Mind Code (Coded Connections Duet #2)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Amelia

Assessing the soft shade of cream that my mother deems casual, I smooth down the front of my cashmere sweater dress and sigh as I glance at my reflection in my vanity’s mirror.

I’m starting to lose myself in this.

The dress falls just above my knees and is paired with delicate silver jewelry and nude ballet flats.

What could possibly be on the agenda now? The thought of another social obligation makes my stomach churn.

I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, wondering if I should have opted for a more elaborate hairstyle. But then again, why bother? It’s not as if I’m trying to impress anyone.

Liar.

The guys came to the garden party yesterday, and they will probably be there for whatever is happening tonight. James knocked on my door maybe an hour ago, telling me I should get ready for a casual gathering, but I can only guess what that entails in my family’s book .

Puzzling over the possibilities, I’m startled by the vibration of my phone on the vanity. Morgan’s name flashes across the screen, and I feel a mix of relief and anxiety as I answer the call.

“Hey, how are my fish doing?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

Morgan’s laughter fills the line. “The fish are great, Amelia. And I’m fine, too, thank you very much.”

I cringe inwardly, heat rising to my cheeks. “Sorry, I’m so awkward. I… I should’ve asked about you first,” I stammer, mentally kicking myself.

I’ve always been rubbish at phone calls, but this is a new low even for me.

“Don’t worry about it,” Morgan reassures me. “Grandpa’s here too.”

“Hi,” I call out, hearing his warm “Hello, dear” in response.

Then Morgan’s voice turns serious. “We wanted to ask how things are going and when you’re all coming home.”

I pause because what am I even going to say to this?

“Amelia?”

“I-I’m not sure,” I admit.

I might not be able to come back at all.

The thought sends a pang through my chest.

Mr. Donovan’s voice comes through. “Are the boys not doing well with apologizing?” he asks, gentle but probing.

“They are,” I say, thinking about how Grey played piano for two hours yesterday so I wouldn’t have to, then simply kissed my cheek before leaving. “I’m sorry,” I add, the guilt creeping in.

“Them apologizing doesn’t burden you with an obligation. A genuine apology comes with understanding and the patience and grace to wait for acceptance with compassion,” Mr. Donovan reassures me .

His words hit me hard, and I feel understood in a way that makes my chest tighten. Tears well up in my eyes as I realize how overwhelmed I am, how much I’ve been holding back. I blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.

“Thank you,” I rasp out.

“What is it, Amelia? You know you can tell us anything,” Morgan prompts, her concern palpable even through the phone.

I need to talk to someone about it.

Taking a deep breath, I pour out everything, the words rushing out like water after a dam breaking. I tell them about my father wanting August to take over the firm and how it could ruin his marriage and, ultimately, his life.

My voice cracks as I speak, emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “It’s all because of me,” I confess, the guilt I’ve been carrying spilling out. “I left, and now I have to somehow fix this mess. If August doesn’t agree to cut ties with our parents and come to the States with me, the only solution I see is to marry this guy my mother wants me to marry and somehow convince my father to let him take over the firm instead.”

I finish speaking and realize I’m trembling, my free hand clutching some strands of my hair.

My mind spins with doubt when the silence on the other end of the line becomes deafening, and I wonder if I’ve said too much, if I’ve finally managed to push them away.

But then, Morgan’s voice shatters the silence, “What the fuck, Amelia? That is not going to happen, and I’ll come over and get you out of there myself if you even think about doing that. My brother did not go through all of this for you to marry someone you don’t even want to marry.”

She’s right. Either I’m ruining August’s life, or I hurt the guys .

What do I do?

“Easy, Morgan,” Mr. Donovan interjects, the calm counterpoint to Morgan’s fiery outrage. “Amelia, take a deep breath. This is not going to happen. August will see reason and come back with you to the States. And if he doesn’t, I’ll step in and talk to your father. I still have plenty of connections in the legal world, and I’m sure I can talk to Mr. Stanley about some suitable alternatives.”

His reassurance feels like a lifeline thrown across the ocean of my fears.

My father thinks highly of him. He made that abundantly clear the last few days.

“Give me some time,” Mr. Donovan continues. “I will look into it. But dear, you need to stop overthinking this and drowning in all this guilt. It’s not your fault, and we will fix this. You focus on letting the boys make things right with you, and I’ll handle the rest.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, choked with emotion, the relief mingling with the remaining strands of worry.

A knock at the door startles me back to reality.

“Miss Stanley, it’s time,” James’ voice calls through the wood, and I only now realize that my smartwatch is buzzing.

“I have to go,” I say quickly into the phone.

“We’ll talk soon,” Morgan replies.

“Take care, dear,” Mr. Donovan adds.

The moment I hang up the phone, I feel slightly steadier.

Pulling up the security feed on my laptop, I quickly scan through the cameras positioned in the entry hall. The footage shows the area mostly empty, save for a maid fussing with the flowers. The guys aren’t there, nor are my parents or August .

“Where is everyone?” I mutter to myself, puzzled by the absence of the usual pre-event bustle.

What the hell?

Scooping up my purse, I step toward the door with a deep breath to face whatever this function is or isn’t.

I open the door, James nods at me, and without another word, he escorts me down the sweeping staircase, his steps measured and unhurried. We reach the bottom, and I glance around the grand foyer, still expecting to see others gathered.

“Why is nobody here?”

James just smirks, a knowing look in his eyes that does nothing to alleviate my growing sense of intrigue. “All expected attendees are already present,” he replies cryptically.

“And what kind of gathering is it tonight?” I press, hoping for more details, yet he continues to guide me toward the front door without much of an answer.

“You shall discover soon enough. However, we must hurry to ensure your punctuality,” he adds, checking his watch as if to punctuate the point.

Stepping outside, the cool evening air brushes against my skin, and I spot my mother’s Bentley idling at the curb. Wilfred stands by the rear door, ready and waiting. As we approach, he smiles and pulls open the back door for me.

“Enjoy it, Amelia,” James says, his voice laced with a hint of something I can’t quite place—anticipation, perhaps?

I nod, puzzled about him using my first name for the first time ever, and slide into the plush back seat of the car. Wilfred shuts the door with a soft thud, encapsulating me in a bubble of my own swirling thoughts.

What in the world?

Silence follows as we drive off, but after a few minutes, Wilfred speaks up. “You deserve this, Miss Amelia. Them . We’re all very happy for you.”

Confusion tightens around my chest. “What are you talking about? Where are we headed? And where are my parents?”

“They’re out with friends. I just drove them and was told to return in a couple of hours,” Wilfred explains. “So, we have time.”

“Time for what?” I press,

Wilfred chuckles softly. “You know these men have been spending their time with us, eating with the staff, talking. Mostly about you. They wanted to know everything we could give them.”

Another way to watch me?

Through the people who know me?

“And you just told them?” I inquire, not sure if I am more confused or hurt by the idea.

“We didn’t at first, but let’s just say they can be persuasive and persistent, especially Mr. Grey.” Wilfred laughs. “But it was clear to all of us that they only have your best intentions in mind.”

“How would you know?” I challenge.

I don’t even know.

“I’ve seen Mr. Grey check ingredients with the caterer, Mr. Oliver fix your coffee how you like it, and Mr. Misha make you smile in a way I’ve never seen before.”

They did?

Tears instantly prick in my eyes. “How?” I whisper. “How do I smile?”

“Without thought.”

Silence envelops us again, and I bite my bottom lip.

They truly are here because of me, aren’t they?

I’m so done with this.

Done with my hurt and anger .

“Do you remember when I drove you to the London Library with your nanny?” Wilfred asks.

“My eleventh birthday,” I reply, a smile tugging at my lips even if I don’t get why he’s bringing this up now.

It was the only good birthday I’ve ever had.

Besides the one this year.

He nods. “You were in there for maybe twenty minutes after you bugged your mother to let you go for months.”

“Mother didn’t understand why we couldn’t just buy the books I wanted.” I huff.

She thought it was gross to read books other people had already read and didn’t understand the magic a library holds.

Wilfred takes a turn, and I look out at the green of St. James Park passing by. “I asked you why you were so quick.”

“And I told you that the library is so cool, but I didn’t like how many people were in there,” I finish, recalling the memory.

I spent most of my time at home or at private school then, having private lessons. That many people were just too much for me.

Still are.

I can hear the smile in Wilfred’s voice. “And you said that, and I quote, ‘ One day, I’m breaking in there at night and having it all to myself. ’”

I smile too, whispering, “I’d almost forgotten that.”

“Well, I haven’t,” he says, halting the car in front of the London Library.

Oh my God.

Oliver is standing out front, looking nervous but handsome as hell in his usual casual shirt and pants. Despite his anxiety, he looks incredibly handsome, his eyes searching mine through the car window as he takes a step forward .

Wilfred turns to look at me. “You know we love having you here, Amelia. But do us all a favor. Take your men and go live the happy life you deserve, far away.”

My bottom lip trembles as I look at Wilfred and nod. When Oliver opens the door and reaches out a hand to help me, I feel a rush of emotions.

Hope, mostly.

Love.

“May I?” Oliver asks softly, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, a silent plea for me to trust him.

I take his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch, grounding me. “Yes,” I whisper, stepping out of the car.

We walk toward the entrance, and excitement starts to build. I take a deep breath as we step inside, and the scent of old books and polished wood envelops me.

This is… wow.

I squeeze Oliver’s hand, and he returns the comforting gesture, instantly soothing my nerves.

“How did you manage this?” I ask, barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell. After hours, the library feels magical, almost ethereal in its silence. But before Oliver can answer, realization dawns on me, and I can’t help but smile. “Grey.”

Of course, our resident hacker extraordinaire would have had a hand in this.

Oliver chuckles, his forest-green eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “You can hire the library for events in the evening, but Grey may have helped a little to get around the waitlist,” he admits. “And right now, he’s monitoring the camera feed, looping it so we have privacy.” Warmth spreads through my chest at the lengths they’d gone to for this surprise. Oliver leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear, making me shiver. “Perfect for a thorough Twilight reread,” he teases, “Nobody will ever know.”

“You’re terrible.” I let go of his hand to swat his arm, feigning offense, but I can’t help the giddy laugh that escapes me.

“Don’t,” Oliver says, reaching out to grab my wrist and pull my hand away from my mouth. “Don’t cover your laugh, please. I thought I would never hear it again. Please don’t keep it from me.”

It’s as if he’s in pain, and I don’t know what to say to this, but before the silence can stretch for too long, Oliver takes my hand again and guides me deeper into the library.

He’s different.

So much has changed.

Not just with the guys but within myself.

Because I decided to let go of my hurt feelings.

The lengths they’ve gone to, it all feels like a dream. It isn’t just about this grand gesture. It’s about a future where I’m no longer alone, where I have people who care about me and are willing to fight for my happiness.

Our footsteps echo softly in the empty space, creating a rhythm that seems to match the excited beating of my heart. I’m acutely aware of Oliver’s hand in mine, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin, sending tiny sparks of electricity through my body.

We turn a corner, and I gasp. Nestled between two rows of books is a cozy setup that looks straight out of a movie. A blanket is spread on the floor, adorned with plush pillows, and a plate of strawberries and chocolate sits nearby, flanked by a copy of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight . My eyes drift to the shelves surrounding us, and my breath catches in my throat as I recognize the familiar spines.

Jane Austen .

“Oliver,” I whisper, turning to find his gaze filled with an emotion so raw it makes my heart hurt.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Amelia, I…” He begins, trembling slightly. “I want to apologize. For… everything. ”

God, he’s shaking.

“You—”

“No, please, let me finish,” he interrupts, his grip on my hand tightening as if he’s afraid I might slip away. “I-I fucked up. I made so many mistakes. I was so scared of… of losing you before I even had you that I ended up hurting you. I’ve never been good with… life, if I’m honest. I’m good with code, with numbers, logic, things that make sense. But you… you don’t make sense at all and make my world spin in ways I never imagined. And I… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

I didn’t know how to handle them either.

He pauses, taking a deep, shaky breath. “ I’m sorry , Amelia. I’m so, so sorry. For watching you like that. I was a coward. From the start, I was one. Yes, we have watched you ever since you had Jamie. But if I’m honest, for me, it started the first time I saw you two years ago. I saw you and was obsessed.”

“You were?”

He told me that he noticed me from the start, but obsessed?

Oliver swallows hard. “I should have asked you for your name, but I waited at the entrance of our building like a creep just to see which mailbox you used. I tried to time my coffee breaks with yours, hoping for a tiny chance that you might say hello or meet my gaze. And when you did, it would make my whole week.”

It’s not like I didn’t watch them from afar too.

“It made mine, too,” I admit, meeting his vulnerability with my own truth, but he just gives me a small smile like he doesn’t quite believe me.

“I knew it from the very first moment. I saw you, and my heart was stolen. I was obsessed with you from the start, and it only got worse. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to step out of the shadows and love you in the light, the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Oliver…” There is pain and regret etched in his eyes, as clear as lines of code on a screen.

“You deserve someone who’s not afraid to show their love openly, someone who can be there for you without hiding in the shadows…” Oliver pauses, running his free hand through his hair and taking a deep, shaky breath before continuing. “I was terrified, Amelia. Terrified that if you knew the real me, you’d see all my flaws and walk away.”

His rawness makes my heart ache. He steps closer, letting go of my hand, only to reach out to hold my face. “I know I’ve messed up, and I can’t change the past. But I promise you, Amelia, from this moment on, I will love you in the light . I will be brave, and I will show you every day how much you mean to me. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Tears start to form in his eyes, glistening behind his glasses, and he doesn’t try to hide them. The sight of them makes my own eyes burn with unshed tears. “I love you, Amelia. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. And I’ll love you until my heart gives out.”

Fuck.

I’m not only done with my hurt.

I’m done with theirs too.

So I tell him the only thing that matters, putting my hand over his on my cheek. “I love you, too, Oliver. ”

His eyes widen in shock at my admission, and before I can say anything more, he pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly as if he’s afraid to let go. I can feel the rapid beating of his heart against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own. We hold each other for a long moment, our breaths mingling as we soak in the closeness.

Slowly, he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. His gaze softens, filled with wonder and love. He cradles my face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from my cheek. His touch is tender, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.

Then, with a softness that makes my heart ache, he leans in and starts kissing me—my head, my forehead, my cheeks, my nose—his lips soft and urgent. “You’re my favorite laugh…” kiss “… my favorite scent…” kiss “… my favorite face…” kiss “… my favorite person…” kiss “… my favorite everything…” He gives me a quick peck on the lips as if he’s afraid to kiss me longer. “My Fave.”

Pushing myself to my toes, I press my lips to his and taste the way he sucks in a breath. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him in closer, deepening the kiss. His hands grip my waist, anchoring us together, and I can feel the intensity of his emotions through every touch and kiss, making my stomach tingle. Our kiss becomes more urgent, as if we’re trying to make up for all the time we’ve lost. I can feel his need, his love, and his desperation in every movement, and I want nothing more than to devour him completely, to show him that I feel the same.

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. “I have something for you,” he murmurs.

He leads me to the blankets and pulls out a stack of what looks like letters from behind a pillow as I sit down. Sitting next to me, he hands them over with a mixture of nervousness and hope in his eyes.

“I wrote you over the years,” he explains. “When I wanted to talk to you but couldn’t find the courage, I wrote everything down. There are many, so many more, but I brought just a few tonight. If you want them, you can have all of them when we’re back in Seattle. I want you to know everything I ever wanted to tell you.”

“Letters, like Mr. Darcy?”

Oliver chuckles. “I’m no Mr. Darcy, but yes.”

He hands me as small stack, but I just look at them, unsure if reading them would violate his privacy after I had preached that they hurt me by violating mine.

Oliver watches me for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I think it might be better if I explain where each letter is from. It might help you understand.”

I nod, my curiosity piqued. He takes back the letters, sorts through them, and hands me the first two.

“These two are from two years ago before I ever spoke to you,” he says, smiling at me. My heart aches at the thought of all the time we could have spent together. Then he hands me the next one. “This one is from after our coffee date. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to be with you. I wrote it as soon as I got back to the office.”

I smile, remembering our date, which I only now know for sure was in fact, a date.

Oliver hands me another letter, his expression turning serious. “This one is from after we had to take you to the hospital. I was so scared, Amelia. I thought I was going to lose you.”

You were scared for me?

He gets to the last letter, his ears turning a deep shade of red. “And this one…” He hesitates, looking down before me eting my eyes. “This one is from when I took over Jamie and made you come.”

My cheeks warm, undoubtedly as red as his ears, as my mind wanders to that night.

“I’d explore every part of you, Amelia. Learning what makes you shiver, what makes you moan. I’d kiss your neck, your shoulders, anywhere I could reach. I’d want to know you, completely.”

Heat floods through me, and I have to press my thighs together, remembering how husky his voice was.

“Touch yourself for me, Amelia. Imagine my hands are guiding yours. Show me what you want me to do to you.”

Panting, I look up to find Oliver sitting even closer beside me, his hands nervously resting in his lap.

“Yeah, about that…” I begin but trail off because I have no idea how to broach the subject.

Oliver takes a deep breath. “I never intended it to be… what you probably think this was. You said you needed me, and I needed you. I wanted to give you what you were asking for. But I understand that intention versus impact are two very different things. My brain short-circuited, and I just… I know it’s the worst thing that we did. I mean, besides that one time we listened in on you getting off with your toy.”

Wait, what?

My eyes widen. “You did what?”

“Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Right, I haven’t told you about that. Yeah, um, that first weekend you had Jamie?”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, thinking back to when I did some self-care thinking about them after the gym.

But there’s something else—something I can’t quite place .

Why does the thought of them listening to me getting off give me fanny flutters?

“Yeah, that was bad too. But what I did was definitely the worst thing we did. And I would do anything to make it right,” Oliver says, his eyes filled with earnest regret.

Surprisingly, I’m not mad about it anymore.

Was I ever really mad?

I had told Jamie, or rather Oliver, that I needed him. If Oliver had been there with me, I would have wanted him to do the same. It wasn’t like it wasn’t consensual, even if I didn’t know it was really happening and not just a fantasy. I could have just stood up and gone back to bed when Jamie offered, but I didn’t because I wanted it to be real so badly.

Deep down, I had wanted it to be Oliver.

Maybe it’s even better that it wasn’t an AI getting me off.

“Did you touch yourself while you made me come?” I ask, too curious for my own sake.

Fuck, that would be hot.

His eyes go wide. “No, Amelia. I swear I didn’t. It was all about you. I didn’t want to use you like that without your knowledge.”

What a pity.

Time to rectify.

“You said you’d do anything to make this right?”

He cups my cheek. “Anything, Amelia. Tell me what you need to forgive me, and I’ll do it.”

I have a few things in mind, but we need actual privacy. “You said Grey and Misha are watching?”

“Probably, they’re making sure nobody else can,” Oliver replies a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I just now realized that they’re doing what we said we wouldn’t anymore.”

Taking out my phone, I text Grey.

Stop watching us .

A reply comes almost instantly.

Not happening.

Ugh.

But maybe it’s good to give them a taste of their own medicine.

With consent, of course.

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow at Oliver, trying to gauge his reaction. “You’re okay with them watching?”

His brow furrows in confusion, his lips parting. “Watching what?”

A thrill of excitement shoots through me, realizing he hasn’t caught on yet. I lean in closer, lowering my voice to a husky whisper. “I want you to touch yourself for me.”

The effect is immediate. His eyes widen in shock, his pupils dilating as the realization hits him. His face, already tinged with a hint of nervousness, flushes a deep crimson, and I can practically feel heat radiating from him as his ears turn almost fire-engine red.

“Fuck, I… you really want that?” His voice is strained, caught somewhere between disbelief and desire.

“I do,” I confirm, unable to stop the smirk pulling at my lips. “Do you mind if they keep watching the cameras?”

I hold up my phone, ready to dig into Grey if needed.

Because I want this.

I need this.

We have to rectify this imbalance. If we both see each other touch ourselves, there will be nothing to be ashamed of anymore.

Oliver hesitates, his eyes flickering to the phone in my hand, then back to me. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his mind races to process what I’m asking of him. There’s a flicker of uncertainty, but beneath it, there’s something else, something raw and primal tugging at my own desires.

His breath hitches, and then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he nods. “I don’t know why they would want to watch that, but it seems only fair.”

Smiling, I send one last text.

Enjoy the show then.

I put the phone down, and Oliver’s breath hitches once more. The excitement in his eyes is at war with his obvious nerves. He slowly leans back against the cushions, his hands moving to the waistband of his pants.

“Are you sure?” he asks one last time on a whisper.

“I’m sure. Touch yourself the way you want me to touch you.”

He breathes out a shaky laugh when I throw his words from that night back at him before he slips his hand beneath the fabric, his eyes never leaving mine. The vulnerability and trust in his expression make my heart swell with affection. His movements are tentative at first, but the longer I watch, the bolder he becomes.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I whisper.

“Too much.”

I reach out and touch him too, my hand cupping his firm length through his pants. He gasps at the contact. “Fuck,” he groans out, his hips bucking up as he closes his eyes for a moment, his breathing growing heavier. “Amelia,” he moans softly, the sound of my name on his lips sending a shiver down my spine.

“Don’t close your eyes,” I whisper. “I want you to look at me.”

He looks into my eyes, and I slowly slide down to my knees in front of him and reach for the waistband of his pants. “Can I?” He just nods, so I pull them down to his thighs along with his underwear, revealing his hard cock in his hand. It’s thick and long, and I can’t help but stare in awe for a moment.

He’s built like a god, and the sight of him makes my mouth water.

“Amelia, what are you—”

I lean in, flicking my tongue against the tip of his cock. He whimpers, his hips jerking as I taste the salty sweetness of his pre-cum. When he pulls his hand away, I wrap mine around the base of his shaft, pumping him slowly as I take him into my mouth.

He stills, whispering, “Good God.”

The taste of him, clean and warm, fills my senses, and his body trembles beneath my touch. His hands fumble with my hair, unsure of how to guide me as he lets out a low moan, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

I take him deeper, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock as I suck him with abandon.

“Amelia,” he gasps, his voice filled with awe and wonder. “This is… I never imagined… fuck, you’re amazing.”

Tracing my tongue along the length of his shaft, I tease the sensitive spot just beneath the head. He whimpers again, his breath hitching as I take him deeper into my mouth.

He grows more confident with each passing moment, his hips subtly rocking in time with the movements of my mouth. He still seems unsure of what to do with his hands, but he pulls my hair into a ponytail, his grip steady but unsure as he holds onto it. “Amelia,” he moans again. “This is… I can’t… I don’t know what to do.”

His vulnerability and inexperience are as endearing as they are hot, and I reassure him, whispering against the head of his cock, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. And don’t worry , this won’t be a one - time study.”

I’ll gladly suck this big, beautiful cock as often as he wants me to.

My words seem to unleash something inside him, and when I take him back in my mouth, he really begins to buck his hips, thrusting a little deeper into my mouth. His control is slipping, his breathing becoming more ragged as he nears his climax.

“I’m close,” he warns, barely above a whisper. “I… stop, please, I can’t hold back much longer.”

I keep eye contact and pull back just enough to whisper, “Come in my mouth.” My words are a command, and it feels good to be in charge like this.

His eyes go wide, only to be pressed closed again on a whimper when I redouble my efforts, sucking and pumping him until he tenses. He cries out, his hips bucking as he comes hard in my mouth with my name on his lips.

So damn hot.

I swallow every drop, savoring his taste as he collapses back against the cushions, panting and spent.

I continue to tease him, my lips and tongue working gently but persistently. Each lick and gentle suck have him twitching, his body writhing under the onslaught of lingering sensitivity. He gasps, his breath coming in sharp bursts, and his hands grip the edge of the cushions tightly.

"Please," he finally chokes out, his voice a ragged whisper.

But I don’t stop immediately. I keep playing with him, reveling in the way his body reacts. Only when he pulls me away gently, his whole body trembling with the aftermath of the overstimulation, do I relent, letting him catch his breath.

I turn my attention to the top of his thighs, kissing and nibbling, feeling the coarse hair tickle my lips until I reach his defined V. Pausing, I press my lips firmly against his skin and suck gently.

He lets out a soft moan, his hips jerking at the sensation. Encouraged, I move to the other leg, repeating the process and enjoying the way he squirms beneath me. Then I carefully tuck him back into his pants, zip him up, and press one last kiss to the bulge in his pants.

“That was… incredible,” he whispers, his breath ragged. “I never knew it could feel like that.”

I smile and snuggle up beside him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his chest. We lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, the warmth of his body soothing me.

But then Oliver tenses beneath me, and I can sense his mind racing, overthinking something. “Do you want me to…” He starts but trails off, swallowing hard.

“Read a few chapters of Twilight for me? Yes, I do,” I say, trying to ease his worry with a playful smile.

He chuckles, the tension in his body dissipating, and leans in, kissing my temple. “I’d love to,” he murmurs with his lips on my skin.

With that, he reaches for the book on the blanket beside us, opening it to the first chapter. His voice, though still a bit shaky, carries a comforting rhythm as he begins to read. I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me.

In this moment, everything feels right.

And I try hard not to think about whether or not Grey and Misha just watched me give Oliver his first blow job.

Oh well.