Page 36 of The Naked Cleaner

That’s me. I don’t hate him. He’s kissing me again, crawling all over me, pressing me up against the fridge and now the boner is back. Cheeks flaming. Teeth clashing. I need to eat. I need to go. I don’t want to go anywhere.

“You love me. You told me earlier. Even if I’m an idiot most of the time, and I’m rude and not very good at this relationship thing, but, I kind of think….”

He leans back and looks at me. Really looks at me. Like he is trying to figure me out.

“You want to do this? Be my boyfriend? Just me and you, like exclusive?”

“Is there anyone else?” Fuck. I hadn’t even asked.

“Noooo!” He laughs. “Just you. Seriously? Don’t you think I would have said something by now? We’ve been fucking for what? Twenty-four hours? There is nobody else. I’m not a jerk, and I wouldn’t do that, I don’t cheat. I never will, trust me. You and me. Period.”

He’s stupid.

I’m so bloody stupid because here come the tears. Big chunky sobs coming out of my head and crocodile tears running down my cheeks and he kisses my lips and just holds me as I cry. I fucking cry. I couldn’t even tell you why, I’m just kind of relieved. Happy. I think we’re on the same page. We’re fucking, yeah, but he saidyou and me. He said a lot of things and reading between the lines, I think he kind of said what I needed to hear.

“You love me too?” I slobber.

I’m a child.

“I fucking adore you. Like you have to ask.” He says sternly, and I have snot running down my nose which I try to wipe away with my hand.

“Sorry. I’m disgusting.” I whinge and he just grabs my hand and kisses it, then reaches for the last clean tea towel on the side, which he uses to wipe my face. If I wasn’t so bloody mesmerised with him and too emotional to think rationally, I would have shouted at him.No snot on the bloody tea towels!

“I love you.” He says softly. Almost like he is tasting the words. “I think I do too. You, you have kind of... I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.” Instead he shakes his head and kisses me again. Does another round of wiping my face with the tea towel. “Can I interest you in some Nemlig.com own-brand cheap copy cornflakes? With real fucking milk? And instant coffee? I have no bloody organic shite to offer, mate.”

“I’m lactose intolerant and vegan.” I snap back, and his face is a picture.

“This is never going to work.” He laughs.

“This will work just fine.” I giggle. “Give me five minutes to make a fresh batch of porridge, and you make the coffee and we will have breakfast and then I really need to go.”

I kiss him. He kisses me back.

“Then you will come back tonight, and you will let me fuck you?”

Blunt Pontus? He looks serious as well, and I blow my nose in the damn tea towel. I’m buying a new batch today and taking these home to wash.

“We are going to fuck. A lot. Whatever you want.” I wink. He blushes. I giggle like a kid and he snorts. And kisses me. And he has a semi. Fuck. I'm going to be so late.

It’s going to be weird. I know. But we can apparently talk about it and it’s fine. I love him. I think he loves me back. I hope. We’re fucking tonight. I’m bringing dinner, and I already know what to cook him, and there will be dessert and I need to buy tea towels and should really be at Ms Anita’s in forty minutes.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Instead, I grab his arm and pull him in and squeeze the living daylights out of his skinny body and he squeals and play fights me and threatens to kick me out and pour milk on my bloody porridge.

I think I really do love him. It’s just that easy.

Chapter Thirteen

Pontus

I’m surprisingly calm. Totally chill. Nah. Who am I kidding? I’m sweating like it’s some heatwave going on, when in reality it’s nice and cool in my flat. I have all the windows open and have downed three cups of coffee in the last hour, am almost caught up with today’s work, and I have made a good start on Louis’ tax return. I missed eating lunch but wolfed it down like a lunatic twenty minutes ago, so Louis won’t notice and tell me off. I kind of feel a pang of shame over that. See? I’ve made myself all these promises, I’ve made all these promises to Jonas and now to Louis, and I don’t keep any of them.

At least, I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy my head is spinning. I catch myself smiling into the camera during my video conference with the Youth Theatre director, where I eat humble pie over my late delivery of their new budgeting package. I laugh. Fuck my life. He’s a nice dude to deal with, and I must give him credit for taking it well. I bloody discounted everything so I have probably barely made a profit on that job, but whatever. Happy client. Happy fucking me.

I have also had a shower and cleaned myself up, and then. Fuck. I googled all this stuff about enemas and cleaning yourself and prepping for anal sex and then I blushed in shame because I didn’t do any of that and maybe. Fuck. I don’t want to think about it. Maybe I was all dirty and smelly and Louis fucked me, and I really liked it.

It’s kind of strange to think back at that, but I did. It made me, I don’t know. I let loose. I never let loose, but somehow, he makes me feel safe and I fucking lose the plot. And the strangest thing is that I can’t wait to do it again. I want him to make me lose it again. I want him to just be there with his hands and his mouth and his eyes all on me and that bloody mouth on him. Yeah. That’s my body shivering all over, and for a second I contemplate going for a quick cheeky wank to just take some pressure off. Well, that great plan is swiftly interrupted by Jonas and Clara who awkwardly sit on my sofa sharing their Espresso House haul, covering my sofa in chocolate crumbs for half an hour, as I say nothing, and Jonas just laughs.

Louis is late, doing something with his parents again, and I kind of want to scream. Instead I punish myself by googling Naturism. Nudism. Nudies. Naked orgies.

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