Page 40 of The Naked Cleaner

“Here it comes, baby. Here comes the motherload.” He shouts.

Fucking imbecilic crap, and if I wasn’t so far gone in my own sex-haze I would have laughed. Instead my mouth says something stupid like, “Fill me up baby,” as my dick starts to shoot and I am once again lost in bliss.

It’s crazy trying to explain it, the thing your body does in an orgasm. It’s like my brain is being squeezed out of my skull, my head too big for the world, and my dick exploding as my whole body shuts down for a few blissful seconds when everything is right in the world.

I don’t come back to my senses, fully, until I have somehow landed on my back and there is wet stuff running down my leg and Louis’s mouth is somewhere under my armpit, panting like he has run a marathon. Which I suppose he has.

“Fucking love you.” I say, my voice still a little wobbly.

“Your computer is making noises out there.” He says.

“Fuck. I had a breakfast meeting!”

I did as well, and I throw myself across the bed, kneeing him in the groin as I go, leaving him curled up like a ball laughing at me as I throw a shirt over my chest and rub myself down, and grab a clean one from the wardrobe.

“Be quiet for ten minutes or so while I get the gist of these people. It’s a big contract and I just need to concentrate.” I hiss, as I button up the collar and throw a tie around my neck.

He just laughs. The little shit.

The chair creaks and swirls as I throw myself down by my desk, tapping the enter tab like a freak, at the same time adjusting my tie.

“Good morning, sorry for the delay, I was on another call.” I say cheerily as the head of Damgaard Graphics comes into view with his suit jacket and immaculate hair. And here am I, sitting butt arse naked on my office chair, letting Louis's spunk run down my leg and the lube on my arse smearing all over the cheap Italian leather.

“Not to worry.” Mr Damgaard says, and introduces me to his team as my screen fills with little squares with professional faces smiling politely and I nod and try to smile as Louis tiptoes in on the side, stark naked, carefully avoiding my webcam as he places a steaming cup of coffee next to me.

“Thank you.” I mouth politely to him as he winks and caresses his cock, doing a little slow dance back towards the kitchen as my face blushes and I stutter out some half-arsed reply with regards to contactless payments and automatic invoicing solutions.

I love him. I fucking love him, and I don’t care what anyone says.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I involuntary laugh out loud, looking at the surprised faces staring back at me on the screen. “My boyfriend just brought me a coffee, and is making faces. The little shit.”

Not professional at all, but they all laugh and Leonie from the German office lifts her coffee cup up to toast me and Mr Damgaard says he wishes his wife would make him coffee, and somehow. Somehow the mood shifts.

I nail the contract.

I fucking nail it.

Then I go and fuck Louis to kingdom come.

Chapter Fifteen

Louis

Myarse hurts. Not badly but I’m sore and feeling like I have run a marathon with a stick up my arse, despite all the yoga and stretching I’ve done. No, not that kind of stretching. I grimace to myself. I suppose that sexing it up as much as the two of us have been doing over the last month, is kind of a good thing for discovering muscles and tendons forgotten and stashed in your body. But damn. I’m bloody sore. Everywhere. Which makes me want to go and have a shower and clean up to try to soothe the itch and ache down there, but there hasn’t really been much time for things like personal grooming.

Not when you have all this yumminess to contend with. Not when you have a boyfriend. Not when you come back after a hard day’s slog dealing with all kinds of crap and then you walk through the door, that frighteningly starts to feel more and more like home, and he just stands there and… Yes. One thing leads to another and last night, I ended up getting dicked in the hallway and fucked to kingdom come on the floor.

So, yeah. I’m sore. Fucking arse-itching stitching bloody uncomfortable. But nice. It’s all a bit of a confusing mess in my head.

And sitting here driving down the motorway towards my parents’ house in Birkerød. My home, well, the place that I have called home most of my life, and I have this gorgeous bloke sitting next to me in the van, who no longer has a bruise flashed across his forehead and is currently sporting the most ridiculous smile on his face? Yeah. It’s hard. NOT HARD LIKE THAT. Although I think that there might be a very plausible risk that I will have to pull over at the next services and find a remote parking space so I can just bend over and suck Pontus’ dick. Like. Now. Maybe.

“Fuck you.” I say out loud, and Pontus snickers.

“Not now, thank you very much. We would crash.” Pontus snarls back, and I can’t help but laugh. Raw. Unapologetic.

“You are as bad as me. I bet you anything you were just thinking about sex.”

“No.” Pontus says, but his voice is full of laughter. “I was not thinking about sex. And anyway, the minute I think about sex I can only picture your mother all naked with flappy boobs and running on that treadmill, and I feel a little bit worried. Are you sure they will be dressed?”

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