooth material, but he completely bypasses my clit. A frustrated groan rumbles out of me, and when he laughs, I know he hasn’t missed it on purpose.
If he wants to tease me, it’s only fair to tease him back.
“Ollie…” I trail off, my breathy voice only half an act. “Can you…”
“Yeah?” he spurs me on, stroking wide lazy circles around where I want him most. Heat floods south and my knees are at risk of giving out.
“Make me…”
“Anything you want. Ask me.” His voice is hot and gravelly in my ear, and I’m not sure I can keep it up.
“A pot of coffee?” I plead, reaching back to smear some bubbles on his nose. I burst out laughing and he stills, dropping his hands and pulling his mouth away.
“That was cruel,” he whines, lifting his hoodie one more time to give my bum a playful smack before covering me up again. “You’re gonna pay for that later.”
I sure hope so.
At the dining table, Ollie pours coffee while I rip into a flaky pain au chocolat , still warm from the bakery oven. He loops his foot around the leg of my chair and tugs it closer to his. I shift my legs across his lap and his thumb traces patterns on my shin while he stares out of the window.
Our view isn’t much to write home about, just a row of shops underneath office space across the street, but it doesn’t matter. We could be looking at the Eiffel Tower from a hotel balcony in Paris and I’d still be looking at him.
“Hattie told me you played a gig at Moonshine on Thursday.” I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but last night wasn’t the time.
“Yeah, they have a decent open mic night there. It was fun, she's asked if I can play there again sometime.”
“You should have told me, I would have come.” The realisation that he probably didn’t want me there turns my blood cold, but I blink it away and hide behind a sip of my coffee. “Unless you didn’t want me to, that’s fine, too.”
“I didn’t tell you because I figured you had a lot on, and that you’d feel obligated.”
I hate that he thinks I’d come to his show out of pity, when in reality I'd want front row tickets. “Why do I never hear you play your guitar?”
“Well, I was already making a nuisance of myself by being thrown into your life in the first place. I didn’t want to piss you off even more, so I usually play when you’re out, or in the van.”
It’s strange to think how awkward those early weeks were, given how comfortable we are now. Without even trying, we’ve found a way to exist around each other that suits us both. Shifting that friendship into something more feels as easy as breathing, but I don’t like the thought of him hiding parts of himself from me.
I want all the parts, even if it’s only for the short time we’ll be in each other’s lives.
“You love music.”
His eyes light up as he slowly nods. “Yeah, I do. When you've had a shit day, it's the best way to get over it? Or when you grow up in a house as quiet as mine was, it's an escape. And when you're happy, it's like turning up the brightness.”
“Can you get it now?” I ask him. “I want to hear you play.”
Ollie bolts like a kid in a candy store, and I spend Saturday morning stretched out on the sofa with my feet tucked beneath his thigh, watching him strum and sing. Completely at ease.
When I doze off, no surprise given how late we stayed up, he sets his guitar down, snuggles in beside me and pulls a blanket over us both.
Later, I text my mum and tell her I’m spending a second night at Hattie’s. Ollie runs me a bath, sits beside the tub, and chats while I soak. We cook dinner, shake up cucumber gimlets, and make-out through an entire movie. By the time I float through the door of my parents’ house on Sunday night, I’ve lost track of how many orgasms I’ve had.
Best sleepover ever.