Ollie the poet had emerged from the alcohol. Words moved effortlessly, tone steady and slow, suffocating and resuscitating—a reviving poison spewing from lips made by God. His fingers moved over the surface of my bare stomach before he slid his palm down to my waist. With the song set to repeat, he set the phone over his desk with his other hand, and our foreheads connected, and together we danced.
Ollie’s eyes bounced between mine and wet his lips. Goosebumps flared over my skin despite the warmth radiating from his blazing skin. We danced until a minute before the fireworks were set to go off before we rushed to the window. I waited, my gaze fixed out into the darkness with him beside me, hand in hand.
In my peripheral, I felt the weight of his stare. “Watch Ollie,” I tapped on the window.
“I am.”
And the fireworks went off, lighting up the entire sky. Colors bled together—blues, purples, whites, reds—colors of hope, and shapes of a new year. Ollie squeezed my hand, and I turned to face him. “Close your eyes, love,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Under the stars.”
Then his lips grabbed hold of mine before his hands reached the nape of my neck. Ollie took me there, under the stars—under the fireworks. He kissed me into color with taste buds mixed with mint and red wine. We sank into each other before my greed took over. My tongue pushed through his swollen lips wanting to enter his bloodstream, and a soft moan came up from his throat.
Slow. Dramatic. Torturous.
The three heart-hammering ingredients that made up Oliver Masters and the way he moved. The straps of my bra rolled off my shoulders by the tips of his fingers. His hands moved leisurely over the thin fabric, thumbs brushing my hardened nipples, as his mouth made its journey down my neck and across my collarbone.
Drunk and messy, I couldn’t stand still as he pulled down the rest of the bra. My breasts hit the cold air, and he took both into his hands before his tongue swirled around, sending a heatwave through my veins. I fell back against the window and dropped my head back as Ollie sank to his knees. A firework display exploded behind me and inside me. My fingers moved through his unruly hair to keep myself from falling, and because of the simple fact I needed to touch him.
He yanked my bottoms down, my insides swam freely, and Ollie dragged his tongue through my sex, gathering the wetness I’d spilled for him. My heartbeat dropped to my clit, and he pulled it between his teeth gently before taking all of me into his mouth. He pulled my leg over his shoulder for more access, and my legs shook. Trying to hold myself together became an impossible task.
Intoxicated or not, Ollie had no boundaries when it came to pleasing me. His palms grabbed my bottom, guiding me to grind against lips. I wanted to cry out, but my chest held as a surge entered the same time his tongue did. My hands clenched to fists in his hair. My legs gave out, completely dependent on him, holding me together as he built the climax higher and higher. “Ollie,” I cried out in warning. He only moved his hands around his punishing mouth, pinning me open to take all of me in.
Ollie indulged in my orgasm, draining me completely until he stood back to his feet. His swollen lips glistened and turned into a lazy smile. “You alright, love?”
Heat flowed up my neck and to my cheeks, and I covered my face with my hands. In a single move, Ollie picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around him. My wet sex slid down his pelvis, my core still reeling.
Ollie’s erection strained against his joggers. “Where do you want me to make love to you?” his lips lingered over mine. “I fancy the view right here, but it’s your call, love.”
“Here,” I whispered, and kissed his wet lips, tasting myself on him. He pinned me against the wall and dropped his sweats, his hard shaft bounced against my bottom, and he pulled away to see me. Green cautious eyes seared into me, his lips twitched, and I inched back to move his shaft through my core. “I got you.”
Three words to remind him it was okay to let go.
Ollie’s palm hit the window before he thrust himself inside me. He released a breath and closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, we stilled connected as one. I touched his face, bringing him back. The grind that came after sent us both in a sweet craze. We chased each other into multiple highs. Lips and tongues moved over every surface, and hands satisfied every touch.
Somewhere along the ride, we ended on the floor in the heap of pillows and blankets as music dripped from the small speaker of my phone. We made love into all hours of the night and until the sun came up. The spell of the night overcame our hangover, and an acoustic guitar from a folk song penetrated the air around our heated and slick limbs.
“Knock-knock,” Ollie whispered, twirling a lock of mine between his fingers.
I laid over him, and a tired smile played on my lips. “Who’s there?”
“Olive.”
“Olive who?” I asked, tracing my finger over the tattoo on his chest.
“Olive you.”
As I pulled away from his chest, Ollie dropped his eyes down to see me with a boyish grin.
Naked and laced in each other, we fell asleep to the soothing music into the first day of the new year.
Ollie.
“Have you been skipping your meds?”
My knee bounced under his scrutiny. Did I feel guilty? Not in the least bit. But the weight of Dr. Butala’s eyes felt like the entire campus of Dolor sitting on my chest. I’d like to call myself an honest man … but only when I’m free of the beast who raged inside me.
The pills. The past. Oscar.
Fuck you, Oscar.
“No,” I lied, and that bloody lie infiltrated through me to the tips of my fingers as I drummed them against my knee.
What I didn’t think was at all possible, Dr. Butala narrowed his eyes increasing the weight. I could hardly breathe. The lie I’d just told hovered like a dark cloud above me with two huge arrows pointing at my head, blinking “Liar.” My entire body defied what my heart and soul was doing, but my mouth had a mind of its own.
If he knew, he’d apply force, and there was no way in hell I’d ever go back to what I was before. Mia and I only had four months left before we were out of here. Ending up in the psych ward until then wasn’t a part of the plan. Protecting her was.
“Has your arousal balanced?” he asked impassively.
My arousal. I pressed my lips together while Butala struggled to remain serious. My erections only rose at the simplest thought of Mia. Even on the fucking pills, she had been the only one my heart and knob both agreed on. Silently, I thanked my dick for not getting me into too much trouble during the dark time. “My arousal is doing just fine.”
“Good,” he typed a few more notes on his keyboard before he finally looked up at me. “Dr. Conway will be back tomorrow. I think it’s a good idea to pick up counseling sessions once a week until the end of the school year.”
My palm ran down my face. It only meant once a week that Mia would be left alone with Scott. I may trust Scott to keep her from harm, but that was the only thing I trusted him with. Scott was in love with her, and if I were him, I’d never stop trying. You’d be a fool to give up a feeling once it touches you, and Mia didn’t only touch me, she flowed through me. “Is it mandatory?”
Butala jabbed his pointer finger into his mouse with a single click. “Yes, Masters.”