Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
I want you to call me that when we’re naked and you have your cock inside me.
Milo
I crash into the house probably louder than I intended but my fingers feel twenty times bigger than they should, as does my body which keeps banging into things.
Stumbling into the kitchen, I switch the kettle on and slump over the counter to wait while it boils.
I lay my head down on the surface which feels lovely against my hot face.
I’m just contemplating staying here for the night when I hear footsteps and the door opens.
Twisting my head sideways on the counter, I see Niall standing there with his arms folded.
He’s dressed in black pyjama bottoms and a thin black long-sleeved t-shirt that clings to the muscles of his chest. His white-blond hair is standing up around his face like he’s stuck his finger in a socket, and he looks rumpled but still very awake.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” I mutter, hearing the slur in my words. “You’ve got the mud run tomorrow.”
“I wanted to wait for you until you got in.”
“How chiv-chiv- how very nice of you,” I mutter. For some reason that makes him smile, and I shoot upwards off the counter. I stagger slightly but manage to right myself, waving off his helping hand impatiently. “I’m fine,” I say pettily. “I don’t need any help, thank you very much.”
He leans against the doorjamb. “How much have you had to drink?”
I raise my hands. “I don’t know,” I say indignantly. “I stopped counting after the second bottle.”
“The second one?” A frown crosses his face. “And he just dumped you back here?” I open my mouth but he’s on a roll. “Did he take you back to his place?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say in a sing-song voice.
“I would, actually.”
He sounds grim. I lean back against the counter, running my fingers gently over the wood, tracing the grain that glows in the soft light. He clears his throat and I look up and remember that we were in the middle of a conversation. “I like drinking,” I say dreamily.
“Why?” He looks concerned as if he thinks I’ve suddenly developed alcoholism.
“Because I speak better when I’m drunk.” The kettle boils and I go towards it, but he pushes me gently back. I look down at that big, callused hand on my chest and swallow hard.
“I’ll make tea,” he says. “I don’t think it’s wise for you and boiling water to be on anything other than sipping terms.”
I settle back against the counter and try to fold my arms across my chest. It takes longer than it should but finally I manage it. “You’re not the boss of me,” I say peevishly, and he grins suddenly.
“No one is the boss of you, Milo. You’re gloriously intractable.”
I blink, my muddled brain trying to make sense of that. “I’m not,” I argue. “I’m very tract-tract … Whatever that fucking word is, I’m not it. I’m shy and a pushover.”
He pours water over the tea and the faint smell of peppermint reaches my nostrils. “You might be a bit shy. There’s nothing wrong with that, and a pushover you are certainly not.”
“Thomas pushed me over.” I laugh. “In more ways than one.”
He grips the side of the counter and closes his eyes. He appears to be trying to breathe deeply, and I poke his cheek carefully. Well, I mean to do it carefully, but I miss and get his eye.
“Motherfucker,” he hisses. “What was that for?”
“I didn’t want you to be sad.”
“So you decided to take my mind off it by gouging out one of my eyeballs?”
I shake my head and promptly wish I hadn’t done it when the room spins. “Don’t be such a baby. Although your eyeball felt horribly squashy.” I wipe my finger carefully on my trousers. “Ugh!” I laugh. “Something about you that is actually ugly. Yay!”
“What?”
I look up to find him watching me very closely. “Don’t be cross,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I’m not cross, sweetheart. Not at you, anyway.”
“Who are you cross at?” I sit up. “Is it at Sid the gardener because of the incident with the gazebo?”
“No,” he says slowly. His eyes sharpen. “But we should definitely discuss that further.”
I lean forward slightly, and some excess of gravity makes me keep going until my head thumps down onto my forearms. Cushioned, I look up at him. “Are you cross at Thomas?”
“Yes, still,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’d like to find him and shove his teeth down his throat.”
“He’s in Oxford,” I say idly and pop my head back up when he swears.
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“He tells me.”
“How?”
I frown, racking my fuzzy brain and trying to think.
“Letters. He used to message and email but I blocked his number, so now he writes to me because I can’t change where I live.
” I pause. “Unless I move,” I say slowly and give up the fight against gravity by lowering myself to the ground where I prop myself up against the cabinet.
“ No, ” he says explosively, and I jerk in surprise.
“Sorry,” he says, and before I can reply he comes swiftly over and crouches at my feet.
I blink slightly because his eyes look very blue in this light.
The creases at the side of them are so attractive and it’s only his eyes widening in surprise that makes me realise that I’m stroking his face.
“Shit! Sorry,” I say, pulling back. “Bloody wine. I’m never drinking again. ”
“No, don’t,” he says in a low voice, taking my hand and putting it back. “Touch me. I like it.”
“You like everything,” I say softly, stroking the hard cheekbones and feeling the roughness of his stubble under my fingertips skittering and catching on my skin and making me feel hot inside. “Men and women, they all love you.”
He seems to stop breathing. “And does that bother you?”
I shrug and smile happily at him. “Why would it bother me? It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“But if it did?”
I frown, trying to work out what this conversation is about, but I’m getting tired and I like talking to him like this. “Why would it have anything to do with me?” I laugh. “Look at you and then look at me.” I bop him on the nose, making his eyes briefly cross.
Then a frown crosses them. “And your point is?”
I run my fingertip dreamily over his full mouth. It’s dry, and I dip my finger briefly into the wetness of his mouth and anoint his lips so they shine.
“Milo.” His voice is low and harsh, and he shifts position slightly as if he’s uncomfortable. I can feel his heat against me. He’s always wonderfully warm while I’m permanently cold.
“Hmm?”
He clears his throat and sits back slightly, and my fingers fall reluctantly away. “You seem to be saying that you’re lacking in some way?”
“I’m lacking in a lot of ways,” I say wryly. “All of which you’re aware of.” I pause. “Apart from one thing.”
“Milo, you are gorgeous,” he says firmly, his eyes intent and warm on mine in the quietness of the kitchen.
“I don’t think you see it, but you are.” He reaches up and tucks an errant strand behind my ear, a funny expression on his face.
“You’re quirky and funny and loyal and loving. How are you lacking in any way?”
I lean forwards slightly. He smells wonderful, with his sweet woody scent that always smells so warm, and I push my nose into the side of his neck and inhale deeply. “Well, I might be all that,” I say dreamily. “But I’m also shit in bed, so why would anyone want this anyway?”
“Milo.” He wriggles as I stick my tongue out and lick the side of his neck.
“Mmm. You taste lovely.”
“Ungh.” It’s a low, sexy sound and I smile when I hear it.
“Nope,” I say playfully. “No point in getting hard. It’d be wasted on me.”
“What the fuck?” he breathes, his face dark.
“Who the hell told you that rubbish?” He stops and inhales deeply, his hands fisting where they rest on his thighs.
“Fucking Thomas,” he spits. “I’m going to get one of his letters off you and then he and I are going to have a long and very painful talk. ”
I push his forehead away playfully. “No, you’re not,” I chide. “You’re just like him.”
“ What ?” He sounds taken aback and almost hurt.
I sneak a look at him and wince. “You’re just both so forceful,” I say slowly, feeling the alcohol slow my tongue and a headache starting to form at the base of my skull. “Always know everything. Always know the right thing to say and do. It’s a lot,” I finish lamely.
He stares at me, breathing very quickly. He looks as if someone has hit him in the face.
“I’m nothing like that wanker,” he says slowly. “And the thought that you feel that is …” He pauses. “It’s horrible .”
I’m instantly overcome with remorse and scramble over and land in his lap.
Taken by surprise, he falls back into the cupboard but before I can move off him, he adjusts his position so he’s sitting against the cabinet with his legs stretched out and me curled on his lap.
His arms are around me and I feel warm and safe.
“I’m sorry,” I say sadly. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I’m glad you did,” he says slowly. “It explains a lot.” His hands rub warm circles on my shoulders and I nestle into him. “I wish you could see how you say two different things simultaneously,” he says, and I look at him quizzically.
“I don’t do that. I can barely say one thing coherently, let alone bringing in something else.”
He smiles. “Not with talk. Just the way you are.” He sighs when I stare, puzzled, at him.
“Never mind. It’s early days yet. You’ll see in the end that I’m nothing like him, and on that day, I want you to think really hard about how you feel when you’re with me.
Think about that and ask yourself if it’s the same as Thomas.
” He shakes his head. “I don’t think it is, but you’ve spent that long with the wanker you can’t see the wood for the trees. ”
“I can feel your wood,” I chuckle, giving up on the serious conversation and wriggling on his lap.
He groans. “Milo, stop.”
I hug him. “I might as well. It would be false aggravation on my part.”