64. Megan
Chapter 64
Megan
The front door clicking into place.
Ollie’s keys landing in the bowl on the side table.
Him hurriedly kicking his shoes off in the hallway.
These have quickly become the sounds that flick the inner switch from relaxed to horny at the end of the day.
“I’m just jumping in the shower,” he calls through, reappearing a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a towel and a knowing smile. He’s given his hair a rough dry, but it hangs in those perfect curls, all springy and fresh.
He bounces onto his end of the sofa, lifting my legs to rest across his lap. It's warm enough for shorts today, and the two of us lounging around the house with more of our bodies on display makes me feel unspeakably horny. I dream of summer days and sundresses picked specifically so he can reach up underneath them and touch me whenever he likes. Hopefully, we'll get a few days like that before he has to leave.
“How was your day?”
“Lazy.”
He left me in his bed this morning when he slipped off to work, and I'm suddenly embarrassed that I've only made it as far as the sofa.
“Not lazy,” he grumbles, bending my leg to kiss my knee. “You work so hard, you deserve to relax.”
“Please,” I scoff. “You cannot tell me I work hard when you’ve been doing manual labour all day.”
“It’s different. My work keeps my brain quiet. Yours makes your brain busy and you don't get to switch off when you get home.”
He has a point there. I should feel much more relaxed during the holidays, when there aren’t hundreds of students whose education and varying needs fall on my shoulders. There are no emails or summons to see Jenkins in his office, no offensive smells coming from the staff room microwave. Yet even with zero demands on my time, I don't find it easy to switch off, and I've spent most of today too antsy to focus on anything.
“Is this for your book club?” he asks, tapping the cover of the book I'm holding open with my thumb.
“Yes.”
“Is it dirty?”
“Always,” I laugh. “Though we prefer the term spicy or smutty. Dirty implies there's something bad about it.”
“Spicy Book Club, huh? Maybe I’ll come along and get some tips.” He hugs my bent knee to his chest, trapping it there, his fingers slowly drawing circles on the inside of it. If Underdog hadn’t already gotten me worked up, he’d have me there in seconds.
“You definitely don’t need tips.”
“Read some to me?”
“Absolutely not.” I giggle, shifting my straight leg up his thigh. Sure enough, it meets the thick pressure of him hardening beneath his towel.
I like it when we do this dance. This ‘will they, won’t they?’ even though we both know exactly where this is going. Intimacy comes easily with him. He always wants to be close, but there’s never any expectation that comes along with his affection. I know I could tell him I’m not interested and he’d be perfectly content to just sit there hugging my leg and keeping me company.
“How many pages do you have left?” he asks.
“About fifty.”
“Why don't you keep reading and I’ll try not to distract you.”
I play along, lifting my book higher so I can ignore his gorgeous face, but the words on the page are a blur. Carmella was about to tie her man up and torment him with her own pleasure, but I’m much more interested in what Ollie has planned. He tips his head back against the sofa cushions and into my line of sight, then slowly licks his fingers. They disappear from view until I feel them against the inside of my thigh.
“Aren’t we meant to be doing the first coat of paint on your van cabinets this evening?” I ask him, though no part of my body is keen to stop him when those fingers slip higher.
“Fuck the cabinets.”
I tut loudly, teasing him. “Truly appalling, the way you speak to me.”
“Well, you’ll have to put me in my place then, won’t you?” I drop my book to my chest and find him watching me, waiting for my reaction. “Come on. What would Carmella do?”
My jaw drops open with a gasp. “Did you read my book?”
“Might have sneaked a few pages after you fell asleep last night.” He raises his eyebrows, his face pure cheekiness as he spurs me on. I slam the book closed and drop it to the floor.
“Oliver Mortimer, that is an outrageous invasion of my privacy.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he fawns, digging his fingers into my flesh. “You'll have to punish me for it. Whatever can I do to make it up to you?”
Heat flares inside me. In the few times we've been together, Ollie's always taken the lead, and I've happily let him. All day I've been dreaming of him finding me here, stripping me out of my shorts and making me come right here on the sofa, but there's just no way. The women in my books are always so confident in their sexuality, but I'm a bedroom only kind of girl who prefers sex with the lights off. Aren't I?
Our eyes lock, and he waits for my answer, his tongue darting out to sweep across his bottom lip. That's what I want, but I can't just ask him to do that. Not here. Perhaps in my room I'd feel able to work up the courage to guide things in that direction.
Pulling out of his hold, I lead him down the hallway and he follows closely behind. I perch at the foot of my bed and Ollie hovers just long enough for panic to set in.
Under his gaze, the air is thick with tension and I feel untethered, time stretching out while I struggle to find the right words.
“What do you want, Megan?” he asks softly.
Isn't it obvious? I want him . Everything. All of it.
I need him to take control so I don’t have to think, but he just stands there, watching me, waiting. He arches one eyebrow, and I know he'll wait as long as it takes for me to get the words out. I think about Carmella stepping into her power and taking the lead, how much it turned her husband on to give her what she wanted. Ollie's made himself clear. He'll give me anything I want, I just need to ask for it.
“Your fingers. Please,” I choke out, swallowing the lump in my throat.
What the hell am I doing?
“Stand up,” he says, dropping to his knees at the same time as I rise. He looks up at me as he drags my shorts and my underwear all the way down, slowly lifting my feet one at a time to pull them free.
He slides his hands up my thighs, grips my hips, then pushes to sit me back down. When he towers over me, my face is level with the unavoidable erection tenting his towel. I want to tear it off him, but my hands grip the covers in shock. Ollie nudges my legs apart and steps between them, bending a little to stroke the backs of his fingers near the top of my thigh. It’s not enough. I need him higher.
“My fingers,” he teases, pressing a kiss to my temple. “And what else?”
“And your tongue.”
“Where?” I squeeze my eyes closed. I can’t. I can’t say it. He shifts lower, dragging a wet stripe up my neck then whispering in my ear. “Where do you want my tongue, Megan?”
“On my clit.” I slap my hands over my face, mortified at my words.
“You’re so fucking hot when you ask for what you want. You know that, right?”
The rough backs of his fingers drift higher until they're hovering between my legs. He must be able to feel the heat pouring off me. His mouth drags across my cheek, and mine opens for his eager tongue.
“Keep talking,” he moans, licking past my lips. “Tell me what to do.”
He's really going to make me do this, and it shouldn't be this hard. It's not like I don't know what I want, what I crave. I just need to take a deep breath and—
“Get on your knees,” I say, shocking myself.
“What?” His eyes flare, and clearly he wasn’t expecting it either.
“You heard me. Kneel.”
Ollie drops in a heartbeat. The sight of him in nothing but his towel awakens something in me, all the muscles in his arms flexing as he pushes his damp hair back from his face. I imagine this is like men watching women tie their hair up before they go down on them, and I get the appeal.
My core clenches at the sight of him doing just as he was told. His palms rest on his thighs, chest rising and falling as he stares up at me, wide eyed and waiting.
“Tell me what you think about when you're lying here with your vibrator every night.”
I gasp so hard I almost choke. I've always used the lowest setting, deep under the covers. How does he know?
“These walls are pretty thin,” he says, reading my mind.
I drop my head in my hands, and my cheeks burn. “Oh, my God.”
“No, no, don't be embarrassed. Those are the best fifteen minutes of my day, knowing you're enjoying yourself. Sometimes I hear you whimpering and I want to bang on the wall and tell you not to hold back. I’m dying to hear what you sound like when you really let go, so come on, keep going.” He presses an encouraging thumb against the inside of my ankle. “Tell me what to do. Please?”
That last word has a soft moan floating out of my throat and I peek through my fingers.
No man has ever said 'please' to me in the bedroom before. It's always me asking nicely and them giving orders. With Ollie on his knees, I just need to wrap my head around reversing our roles and act like a man would in this situation.
“Open your mouth.” He does it immediately, and I reach my hand out towards him. “Suck my fingers.”
His eyes stay on mine as he slowly extends his tongue, then leans in to let me place them on it.
I don’t act like this, don’t say things like this. In my books, it’s dirty talking men who do it for me most. Putting myself in the driver's seat is not something I’ve ever tried, but it's a rush seeing him follow my instructions. I should just copy what they say.
“Get them nice and wet for me.”
Inside, I'm cringing, but Ollie’s eyes flutter closed, and he moans, clamping his lips around my fingers and swirling his tongue around them. It feels like flames licking every bare inch of my skin. I'm losing my mind, but I don't know where I was going with this.
Ollie's hands reach behind me and he pulls me right to the edge of the bed, nudging my knees even wider. His hand circles my wrist as he pulls my fingers free with a wet pop and guides them between my legs.
“Show me how you make yourself feel good.”
What? No!
He can't be serious. That's too intimate. I've never been this exposed with someone before. It's still light outside and though I've been aroused all day, I've always viewed masturbation as a bedtime activity. And a solo one at that! It's become a nightly ritual since he moved in, and all this time, he's heard me? I'll never live this down.
“I'd love to see,” he says, tipping his head to rest against my thigh. He's so gorgeous, batting those beautiful eyelashes, encouraging me so sweetly. Would it be so bad to show him? Kara once told me she and Luke masturbated in front of each other back when they first met, and even though it made me very uncomfortable with sitting on Luke's sofa, it sounded hot as hell.
My other hand weaves through his hair, holding him there while I bring my slick fingers to my clit. The tiniest bit of contact has sparks coursing through me.
“You have such a sexy pussy, Megan. I've been thinking about it all day.”
His words light me up, and I slide my hand lower, parting my soaked flesh. It shouldn't be a shock that I'm this wet, but the sound of my fingers slipping inside is obscene. I drag them in and out, loving the way Ollie's eyes light up as he watches me spread it around before pushing all the way back inside.
“You’re making such a mess,” he whines, licking his lips.
“Then be a good boy and clean it up. Make sure you don’t waste a drop.”
I’ve never felt this powerful, this in control, this uninhibited.
My feet press up onto my toes. Ollie shifts them wider and inches closer. My hands splay behind me and I keep myself propped up, my head spinning when he parts me with his thumbs and swipes his flattened tongue straight through me.
I fight the instinct to close my eyes and keep watching his mouth at work, his tongue slowly gathering the liquid pooling inside of me. He swirls it in his mouth and spits it onto my clit, spreading it all around my tender, aching flesh. His tongue hardens to a point, flicking it from side to side, up and down, round and round, teasing me over and over.
On the rare occasions I turn to pornography for a quick fix, this is what I like to watch. Men who treat oral sex like a craft. Who love to worship and devour. Who aren't afraid to make a mess. That's what I've been craving all these years, and finally I've found it with him.
He licks, he sucks, he nips me gently with his teeth. His slow pace is a perfect agony, but when he switches the pressure, I don't care, because everything he does feels amazing.
“You look so good with my pussy in your mouth,” I moan, throbbing at my own words as my hips begin to buck against him.
Where on earth is this coming from?
Ollie moans against me, his tongue moving lower to press inside me.
“God, yes. Fuck me with your tongue. That's perfect.”
I don’t even know what I’m saying, words and thoughts and urges spilling out of me, but everything I say spurs him on.
“I can feel your clit throbbing. Do you know what a turn on that is? Do you see how hard you make me?” Glancing down, I can see his erection poking out from where his towel has fallen away. “You did that.”
“I want it,” I moan, my mouth salivating at the thought of pleasuring him the way he's pleasuring me.
“It's yours, but only after you come for me.”
He clamps his mouth over my clit again, warm tongue rubbing side to side as he shifts his focus to smaller circles, the kind that are most like when I touch myself. The pressure builds from deep within me, a band of tension that threatens to snap at any moment.
“Suck my clit. Harder.” My thighs are already shaking, and my instinct is to clamp them together, but he holds them wide. My hands grab at his and he slips his fingers through mine, holding them in place too. This man has my body completely under his control, and I'm helpless to do anything but lie back and give myself over to him.
“I’m… oh, God… Ollie…”
It's too much, and exactly right, and when my orgasm hits, he keeps going, dragging even more pleasure out of me. His tongue shifts to my entrance, lapping hungrily at the flood of liquid, soaking his chin while he groans against me. I could let him keep going, but I meant what I said. I want his cock, and I want it now.
“Stand up,” I beg, pulling at his shoulders. “Fuck my mouth.”