Chapter 22

Ollie’s POV

Alone that night, as I rested in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Hugh’s hands on me. The sensation, though jarringly rough, hadn’t been totally unpleasant, but it was the much softer touches that stayed with me now, memories of the night we spent together.

I toss and turn in the bed, trying to put the memories and the growing feeling of warmth that comes with them from my mind, but the harder I try to push them away, the more intense they become.

I gave Hugh my virginity, and he’d gently taken it. Making sure I was comfortable and prepared before slowly moving inside of me. Now that I have crossed that barrier, I imagine that during sex in the future, I will feel nothing but pleasure without any ounce of pain again.

My body heats, and my skin itches for his soft touches once more. The desire swelling low in my belly almost has me reaching for my burner phone where it’s charging beside my normal phone on the nightstand, but I stop myself.

I will not call for him just because I want him. If and when I choose to be with Hugh again, it will be because I need to have sex, to help strengthen my wolf and sate the mating bond. I’m not to that point yet.

If I reach out to him tonight, it would be only for lust.

Lust can too easily fall into love. I am not going to let that happen to me.

That defiance doesn’t help me find sleep, however, and I continue to struggle.

Then, as if he could sense my frustration from several floors below, Hugh sends a message that makes my burner phone chime. No one else has the number. It has to be him.

I just won’t answer it. That’s what I’ll do. I will roll away from the phone and force my eyes closed until I actually fall asleep.

Yet, just as I’m about to put this plan into action, the phone chimes with another message.

Two messages without a response? What could he be saying?

I groan, annoyed at myself and my curiosity.

Just sleep, I command myself.

It almost works. I stay still for around twenty seconds. But then, my curiosity finally gets the better of me.

It wouldn’t hurt just to read what he sent. It doesn’t mean I have to reply!

Rolling over, facing the nightstand once more, I grab the burner phone and unlock it. Clicking on the message, it opens with a picture that makes me nearly drop the phone.

Hugh sent me a dick pic.

I grab the phone with both hands, my eyes going wide. He’s rock hard and gripping himself with a firm hand. He must be in his bed, I can see his sheets under him – I recognize the red satin from when I’m asked to help out with the laundry. I know how smooth they feel, and I shudder, imagining myself on the bed beside him.

His thighs are spread slightly, like he intends to buck up into his hand. My face burns as images of me on top of him flicker through my mind at impossible speeds. What would it be like to be on top of him?

Heat rises between my legs and my panties get damp.

After a moment’s more staring, I finally read the text underneath.

This is your fault. I am thinking of all the things I want to do to you.

I shouldn’t reply. As per my earlier plan, I should close the phone, roll over in bed, and force myself to find sleep.

Yet the thrum of desire that had been strumming within me was now nearly impossible to ignore. My red hot desire entirely overwhelmed my willpower, and I texted a reply before I could stop myself.

Tell me about them.

The message is near-instantly confirmed received. Closing my eyes, I picture Hugh’s devilish smile curling his lips as he realizes I’m open to playing tonight, if only in words.

I can see that he’s typing, and my heartrate starts to pick up speed. In anticipation, I trace my hand up and down the middle of my chest over my old t-shirt, my fingers dancing along the edge of my breasts, teasing myself as I allow the wildfire within me to spark and spread.

Then Hugh’s message comes through.

You’ve never been on top. I’d teach you how to ride me. How to chase your own pleasure. I’d even let you try to take the lead… I’d play with your tits while I watch your face. I wish I could see you while you cum.

Immediately, as if given direction by him, I bring my hand not holding to the phone to cup one of my breasts. Through the fabric of the t-shirt, I roll the nipple between my thumb and forefinger, mimicking the motions that Hugh did back in the cabin.

He’s typing again. I can’t wait to read what he says next.

When I can’t take it anymore, I’ll roll you over, put your legs on my shoulders, and plow you through the mattress.

My face burns as I imagine him pushing me onto my back with him still inside of me. In my mind, he holds up my legs, lifting me up, while he bucks into me with wild abandon.

I can’t… The images are too vivid. I have to touch myself.

I drop my breast and slip my fingers down under my sleep shorts and my panties. The minute I touch my clit, I moan.

Another message comes in.

Are you touching yourself? Does thinking of me fucking you into the mattress make you so hot you can’t resist?

I don’t know if he’s looking for an answer. So far, he’s continued talking with no reply from me.

This time, however, I want to respond. I want him to know what I’m doing so that he will keep going. He won’t stop.

With my right hand busy though, I’m left to type with only my left thumb.

All I manage is, Y.

It seems to be enough.

His replies are instant, one after the next.

Fuck yes.

Keep going, lovely.

Pretend those are my fingers on your clit.

Gods, I wish it was. I’d love to hear the noises you’re making. Fuck.

His messages stop then, and I imagine him stroking himself with wild abandon. The mental picture pushes me to rub my clit harder, with more insistence. Setting aside the phone, I sink my other hand into my panties too, and press two fingers inside of myself as I rub at the same time.

At his command, I pretend these are his fingers working me. My fingers are not as wide, and my touches are not as purposeful or experienced, but the thought still shakes me, pushes me harder.

Before I know it, I’m close. Is he close too?

My phone lights up. I look, seeing the screen beside me on the pillow.

Cum for me, lovely. Cum all over my hands.

I can practically hear the words in his cocky voice, his grin in place, his eyes intense.

It pushes me over the edge, and I obey him.

As I come down from a daze, I realize the mess I’ve made of myself. My panties are drenched and I wipe my hands on my sleepshirt. What I need is a shower.

I look back at my phone, wondering if I should say something to Hugh.

Somehow, he seems to have guessed that I came.

Goodnight, lovely. Thanks for the fun.

Rolling my eyes – arrogant bastard – I push myself out of bed and grab my towel. My limbs are more relaxed than before. I could probably sleep now, but I want to be clean first.

So I open the door to the hallway, my towel over my arm, and stop immediately.

Conrad is standing there, his hand up as if he was about to knock.

He looks at me and he sniffs.