“Ollie,” I say again, as sternly as I can manage—which isn’t very, considering my condition. “Fuck me on your fingers while you suck me off. I want you to make me scream.Now, please.”
He doesn’t need any more convincing.
Hooking a hand under my knee, he presses my leg to my chest, then brings his slicked fingers to my exposed hole. I’m so fucking greedy for it that my body sucks the first one in, and his jaw goes slack as he watches it disappear inside me.
“Wow.” He slides the second one in with his eyes locked on my face, and I have to turn my head before the raw reverence of his desire strips me bare.
Then my cock is back in his mouth, and he finds our rhythm, owning me from all sides. My hips rock helplessly, driving him deeper, rougher, until I’m writhing and sobbing his name. Somewhere in the delirium, he stumbles over my prostate, and I arch off the bed with a cry.
It’s too much. I’m too close—to him, to the pieces of myself I hold hidden, to the precipice of an orgasm I won’t survive.
“I’m gonna come,” I warn, shoving at his shoulders. He pulls off, his face crinkled in confusion. Without giving him a chance to overthink it—or offer something he’s not ready for—I grip my dick and stroke swiftly, threading my other hand back into his hair. His eyes widen, and the next thing I know, he’s surging up to brace over me, pants shoved down his hips and his own cock in hand. When I come, he follows with the sexiest fucking groan I’ve ever heard. His cum splashes over my chest and belly, mingling with mine, and I smear my fingers through the mess like I’m capturing the alchemy of us together to save under my skin.
“Jesus,” he pants, collapsing next to me. “That was seriously fucking hot.”
And somehow, I survived it after all.
I think.
We lie in lazy post-nut companionship for a while, fingers idly tangling in the space between us. Eventually, he rolls to face me and reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Was it good?” he asks. “Tell me it wasn’t the worst you’ve had, and I’ll go get something to clean us up.”
“Whoareyou?” I whisper, tracing his swollen lips with my thumb.
“A major Fen fan, climbing out of the closet and making up for lost time.”
It’s so ridiculous I have to kiss him, andoh—I forgot how delicious he tastes. Our tongues dance as his hand drifts down my throat, and by the time we surface, the last of the day’s light has faded from the room.
“So, pretty good, then?” he says against my lips.
“It was perfect.”You’re perfect.
“Just like your dick.” Grinning, he pushes off the bed and heads to the bathroom, returning a minute later with a warm washcloth that he hands over. I’m supposed to hate this part—the awkward after—but with Ollie, it’s…cozy.
I sit up to clean myself, glancing between the pile of his clothes at the foot of the bed and my own damp garments hanging on the back of the chair.
“You don’t have to leave, right?” he asks, catching my internal dilemma. “We haven’t eaten anything, and you must be hungry. I at least owe you a hot meal before letting you head out into the storm.”
The wave of relief that washes through me should trigger all of my alarms—should send me running before I start thinking I can keep him. Instead, I reach for the rumpled shirt with the dragon logo and pull it on. “Please don’t tell me you cook, too.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not very well, anyway. I was thinking we could DoorDash.”
“Oh, thank god.” I shimmy into his sweatpants and throw myself back onto the bed. “I don’t think I could handle you being brilliant at everything.”
CHAPTER 07: OLLIE
Even in my too-big clothes, he’s so damnpretty. When I return with our food, he’s sprawled on the floor against my bed, sex-scrambled hair falling in his eyes while he plays on his phone.
“Do you want a beer?” I offer one of the bottles I’m carrying, but he wrinkles his nose.
“Gross. I’m a vodka-only twink, thank you.”
“Meredith drinks vodka. I could raid the liquor cabinet.”
“That’s okay. I still have to drive home.”
“You don’thaveto. I wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”
