Chapter 10

• Megan shook her head, and the minute gesture led to Oliver removing his hand. Frustration streaked fire through her as she imagined him stepping away and leaving her there against the bar with her ass bare and her clit throbbing.
• For a minute, it seemed like he would.
• The heat of his body disappeared and cool air hit the uncovered span of her flesh. She straightened immediately and started to pull her pants up, but Oliver returned as though he was magnetized to her. One of his arms encircled her waist while the other gripped her chin, turning her face toward his. The rough hint of stubble along his jaw brushed her cheek, stinging, and combined with the sensory overload gained from his thumb pressing against her lower lip and his free hand sliding beneath her shirt to twist one of her nipples. When he started sucking her earlobe again, there was no longer a way to deny that this man knew her body. He knew every erogenous zone, and he was targeting them all at once. Turning her into someone malleable and desperate. Someone who would say anything to prevent these feelings from being ripped away again.
• “Play with my clit,” Megan whispered. “Shove your fingers into me and rub my clit until I can’t talk or see straight.”
• A husky laugh reverberated in her ear. “There’s that slut I got to know on New Year’s Eve.”
• “Christ, Oliver, just do something before I—before my mind changes. Okay?”
• “Okay, baby.” He kissed the side of her mouth. “You got it.”
• Oliver hunched against her and slid his fingers into her again. Megan tried to tilt her head down, to press her mouth to her forearm and muffle the sounds already wanting to spill out, but Oliver held her in place. The room was filled with her hoarse inhalations as he nudged his fingers against her, but he quieted her with a kiss. Sometimes he spoke to her, soft nonsense words that didn’t translate past the roar in her ears, but he mostly sucked on her lower lip while pressing his dick against the back of her thigh.
• Dimly, Megan knew she should try to touch him. Reciprocate. Be active in some way. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t think, let alone coordinate her movements enough to get him off. Every thought was centered on the stretch of her ass, the reach of his fingers, and the reality of being screwed in public.
• After several minutes of targeted massaging, Megan could already feel a dangerous tightening in her lower stomach, and an intensifying heat in her core that signaled the rush of a coming ejaculation. It built inside her like a wave, deep and powerful, but even when she lurched forward with a sharp cry, she didn’t come. Her entire body quivered, her pussy gripping his fingers tight, and lapsed into a daze of nonstop sensation.
• When he finally touched her clit, her orgasm was almost a surprise. The lightest graze from his fingers sent her juices erupting from her slit. It dripped down her inner thighs as she shuddered and moaned.
• “I wonder if you could have come hands-free,” Oliver said in her ear. “You looked almost there.”
• Megan spoke. “I’ve never—”
• “You did that night,” Oliver said.
• The words added to Megan’s feeling of being overstimulated. She shuddered.
• Oliver wrapped his hand around Megan’s clit, caressing the still-sensitive nub while tucking her away. Megan had a brief wishful thought about him getting on his knees to lick away the traces of her arousal, but she knew she was being greedy. And selfish.
• “Don’t you want me to… do something for you?” Megan asked.
• “Yes,” Oliver replied.
• A niggle of apprehension lanced through Megan’s pleasurable high. “What should I do?”
• Oliver zipped Megan’s pants over her still-throbbing clit and fixed the button. He patted her mound once and extracted himself from the tangled way their limbs had wound together.
• “I want you to make a promise,” Oliver said.
• Megan turned to him, half expecting his own jeans to be hanging open with his erection in his hand, but Oliver was as put-together as he’d been when they’d come downstairs.
• “What am I promising?” Megan asked.
• “That next time you’re bored or sexually frustrated or just feeling stuck….” Oliver reached out to straighten Megan’s shirt. “You’ll be my plus one.”
• Megan couldn’t comprehend his statement as her orgasm had turned her brain to mush. She waited for an explanation, overly conscious of each time his fingers brushed her through the shirt he seemed insistent on tidying, but received none.
• “You speak in code,” Megan said.
• “No, I don’t. I want you to promise that you’ll be the one accompanying me to Liberty X.” When Megan stared blankly, Oliver laughed. “That’s the name of the erotic party I told you about. It’s hosted by this Dutch couple. They’ve made a fortune doing event planning. There are parties, like Chemistry or Behind Closed Doors or Lip Service, but Liberty is invite only and extremely exclusive. It’s usually established couples only, but on certain nights they invite singles. Even then, I can’t show up alone. There’s a buddy system, and whoever I bring has to pass their criteria.”
• Megan raised a skeptical brow. “And I will?”
• “The combination of your face, body, and last name equals a golden ticket.” Oliver brushed hair away from Megan’s brow, sliding his fingers through the silver strands at her temples. “It’s really safe. I promise. Extremely well-known richies and socialites go, and they’ve never been exposed. And like I said, you have to show proof that you’re STI-free during the process. They require you to check in every three months. You’ll need to go to a clinic.”
• “Even so, I don’t—”
• Oliver pressed a finger against Megan’s mouth. “Just say you’ll go with me. Please?”
• Megan considered the proposition. Did she want to subject herself to people who seemed to be living an Eyes Wide Shut lifestyle on the Upper East Side while she bumbled around like a fool in front of them? No. She didn’t. And she didn’t want to subject them to her awkward prudishness.
• But was she curious? Intrigued? Yes. She was.
• So Megan nodded and couldn’t help smiling slightly when Oliver grinned in triumph.
• “It has a very stupid name, though.”
• “I agree.” Oliver grabbed her arm and tugged her to the door. “Let’s go have another beer.”
• ****************
• After a week had passed, LIBERTY X didn’t come up again. Megan found herself stuck in the stupefied purgatory of unemployment, hating Mondays in particular. When she had a job, she would begrudgingly drag herself out of bed and wonder where the weekend had gone, regretting missed opportunities that would now have to wait another five days.
• But once she remembered that she actually enjoyed her chosen career path, the resentment would fade as she stepped into the shower and washed away sleep, falling into the comfort of her morning routine.
• Megan’s Monday morning funk was disrupted at 11:00 a.m. by the alarming double whammy of Emily and Meredith showing up at her doorstep. They had separately decided to bring her breakfast and had shown up exactly five minutes apart. After some initial awkwardness, they settled on the cream-colored sofas in the living room, nibbling on pogacas from the bakery on William Street (Meredith’s offering) and toasted bagels with butter from the vendor on Broadway (Emily’s).
• “You even have fancy sleep clothes,” Emily pointed at Megan’s robe. “I bet you got that from Nordstrom, didn’t you?”
• “Bloomingdales,” Meredith said. “I got it for her for her birthday!”
• “Can you get me one for mine?”
• “Only if you do my eyebrows like you do yours.”
• And then they were fast friends.
• Megan relaxed for the first time since these two parts of her world had combined, and crossed her leg at the knee with a bagel in hand. Observing Emily and Meredith was almost as fascinating as people-watching on the subway.
• They were alike and different in blatant ways. They were both fond of oversized and distressed clothing, but her were probably altered thrift store finds while hers were purchased at overpriced boutiques in SoHo. They both swore enough to frighten a ship of sailors during Fleet Week, but Emily had a brash Brooklyn accent while her pronunciation was diction-training precise. And yet, they still meshed. Instantly and completely.
• Megan couldn’t have been happier.
• “Did you know your brother is screwing this rich, bad boy slummer like herself?” Emily waved an everything-bagel, scattering sesame seeds and salt crystals all over the coffee table. “The rich slummer part—”
• “Having a job,” Megan interrupted, “is not slumming.”
• “—not the bad boy part.” Emily went on like she hadn’t spoken. “Megan may be a hot bitch, but she’s not a bad one.”
• Meredith’s lips curled up. “Is it the one who gave you the rough-trade bruises on New Year’s Eve?”
• Megan was probably flushing, but she didn’t fight a tiny smile. “Emily is making this sound more exciting than it is.”
• “Girl, that is some bullsheez. Oliver’s got you turnt out. You even bailed on me at speed dating to go ride that fat cock like you couldn’t wait another half hour—”
• “I didn’t ride anything.” Except his hand.
• “—so I could tag along.” Emily rolled her eyes and dismissed her with a raised palm to her face. Her pointed fingernails nearly scraped her forehead. “Frontin’ ass fucker.”
• Meredith sat there, clearly trying to translate her mile-a-minute slang. “Speed dating? Ew.”
• “You guys, it was rich fucks like you there! Stop being so judgy.” Emily slammed his coffee cup on the table for emphasis. It was a paper cup from the vendor, so the effect was lacking. “Real talk? I got five numbers out of that shit, and if me and Landon break up, I’m getting me a rich sugar daddy.”
• “Is it likely that you’ll break up?” Megan asked.