Chapter 9

• “How?” Megan asked. “How is that—you know what? Never mind. If you’re afraid I’m carrying a torch for you just because you ejaculated in my ass, I suggest you rethink that assumption. You’re the one who keeps chasing me down and groping me. Maybe you should be reciting your speech about keeping things simple to yourself instead of lecturing me. It wouldn’t have fazed me to walk out of that event and go home alone tonight.”
• “Are you sure about that?” Oliver had no smart retort for Megan’s response. He stood without speaking, but he didn’t ease the crush of their bodies against the bar. If anything, he leaned against her harder, so close she could smell the sweet cherry scent of beer on his breath and the subtler hints of cologne. Megan wished she could see his face clearly, to read his expression and figure out why he was standing so silently, looking at her in the darkness, and insistent on forcing her into this standoff.
• “What do you want from me?” Megan asked.
• “I want to be your friend,” Oliver said.
• “A friend who touches my boobs in public.”
• Megan felt a hint of a smile against her cheek. “Those are the best kind,” he said in her ear. “I fuck around with a lot of my female friends. Intimacy doesn’t have to be normative. We can just… enjoy each other’s company and sometimes enjoy each other’s bodies. And right now I want to enjoy yours.”
• “My… what?”
• “Your hot body.” Oliver dropped his hand between them, palming Megan’s crotch, and she had to swallow a groan. “I think you need to expand your view of sex and relationships.”
• Megan’s pulse rocketed, but her voice was steady. “More New Age crap?”
• “Heh.” Oliver cupped her harder. “This doesn’t have anything to do with spirituality and channeling unless I’m going to reach a heightened state by being a few inches deep in you.”
• A breathless laugh burst out of Megan, stirring Oliver’s tousled hair. It was a moment when mortification or discomfort should have seized her, but it didn’t.
• “You have a dirty mouth.”
• “You like it dirty.” Oliver stopped kneading Megan and dragged his fingertips against her zipper. “You like it messy. And rough.”
• “You’re an expert?” Megan’s hands twitched from a desire to touch him, but she kept them still, even as her breathing became erratic.
• “One night that was the equivalent of four and a half fucks. I know a lot, baby.” Oliver went quiet again, watching and waiting, maybe for Megan to make the first move, but she couldn’t.
• “We can’t fool around now.”
• “It’s closed down here on weeknights unless there’s an event.”
• “Even so—”
• Oliver dipped his head down and latched his mouth onto the base of Megan’s throat. Her protests turned into a ragged moan, but she still didn’t touch him.
• Megan didn’t move even when he sucked harder, probably leaving a mark, and reached around to grab her ass. His fingers dug in so hard that she could feel the tips of them curving inward to press into her crack.
• It was just a simple, kneading motion through a layer of cotton, but it set her aflame. Her clit went from hard to throbbing, and her hands flew up to clench against him. She jerked him forward, yanked his head up, and kissed him as her breath came out in uneven bursts. The frantic pace was a complete contrast to the sensuous way their kisses had played out in her fantasy renditions of New Year’s Eve, but it didn’t seem to faze him.
• He alternated between stroking her tongue with his own and sucking it into his mouth, and then settled for tonguing her with a desperate urgency that stole her breath even as she tried to keep up. And when he shoved his hand down the back of her pants and pressed the pads of his fingers between her ass cheeks and down below, she stopped trying. Her body went molten after the first prodding touch against her, and she thought for one absurd moment that she would come from that alone.
• “Oh,” she whispered against his mouth. “Oh shit.”
• “Yeah, baby,” Oliver groaned into her mouth. “You like having your pussy played with. Don’t deny it.”
• Megan managed nothing more intelligent than a moan.
• The thought of being spread open and breached here, where anyone could see, was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. The nagging worry about someone walking in, about being escorted out of the bar, was shouted down by the part of her that wondered how much she would care once she was stretched open.
• Oliver kissed her again, gentler this time, and massaged the bundle of nerves around her opening. He teased out both a sense of anxiety and a primal need to be penetrated deeper. The opposing senses had her ass clenching with anticipation.
• “Tell me what you want,” Oliver said.
• “Oliver, just—”
• “Just what?” Oliver rubbed the iron rod of his cock against her thigh. “You want me to just do what I want?”
• Megan nodded and tried to draw Oliver into another messy kiss, but he evaded and bucked his hips against her.
• “That’s not the way it works.”
• “Jesus, don’t make this into a fucking teachable moment.”
• Oliver trailed kisses against Megan’s jaw. “Then don’t be afraid to tell me what you need. I’ve already seen you in rare form.”
• “I’m—” The tip of his finger pressed into Megan’s hole, delving partially inside. She shuddered. “I’m not afraid.”
• “Then stop stalling and tell me.” He sucked Megan’s earlobe into his mouth, milked another shaky moan out of her, and then released it. “While it’s just us, in this dark empty room, I want you to stop being afraid and tell me exactly what you want. You did in the hallway at Emily's place, and you nailed me so hard that I’m pretty sure I woke up the entire building with all of my shouting. You weren’t afraid to pound me, and you weren’t afraid to tell me that you wanted me to do it to you.”
• His belt buckle clattered against the windowsill as Megan jammed him against it. The sound echoed in the empty hallway, and each time she thrust into him, his groans did too. There was nothing in the corridor except the door leading to the roof, but Oliver still bit into the side of Megan’s neck in an attempt to quiet himself. She started jerking his cock, and his teeth bit farther into her flesh.
• “I think you liked that we were in public.” Oliver’s voice slipped into bedroom volumes. He rubbed Megan with more pressure. “You must have, because you started it in the cab too. Made sure my dick was throbbing for the entire ride. I hadn’t dribbled precome like that since high school. It felt like I was continuously coming.”
• As hard to believe as it was, Megan knew it was true. Every memory of that night was colored by her demanding his cock in the most shameless possible ways. That he had seen her that way should have been a humiliation.
• She wouldn’t have been able to bear it with David. He’d always expected so much of her that she’d clung to the version of herself that he’d fallen in love with, even after it’d become clear that he didn’t love her anymore. Giving up that image had never quite worked, and he’d never trusted her slight, bumbling attempts.
• He’d been confused by the random alterations in her behavior and had been afraid that rare moments of abundant affection and great sex were too good to be true. Too risky to trust. David had never liked giving himself over to chance. For him, it had been safer to grit his teeth and bear their dysfunction while seeking affection elsewhere.
• But this thing that was happening with Oliver was different. They’d started out with intensity and sloppy, unashamed fucking. There was no room for Megan to hide. It helped that whatever he’d witnessed that night seemed to just make him want more of it. More of her. Even if it was on his very specific terms.
• “Tell me,” he repeated. “What’s going to make you come the hardest?”
• Megan tilted her forehead against Oliver’s, pressing hard, and felt his hot breath against her face. “I—I want your… I want you to put your fingers in my clit.” she whispered, her voice barely above a breathy murmur.
• Oliver wrenched her around, shoving her against the bar, and yanking her pants halfway down her hips. Megan turned her head to glance at the door, but it was too difficult to see with him pinned to her back.
• “Why?” Oliver asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
• A wet sound followed his question, and Megan knew he was sliding his fingers in and out of his mouth, he shouldn't have bother. She was wet enough. Her knees buckled, and she leaned heavily against the bar for support.
• “Why what?” she asked, her voice trembling.
• “Why do you want my fingers in you?” Oliver pressed, his breath hot against her ear.
• Megan closed her eyes and bowed her head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and arousal. “Why the hell do you think?” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I remember parts of that night. I remember it feeling good.”
• Two long digits entered her, and Megan released a noise that was half-gasp and half-sigh. Her toes curled, and she found herself grateful for the raw friction that hovered on the border of pain.
• “Now tell me what to do,” Oliver whispered in her ear, his fingers moving skillfully inside her. “In detail.”
• Megan gripped the edge of the bar with white knuckles, her body trembling with need. “Please,” she pleaded, her voice barely coherent. “Please, Oliver.”
• A spasm went through Oliver’s hands, but he didn’t relent. “Tell me,” he urged, his voice husky with desire.