Chapter Seventeen
Milo
I groaned as Rupert’s hands tightened on my hips, my fingers scrabbling for purchase against the sofa cushions as he pounded me so hard I was pretty sure I was going to end up with bruises across my thighs.
I’d barely walked into Rupert’s flat when he’d dragged me into his living room and bent me over the arm of the sofa, yanking my jeans down and dropping to his knees to open me up with his tongue and a carefully stashed bottle of lube.
He’d hardly removed his clothes when I was prepped and begging for him, only undoing his trousers far enough to shove them and his underwear down around his knees, rolling on a condom, and sliding deep inside me with one hard thrust.
We’d been having a lot of sex lately—not that I was complaining—and I was starting to wonder if something was bothering Rupert, since fucking seemed to have taken over some of the other time we spent together.
But it was difficult to think of it as a problem when Rupert’s cock was hitting my prostate so perfectly it felt like I was two seconds away from melting into a puddle of goo on the floor.
“Fuck! Oh fuck, sweetheart, right there!” I gasped, arching my back and trying to push back against him. “Don’t stop. Please!”
“You feel so perfect,” he said with a deep moan that made my stomach turn. I loved the way he sounded when he fucked me, and I replayed an entire album of the noises he made every night when I crawled into bed.
“Gonna fill me up?”
“You’re going to come for me first. I know you want to. You love doing what I tell you.”
“I… fuck, I’m getting close,” I said, groaning again as he slammed into me. I tried to wiggle my hand between us to grasp my cock, but instead Rupert grabbed my wrist and gently pinned it in the small of my back.
“No, I want you to come hands-free. I know you can.”
Need raced through me, the desire to do whatever Rupert wanted making my body melt. Before him, I’d never liked the idea of doing what I was told, but there was something about the way he said it that made me want to do whatever he said.
Fuck, I’d even read the dictionary to him if that’s what he wanted.
Maybe it was because we switched regularly and I could do the same to him, or because we both knew the things we did and said in the heat of the moment were just that—passing fantasies and delicious treats.
Whatever it was, Rupert was the only person I’d ever met who could tell me to get on my knees and I’d actually consider listening to him.
“I want you to come for me, Milo,” Rupert continued in a low growl, leaning forward to press kisses between my shoulder blades with every thrust. I wished I wasn’t wearing a T-shirt, then I’d be able to feel it more.
But getting naked apparently hadn’t been on the agenda for this evening.
“You’re going to do as I ask, aren’t you? Give me what I want, please.”
There was no way I could refuse. Not when he asked so nicely.
I cried out his name as I came, my release painting the side of his sofa and dripping on the floor as I buried my face in the cushions, my free hand clutching at whatever I could reach, my other hand still pinned behind my back.
Rupert groaned, his fingers squeezing my hip as he fucked me through my orgasm, his thrusts drawing my pleasure out until I couldn’t think of anything but the feel of his cock.
He came with my name on his lips, pressing it into my spine with a soft kiss and a broken moan.
“Mmm, I love that I can make you do that,” he said quietly, kissing my back again before releasing my hand and slowly pulling out.
“I… I do too,” I said, my thoughts still in disarray. I tried to straighten up, but my body wouldn’t quite obey and instead I only managed to push up enough to look around at him. I was vaguely aware I’d made a mess when I’d come and if we didn’t do anything about it then it would stain.
At least, I assumed it would.
I wasn’t willing to risk Rupert’s furniture either way.
“Give me a minute and I’ll clean up,” I said.
Rupert shook his head and leant down to kiss me, his lips sweet against mine. “I’ll do it. Then maybe, would you like some dinner?”
“Sounds good. I found a new movie you might like too—well, I say new but it’s from the sixties.”
For a second, a shadow passed across his face, but when I blinked it was gone.
I almost wondered if I’d imagined it… and I would have thought that, if I hadn’t seen the same shadow with increasing regularity over the past few weeks.
Rupert was hiding something from me.
And somehow, I was either going to have to figure out what it was, or force him to tell me.
Neither of them sounded like good options, but I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted this quasi-relationship with Rupert to continue, I needed to ensure he didn’t sink it before I figured out how to tell him what I wanted.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Alfie asked as I handed him a cup of tea and shoved a packet of ginger biscuits under his nose.
He was sitting at one end of my sofa in his customary oversized hoodie and jeans, tiny swatches of paint across the back of his hand from where he’d been painting some of his beloved fantasy miniatures.
“Not that this isn’t nice, but your message made it sound urgent,” he continued, when I climbed onto the other end of the sofa, sitting cross-legged and staring at him as I tried to figure out what to say.
I’d been putting it off for the twenty-odd minutes since he arrived, chatting to him about everything except what was on my mind.
The thing I’d wanted to pick his brain about in the first place.
It was almost ironic in a way. I loved involving myself in all my friend’s problems and their love lives, offering my thoughts whether they were wanted or not, but the idea of opening up in return was making me feel sick.
Maybe I should find another problem to ask Alfie about.
“I think there’s something wrong with Rupert,” I blurted out, biscuit halfway to my mouth. So much for finding another issue to bring up.
A deep frown formed on Alfie’s forehead. “Shit. What’s going on? I mean, what do you think is wrong? Is he ill? Is this like when Darcy was stressed but refused to go to the doctor?”
“No, I don’t think he’s ill.” I shook my head. Then sighed and nibbled the edge of my biscuit. “It’s more… I think something is bothering him, but he won’t tell me what it is and it’s starting to worry me.”
“Are you together then?” Alfie asked. “Not that you need to be, obviously, but I’m just wondering what your relationship is to each other because maybe that’s got something to do with it.
Like, if you’re close with someone, you’re more likely to be open with them than someone you’re only hooking up with occasionally. ”
“We’re… I don’t know. We’re probably something but we haven’t talked about it. Not beyond let’s hang out and fuck and watch movies and have dinner. But, er, I stay there a couple of nights a week too.”
Alfie pursed his lips, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “Okay… and you like him?”
“Well, yeah. I thought that was obvious,” I said with a shrug before shoving the rest of the biscuit in my mouth. I didn’t usually keep biscuits in the house because otherwise I went through them like water, but since I was having a guest round, I’d figured it would be polite to get some.
“Have you told him this?”
“I think so,” I said, scrunching up my face as I thought. “Yeah. I always try and be honest with him about what I’m thinking and feeling, because he worries sometimes and I don’t want to make him feel worse.”
“Right,” Alfie said slowly. “But have you actually told him how you feel and talked about what you want from this? Or are you telling him half of it and forgetting the rest.”
“What do you mean ‘forgetting the rest’?” I asked indignantly, casually skipping over the first part of Alfie’s sentence and hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Alfie sighed and lowered his mug, offering me what I assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile.
It wasn’t. “I know you don’t do it deliberately, but sometimes you forget to tell us things because you’ve thought about them but not said it out loud.
And it’s fine, we’re used to it now, but I wonder if you’ve been thinking about how much you like Rupert, but not actually told him?
And maybe it’s because you think you have or assume he knows, or maybe… ”
“Maybe what?”
“You’re afraid of being honest with him because there’s a chance he won’t want the same things as you.” He huffed out a tiny, self-deprecating laugh. “You wouldn’t exactly be the first one of us to do that.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m making sure I follow in the time-honoured tradition of being a shit communicator.”
“But you’re not, that’s the thing. You might forget things sometimes, and you can jump around topic-wise, but I always know how you’re feeling or what you’re thinking. You’re probably the best communicator of all of us.”
“Thanks,” I said with a grin. Then my face fell. “Not sure this is helping, though. ’Cos if I’m great at communicating, why are we struggling?”
“Well, you never actually answered my question.”
“Which one?”
“Have you told him exactly how you feel and what you want from this? And I don’t mean in vague terms, I mean sitting down with him and spelling it out. Preferably at a time when you’re not going to get distracted by getting naked.”
“You know we don’t have to get naked to have sex?” I asked teasingly, shooting Alfie a wink, which only made him roll his eyes.
“Don’t be a twat, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do.” I sighed and pulled another couple of biscuits out of the packet to soothe my racing mind. Alfie said nothing, happy to wait for me to think everything through. “I don’t think I have. Not, like, spelled it out anyway.”
“Okay. Is that because you don’t know how you feel or—?”
“Or,” I said, cutting him off before I lost my train of thought. “You know me, Alfie, I don’t really do relationships. Or, they don’t do me. Nothing ever sticks so might as well keep it casual. Can’t get hurt then.”
“Liar,” he said, prodding my leg sharply. “You and I both know it doesn’t work that way. Look at Darcy and Owen for Christ’s sake! They kept saying they were casual but it was clear to all of us that wasn’t the case. You’re only lying to yourself and it’s not going to work.”
“Yeah, but, it’s only me getting hurt then!”
Alfie growled, sounding like a very put-out cat, and I snorted. “For fuck’s sake, Milo, you getting hurt isn’t a good thing! And you don’t know it’s only you getting hurt. Rupert could feel exactly the same way.”
“Then why hasn’t he said anything?”
“For exactly the same reason you haven’t,” Alfie said. It felt like there was a “dipshit” or “you wanker” missing from the end of his sentence, but I decided not to bring it up.
“So why do I have to do it?” I whined, pouting and wishing I’d never asked Alfie for help. Even if he was right.
“If you don’t want to, then don’t,” Alfie said firmly, sipping his tea. “But if neither of you does, then I can tell you right now what’ll happen.”
“What? It’ll all end in tears?”
“Pretty much, yeah. One of you is going to have to stand up and say how you feel, even if you don’t like it.
And since you’re here asking me for my opinion, worried about what might be going on with Rupert, then I’m pretty sure it’ll have to be you.
” He paused for a second, then tried to smile.
“Whatever happens, I promise I’ll be here for you.
And if it all goes wrong, I’ll ask Jonathan to make us another lasagne. ”
“Deal,” I said, forcing a grin onto my face as I tried not to think about what I’d agreed to. At least I’d get lasagne out of my suffering. “Please ask him to make a big one, I’ll need it.”
“Of course,” Alfie said. “And you can keep all the leftovers.”
I whooped and did a fist pump, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing.
Why the fuck was the idea of talking to Rupert so hard? We talked all the time. All I had to do was say a few extra things.
Things that could get me hurt… that could remind me of what a problem I was and always had been… that could end the best thing that’d happened to me in years.
Fuck!
Jonathan better make me the biggest fucking lasagne in the world. With extra cheese and sauce.
Because there was no way this was going to end well.