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.”
“Then I suppose I don’t have a choice.” I gripped the arms of the chair before I stood, itching to get back to her. “Next week, same time, yeah?”
Butala studied me. “Yes, Oliver. Next week.”
He wasn’t stupid. He knew I wasn’t taking the bloody medication. I only needed him not to push the topic until I breathed the air on the other side of the wall.
I stopped at the loo for a leak before I met Mia in the common room. Classes haven’t started back up yet, and to keep the restless from throwing themselves into
trouble, movies played on repeat.
Moaning sounded a few stalls away, and I rolled my head back at the distastefulness of fucking next to a bloody toilet.
“Fuck, yes … ” a whiney voice hissed, and I slammed my eyes shut, focusing on the job at hand—quite literally.
“Ollie,” the girl sang, and my eyes sprang open.
“What the fuck did you just call me?” a bloke asked.
I shook off my knob and zipped my pants, unsure of what to do with myself.
“Oh, just go with it,” she breathed.
The sound of flesh slapping together bounced off the stalls. Over and over. The girl cried my name. The bloke grunted, and I stood frozen.
“Ollie,” she whispers with tears in her eyes. “It’s alright.”
“No,” I seethe through gritted teeth, shaking my head. It isn’t right. What he wants me to do isn’t right. I look up at Oscar, who stands beside me.
“You will, brother. I got her just for you. She’ll comply.” Oscar’s palm hit my nauseated stomach with a condom inside. “Should fit your fourteen-year-old knob, yeah? Get him going, darlin’. It’s time for Lil’ O to enter manhood.”
I freeze, eyes set out in front of me but looking at absolutely nothing as the older girl unzips my pants and Oscar has a tight grip at the back of my neck.
She can’t be much older. Oscar likes them young, and apparently, she was picked and primed for me. Platinum blonde hair. Ice blue eyes. Fake nails. Fake lashes.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s seventeen or eighteen.
Any boy my age would jump at the idea of losing his virginity to an older girl with a beautiful face and pristine body. Not me. “But I’m saving myself.”
Oscar throws his head back, a menacing laugh escaping. “What for?”
I shrug, unsure exactly. I’d never been the one to have to prove something to anyone. I’d never had to prove myself to Oscar, and I’d read enough books to know that the action about to take place shouldn’t be done lightly, especially with an audience. “When the time is right, I suppose.”
Oscar sends a nod of approval to the girl who he calls, “Lacey,” and Lacey pulls down my pants and boxers.
“He’s blessed,” she declares.
“Runs in the family,” Oscar mutters and slaps her arse. “Get on with it.”
Oscar plops down over a chair against the wall behind me, rubbing over his knob as the girl rubs over me. It is wrong, and I want to hate myself for how my body reacts to her.
A few minutes pass and Oscar’s frustrated breathing mixes with the sound of the girl blowing me. Yeah, I’m hard, but can’t reach the fucking point. She snatches the condom and rolls it over my aching dick. I look back over to Oscar in a desperate plea as he clutches his junk in his hand. “Fuck her, you coward. No one’s leaving this room until you become one of us.”
I know how to fuck. I’ve watched my mom bang blokes, and Oscar beat into fanny so many times before. I just don’t want to. Not like this. Not here. Not now. Not with her.
Lacey turns her back to me and bends over. Her fanny splits open, offering whatever I want. I could leave, get my arse beat and be back here again tomorrow.
Or I could take it.
One last look at Oscar, the dirty fucking scumbag only pumps his hand over his knob harder. “Fuck her, brother,” he barks. “Now!”
“Is this what you want?” I ask Lacey, her face pressed into the mattress and arse ready to take a beating. She nods, and rage blows through me like a tornado. Oscar wants to create someone just like him. I spat on my hand and grabbed a handful of her fanny and my dick responds. “You sure?”
“Yes, Ollie … ” she cries out, and it doesn’t take long before I turn into the monster sitting behind me.
“Yes, Ollie … ” My name pulled me from my memory. I had to get out of there.
The swinging door slammed against the wall as I pushed through. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I should’ve asked the girl why the hell it was my name she was screaming, but all I wanted was to get out of there as quickly as possible in search of oxygen—in search of Mia.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Perhaps the most
dangerous man,
is a man in love.”
—Oliver Masters
mia.
ETHAN DIALED UP the volume on the TV to drown out the chatter in the room before he fell back into the desk chair beside me. My legs kicked up on the wobbly desk, and I shoved my hand inside a bag of Lays. The fluorescent bulbs were out. The only light was the sliver streaming through the blinds and Die Hard playing at the front of the room on a rolling cart.
“Christmas movie or not a Christmas movie?” Ethan asked, snatching the bag of chips from my hands.
“Hey!” I screeched, but his fingers had already pulled out a chip, and I proceeded to suck off the tips of mine. “Christmas movie … definitely.”
“Agreed.” He nodded.
The phone on the wall rang, and Ethan bounced back to his feet and tossed the bag in my lap. My eyes followed him over to the phone beside the door. Ethan was back in his black uniform, belt snug around his hips and red hair fixed wildly over his head. Moments after answering, his gaze shot over to me before turning to face the wall, nodding in agreement to whoever was on the other end of the line.
Ethan hung up, walked behind the TV, and leaned over the desk to whisper to me, “That was Lynch’s assistant. There’s a call for you downstairs.”
“I don’t know who it could be.”
“Maybe your dad wishing you a Merry Christmas?”
A laugh came out in the form of a rush of air. “He’s a few weeks too late.”
“So, you’re not going?”
I shook my head, pulling my thumb between my lips.
“Something could be wrong, Jett. He rarely calls. Maybe it’s important … ”
My hand fell from my mouth, and Ethan pressed me with that just-talk-to-him look. I groaned and slapped my palms against the wooden desk as I rose to my feet. “Fine. Are you coming with me?”
“Can’t,” he jabbed a thumb behind him, indicating his duty to Dolor.
“Ollie will be mad,” I sang.
Ethan dropped his head to the side and raised a brow. “Masters will survive.”
I trudged down the lifeless halls. The sound of my combat boots against the marble mirrored the creepiness, and though I was fully clothed in my black jeans and Ollie’s black “poetic” hoodie, the building put off enough resentment to turn this hell cold.
My pace quickened, and before I made it to the stairwell, a force grabbed my hood from behind, choking me and thrashing me backward. My nails dug into the skin of whoever had grabbed me, but they didn’t stop yanking until I was thrown into a dark closet.
The door slammed, and all that surrounded me was the dark.
When fear should have reared its nasty head, all I found was anger. Hesitantly, I reached my arms out in front of me for the doorknob. “Let me out!” I screamed, beating against the door.
I screamed until my voice went hoarse, I pounded my fist until my arm grew weak, I kicked until my legs gave out, and then I sank to the floor. Regardless if my eyes were open or closed, it was still dark. It no longer mattered. So, I left them closed and waited for someone to realize I’d gone missing.
It shouldn’t be too much longer. Still, I kept my eyes closed, relishing in having the choice to see darkness under my own admission, not because I was locked in a closet. My blood simmered though I was freezing and my imagination ran wild. Many times, my brain played tricks on me, believing I’d heard my name being called. My foot tapped against the door to signal where I was.
Ethan should’ve come with me.
Ollie would be pissed that he didn’t. He’d flip this school upside down until I fell from this closet.
Not too much longer, and he’d find me. I curled in the corner, my knees pressed against my chest with my head dropped between them. I only needed to stay calm for a little while longer.
Then the lock clicked.
Or had I imagined it?
I crawled forward, pushing my hand out in front of me until I felt the cold metal of the doorknob. Sure enough, the knob twisted open, and the door creaked open.
Light entered, and I dropped my head in relief when my eyes moved across the floor. A note laid over the dusty marble. I sat back on my knees and held it out in front of me. It read, “That’s what it feels like.”
“Mia!” Ollie’s voice echoed through the hall. Sitting frozen with the note clasped between my fingers, he appeared in front of me. “What the hell happened?” Ollie pushed my hair back as he scanned over my face. “You alright?”
Ollie pulled me off the ground, and I nodded. “Yeah,” I think I said, offering the letter to him. He took the note from my hand and read over it. His chest raised heavily and worry struck in his green eyes when they hit mine.
He was angry.
I was scared.
He was shaking in fury.
I was shaking in fear.
“What do we do?” I finally asked, my throat swollen.
“I’m over this shit. I’m so over it. Fuck. I’m taking down this son of a bitch,” Ollie licked his lip and tore his eyes away from me and down the hall, “Right after I go wring Scott’s fucking neck.” Ollie grabbed my hand, leading me down the hallway back to the common room, stride not letting up.
He was right and wrong at the same time.
Ethan shouldn’t have left me to go alone, but he did.
But I wasn’t Ethan’s responsibility. I was no one’s responsibility.
“Ollie, it’s not his fault.” I squeezed his hand, trying to slow him down. “Stop and listen to me!”
Even When I'm Gone (Stay With Me series Book 2) Page 28