Page 9 of Oliver
Three
OLIVER
I wake several hours later to the sun shining through the bedroom curtain and blink, then jolt when I feel a warm, very naked body against mine and hard cock pressing against my arse. Memories from the previous night flood my mind and I slide out of my companion’s embrace as carefully as I can so as not to wake him. In the light of day, the realization of what I have done crashes into me and I start to panic. It’s not just the fact that I slept with another person when I have a girlfriend waiting for me in Scarsdale that terrifies me. It’s the fact that that other person was a man.
So why did I do it? I wish I could blame it on the alcohol, but I can’t. The truth is, I did it because I wanted to. And maybe because if sleeping with a man didn’t turn out to be everything I’d ever imagined it to be, I could move on. Move on from these ideas and dreams of finding another man to share my life with. Marry Amanda and forget that I ever wanted something different.
But that backfired so horrifically because it wasn’t terrible at all. It was incredible. It was everything.
Christ, I can’t stay here. I have to get home and cleaned up and changed before I start work. Before I see Amanda again.
Christ, Amanda. I dig through the pile of clothes on the floor and find my phone in my trouser pocket, pulling it out. Looking at the screen, I have twelve missed texts and calls from her and another six from my father. I groan quietly and run a hand through my hair.
Fuck. What have I done? I’ve always considered myself a decent man. I’ve never cheated on any of my previous girlfriends. Not that there were many. I certainly didn’t enter that bar last night with the intention of cheating, but I did.
I look back at the sleeping man who fucked me so good I can still feel his cock inside me. My body shudders remembering the words he spoke, how he praised me. I’d never had someone talk to me like that before and I loved it, more than I care to admit. Loved the feeling of being filled, of submitting. It was freeing, to let go.
I know I told him I would stay and shower, and have breakfast with him, but one look at him rumpled and dozing under the sheets and I know I can’t. I’ve already fucked up so much in the last twenty-four hours, I can’t do it again.
So what if it was the best sex I’ve ever had. It was just an experiment. Nothing more. A way to relieve stress.
So why is it so hard to leave, knowing I will probably never see him again? Shouldn’t see him again. I ache to touch him, to run my fingers through his golden hair, to see those beautiful blue eyes looking back at me, that smile on his handsome face.
But I don’t touch him. I don’t speak. I stand and pull my briefs on, then my trousers. Telling myself I am doing the right thing, even though it feels very much like leaving him is the biggest mistake of my life.
God, my clothes reek of sex. I have to get home and cleaned up before someone sees me. I should never have been here. I can’t be here.
I’m shaking as I button my shirt and tuck it in, then buckle my belt. I grab my phone and even though I want to leave my number and a note, telling him where he can find me or asking him if he wants to do this again, because I would gladly drive an hour to be with him a second time, I don’t do that either. I slip out of the room and close the door behind me. The apartment is silent as I make my way towards the front door. I slide my shoes on, make sure I have my keys and wallet, and then make my way out of the building, my chest aching the entire three flights of stairs down to my car.
When I get inside I close the door, and hands shaking, I pick up my phone, then take a deep breath and press call. Amanda’s sunny voice greets me on the other end and I have to rub my chest as the ache inside deepens.
“Oliver?” she says. “Oh my God, are you okay? I called you a dozen times and texted you and you didn’t answer. I was getting worried.”
“I’m alright, love,” I tell her. “Just tired. I had a long day at work yesterday and went to bed early.”
“You sound a little funny,” she says, and I chuckle. It’s not humorous, at all, really, the situation, but I don't know what else to do. It’s either that or scream.
“I’m okay,” I say again. “Listen, would you want to get dinner tonight? Someplace special?”
“Ooh, I would love that. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Absolutely,” I lie. “Pick you up at eight?”
“Okay,” she says, a smile evident in her voice. I hang up and feel tears sliding down my cheeks as I pull out of the lot.
I pull myself together before I ring Father.
“It’s about time,” he snarls. “Where do you and your sister get off, treating your mother like that? We raised you to respect your elders, and I will not tolerate?—”
“Father, I’ve decided to ask Amanda to marry me,” I interrupt.
There’s silence for a beat before he replies. “Well, I see you took to heart what your mother and I said last night. Glad to hear it. You’ll be bringing her around for dinner soon, then, I take it. I’ll have your mother tell Hannah to prepare something special for the occasion.”
“That would be nice, Father, thank you.”
“In light of the good news I suppose we can put last night’s behavior behind us. You really ought to have a talk with your sister, though, Oliver. I fear she’s becoming too autonomous, now that she is on her own, with no man to guide her.”
“Of course, Father.”