Chapter 9 Nova #2
But release. But relief. But a way to ease the ache and forget everything else for a little while.
I had to know he was on the same page. There couldn’t be feelings involved. This had to be physical. Simply physical.
“Whatever you need, love. Anything.”
Agh. That wasn’t a clear answer, and for a moment, I hesitated.
Then he did this thing—god, that thing—where he pushed his fingers deeper inside me, curling them perfectly, hitting a spot that sent white-hot pleasure rocketing through my body.
I gasped, my head falling back against the pillow as my body arched into his touch.
“Take me,” I gasped.
His fingers moved faster, relentless and precise, pulling sounds from me I didn’t even recognize.
He shifted, spreading my legs apart with his large hands.
Before I could register the movement, his mouth descended, hot and demanding, and everything felt wildly out-of-body.
I’d been eaten out before, but this—this—was something else entirely. His tongue moved like he’d been designed for this, built for women, built for me.
“Fuck, Ollie,” I gasped, clawing at the sheets as his mouth worked me with devastating skill.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but feel.
It was too much. The pressure, the pleasure, the overwhelming intensity.
My body screamed it wasn’t enough, and I pushed my hips toward him, desperate for more, for him to take me right to the edge and shove me over.
I came hard, uncontrollably, soaking myself, the sheets, and his face. I could hear the wet sound as he worked me through my release, lapping me up like he couldn’t get enough.
I wasn’t done. Adjusting myself, I shifted upward, hunger burning in my veins. As he moved off the bed and stood, wiping his soaked face with the back of his hand, I grabbed his wrist, shaking my head.
His eyes locked on mine, dark and hooded, his lips glistening. “That was enough for me, love. I don’t—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish.
I was already on my knees, scrambling to pull his briefs down.
From this angle, his thighs were massive, thick and powerful, the kind of legs that could only come from years of rugby. The muscles bulged as he shifted, the sheer size of them making my mouth water.
I freed him, and my breath caught.
His cock wasn’t massive in length—it was thick, thick enough to make my mouth go dry and wet at the same time. It stood hard and heavy, veins snaking up its length, the head swollen and glistening.
“My god,” I whispered, my fingers wrapping around him instinctively.
He was warm, hot even, the sheer girth of him making my hand look small.
I leaned in, tongue darting out to tease the tip, tasting him, and his breath hitched above me. He tasted salty, musky, and intoxicating, and I couldn’t hold back the small moan that escaped me as I licked him again, slower this time, savoring the weight of him against my tongue.
With a deep breath, I opened my mouth, taking him in slowly. The stretch was immediate, filling me inch by inch until my jaw ached. My tongue pressed against the underside, tracing the thick vein that pulsed with his heartbeat as I worked him deeper.
My lips stretched wide, my mouth slackening as I forced myself to relax, inching down farther, my throat tightening as I tried to accommodate him.
I gripped his thighs for support, my fingers digging into the solid muscle as I steadied myself. Above me, a low growl escaped from his throat.
“Fuck, Nova,” he muttered, his voice strained.
I pulled back slowly, my lips tight around him, dragging along his length before plunging down again, deeper this time. I tightened my hold on his thighs, bracing myself as I took him to the hilt. My body trembled.
I worked him with everything I had, swirling my tongue and sliding my lips down his length, sucking and teasing. Bringing my hands to his shaft, I moved them in tandem, stroking the base as I traced every vein and ridge with my tongue.
“Fuck, Nova,” he repeated through a groan.
His hips bucked slightly, and I took him deeper, letting the tip press against my throat as I moaned around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath.
I glanced up, catching the way his head tipped back, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling heavily.
Then it happened—my bare stomach brushed against the skin of his leg, and the warmth of that contact snapped me back to reality like a slap.
The baby. The pregnancy.
I froze, my lips still wrapped around him, my mind racing. I pulled off abruptly, gasping for air as I looked up at him.
Ollie.
My coworker.
This was wrong. So fucking wrong.
I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, desperate to put space between us. Tears pricked my eyes, and before I could stop them, they spilled over, hot and uncontrollable.
“I-uh—” I stammered, my voice breaking. “I can’t do this.”
Tears poured down my cheeks as I started crying in earnest, my body shaking with the force of it.
Ollie’s eyes widened, and he reached for me, his expression shifting to concern, but I only moved faster, crawling toward the corner of the room as if it could swallow me whole, my tears blinding me.
This is where I belong, I thought bitterly as I pressed myself into the cold, dark corner. The perfect place for me. A place where I ruin everything.
I couldn’t keep it together long enough to hold a decent job without complicating it. I couldn’t even keep it professional with Ollie.
Bad girl. That voice, the one I thought I’d buried, whispered cruelly in my head. Your mom’s dead, it hissed. You got divorced, and you’re already replacing both of them. The sting of the words cut deeper than the cold tiles against my skin.
A lump rose in my throat, and my stomach churned as I hugged myself tighter, trying to hold my fractured pieces together. I wasn’t grieving right, wasn’t surviving right—I wasn’t even existing right. What kind of person was I? A failure. A screwup. A bad girl. That’s all I’d ever been.
The tears came harder, each sob shaking me to my core as I tried to hide from my own mind, but there was no hiding. There never was.
Somehow, I managed to push myself to my feet, my knees wobbling as I stumbled toward the door. I pushed past him, barely able to breathe.
I was so consumed by my self-loathing that I had no idea what Ollie was saying or doing. Couldn’t say if he was calling to me or reaching for me or packing my bag to send me back to the city. But I didn’t care, and it didn’t matter anyway.
I made it to the bathroom in the hallway and slammed the door, locking it quickly before turning on the shower, the sound of rushing water drowning out my sobs.
I climbed into the tub, sitting on the cold surface, curling into a ball as the tears came harder. I cried until my chest hurt.
As if to add insult to injury, bile rose. I barely managed to lean forward before I puked all over myself.
“Thanks, peach,” I muttered bitterly, wiping at my mouth as the sobs overtook me again.