Chapter 26
GERALD
Stefan’s text exchanges monopolise Alaric the entire journey back to Sutton Common and all the way into the flat.
Courtesy of Alaric’s real-time updates and verbal stream of consciousness, I discover the relationship’s on the ropes.
I’ve never met this fiancé, Marcus, and neither do I want to.
He sounds an absolute spoiled diva. I’m not terribly drawn to Stefan either.
Whilst I accept that he’s Alaric’s oldest mate and therefore probably not wheedling into his pants, he always phones and texts at the most inconvenient moments.
Like now, when I’m waiting for Alaric to wheedle into mine.
That said, we usually find a moment to celebrate something before dawn.
Swilling the last of Alaric’s fine beard trimmings down the washbasin plughole, I regard myself in the mirror. Old, miserable Gerald would have left his tenant a passive aggressive note along the lines of the cleaning fairy has resigned, or some of us like to wash in a clean basin.
New, mostly happy Gerald finds himself affectionately smiling at the spiky mass of scruff, then finishes up brushing his teeth.
Just before one, Alaric slinks across the bedroom floor and snuggles in, around half an hour after we’ve gone through the ridiculous pretence of wishing each other goodnight.
We don’t sleep together every night, just the ones Alaric doesn’t spend at work.
As he informs me each time he wriggles out of his briefs, then dives in next to me, he’s not here for any other reason than that he sleeps better in my bed than on his own. Being naked helps too, allegedly.
My arm is already laid out, ready and waiting for him to scoot closer and tuck himself under it. One skinny leg drops over mine, and his hand drifts down my flank, dipping below the waistband of my pyjamas.
“What’s the plan?” I ask, amused.
“I think we should celebrate Isaac and Ezra’s cool party, don’t you?
” In case he hasn’t made his intention entirely clear, he slides my pyjamas down a few inches.
“I doubt it’s finished yet.” His cold fingertips draw tickling little shapes in the hair at my groin, and I rock up into him. “Remind me why we left so early?”
“So we could give ourselves plenty of opportunity to celebrate it.”
With his erection pressed against my thigh, Alaric’s palm wraps loosely around my dick.
Even when he’s doing something as simple as this—stroking me and lazily getting himself off against my leg—the oxygen is sucked from my body.
I skate my lips over the top of his head, dropping tender kisses into his soft hair.
“I like celebrating with you,” I murmur as he sleepily brings me to orgasm. Like? my heart probes. Only like?
“And I like celebrating with you too.” Humping my thigh with his face buried in the curve between my shoulder and neck and his hot breath pressed against my skin, it’s like he’s speaking directly into my head.
“I want to find loads more things to celebrate with you, except I’m worried it’s stopping you from finding your forever guy. I’m cramping your style.”
“You’re not,” I answer swiftly, then hesitate. He has another flat viewing on Monday in a good location. And any day now, Stefan and Marcus will uncouple, and Stefan will want his best buddy back.
I can’t let him leave without him knowing how I feel. “Maybe you are my style.”
“Yeah?”
If competing for a place at Crufts felt like staring down a long drop, then this feels like teetering on the edge of an active volcano with the wind roaring in my ears.
“Yeah.”
Alaric snorts a laugh, wetly against my neck. “So you like a man humping your leg when you’re trying to sleep?”
Not any man. Only you. “Apparently, I do.”
“Good,” he says on a low moan. “’Cos I could do this every night.”
The moment passes with barely a whimper. If I want him to know how I feel about him, I’ll have to be blunter. Await another suitable time. And if that comes with a pile of hurt? Then I’ll have to learn to breathe through a ladder of broken ribs.
Oblivious to the subtext, Alaric moves his hand from me and onto him so he can finish himself off.
He’s close. By now, I’ve learned his tells; how his firm tight arse clenches, how the rhythm of his breathing alters, how the satisfied hiss through the gap in his teeth heralds a jet of spunk flooding my inner thigh.
He uses some of it as lube to efficiently bring me to climax too.
“Top level sexing, Big G,” he declares after I extract myself from my koala of a housemate and clean us up with a bunch of tissues.
I don’t feel like clambering out of bed, but if I don’t, Alaric will happily lie in it the entire night.
At the same time, I huff a laugh. Top level sexing is better than nothing.
If that’s all he’s offering, then I’ll take it until it’s no more.
“You rubbed one off against my leg. I didn’t do anything.”
“Still top level.” He snuggles into me. “It’s a quality leg. And better than a spanking, though I’m up for that too.” Momentarily, he lifts his chin, his blue gaze resting on mine. “If it’s the kind of thing you like?”
Is it? Maybe. I’ve never spanked anyone in my life. I’ve never sent anyone a dick pic either, until tonight. With so many attractive men hanging around, I felt a pressing need to remind him what he’d be missing if he didn’t come home with me.
“I don’t know.” I kiss his nose. “Before now, I’ve never been in a relationship with someone who’s in dire need of an occasional one.”
“Rude.” Happily, Alaric settles down again. “Well, I’m up for it if you are. Perhaps you should surprise me sometime.”
My dick’s in favour of the idea, even though it’s only a few minutes since I came. In the ensuing quiet, I listen to the rhythmic rise and fall of Alaric’s chest.
Just as I think he’s asleep, he whispers into the dark, “Is this what you think we have, Big G? A relationship?”
His tone is hard to interpret. Neutral, maybe? Which is heaps better than scornful. Even so, my tongue when I respond is thick and slow. “I don’t know,” I reply honestly, “but it’s starting to feel that way. An unconventional one, at least.”
Silence presses on my ears, like pressure underwater, before he shifts against me. “I’ve never had one. So I have no idea.”
As the hush of the night wraps around us, Alaric’s head lies hot and heavy on my chest. I’ve never especially liked sleeping cuddled up with someone. Once the business is done, I tend to roll over, back to my side. Somehow, that’s changed.
“I think you should invite your dad and Sandra over for dinner,” Alaric says just as I’m drifting off.
“Cook something nice. You could tell him about Crufts, maybe have a couple of glasses of wine, for Dutch courage.” He hesitates a beat.
“You should just thrash the whole thing out, you know? Tell him the truth about how you felt when your mum died, exactly like you told me. Explain why you’ve been a dick and how you don’t want to be anymore. ”
My fingers glide through the strands of his fine hair. He’s right, of course. He’s right about a lot of things.
“How do you think he’ll react?” Alaric asks.
“He’ll be absolutely fine.” I picture my dad’s kind, hopeful face. He’ll bring a nice wine and put on a smart jacket. Sandra will insist she makes a pudding, even if I maintain that she doesn’t need to, then refuse to take the leftovers home with her. “If anything, he’ll blame himself.”
“Well.” Alaric’s breath tickles my chest hairs when he speaks. “Maybe he is a little to blame, for not bringing it up with you sooner. For letting it linger so long.”
“Nah.” I shake my head, not that he can see me in the dark. “Not really. I didn’t exactly make it easy for him. I’m a grown-up—I’m on solids, as he used to say. I should have got over myself years ago. We’d have grieved much more healthily together than apart.”
“Yeah, perhaps.” There’s a flicker of hesitation.
“I… I can be there if you want? Unless you prefer I make myself scarce? Because I can do that equally as well. I won’t interfere, but if I’m there, then I can, you know, fill in the conversational lulls?
Smooth everything over? Make small talk with Sandra?
” He snuffles a laugh. “Those things are kind of within my skill set; I don’t know if you’ve picked up on that ever. ”
I give his hair a gentle tug, unable to imagine preparing dinner for my dad without Alaric making himself a nuisance in the kitchen and keeping our guests laughing.
Dinner wouldn’t be happening at all if he hadn’t moved in with me.
If he thinks my dad’s visits are stilted now, he should have seen them before he turned up.
“I would love you to be there.” I brush my mouth against the top of his head, and he gives me a little squeeze in return.
“Play your cards right and I’ll even let you wash up. ”