Page 64 of Oz
He laughs and makes a slow production of tucking his cock in and zipping up. I swallow hard as I feel my cock stir despite the fact that I started the morning off with two orgasms before I fell asleep again.
He stamps his feet into an old pair of checked Vans and I smile. He may have a title and a heritage that goes back centuries, but half the time he looks like a bit of a tramp. His clothes are good labels but they’re old and comfortable and seem to mould to his body. In my clubbing days I’d have been horrified by his appearance, but here he fits. His hair is wild looking after a night of me pulling it and his beard needs trimming, but all I can see are those pretty eyes clear and green in the early morning light and the smile that tugs his pouty lips.
He cocks his head to one side. “Isn’t today when your friend is coming?”
I grin and sit up, running my hands through my hair and enjoying the leisurely way he runs his eyes down my body. “It is.”
“You look happy.”
“I am. I’ve missed him.”
He comes to stand by the bed, running his finger down the bedpost and tracing the delicate carving. “I suppose you miss London,” he says, and his voice is too casual.
I narrow my eyes. For a split second I think about lying and saying I do. It will make the inevitable separation much easier if we get used to it. For a few wild moments over the last month my mind has toyed with the idea of a long-distance relationship, but I run into the same stumbling blocks every time. He’s too busy to ever undertake that sort of relationship, and I’m not what he must be looking for.
With his title and history, he’ll be looking to settle down with someone from the same class. Someone who won’t embarrass him at social functions when I get the cutlery mixed up or my accent gets heavier. Someone without eyeliner and nail varnish and too-tight jeans. I picture the invisible man or woman and I sigh because they’ll probably wear a lot of tweed and cord and have an accent you could cut glass with. My stomach churns.
“Oz?” he says, and I jerk.
“Sorry.” I look into his eyes and I can’t do it. I can’t lie to him. “I don’t miss London,” I say in a low voice, my usually agile tongue tripping and stuttering. “I don’t miss it at all.”
His eyes flare for a second but then he shutters his expression and gives a calm smile. My eyes narrow. I went on a call once and watched him with a sick horse. If he uses that even voice with me, I’ll punch him.
Luckily, he just swings away and grabs his watch from the side table. “I hope you’re not working today,” he says distractedly and therefore misses the guilty expression that I just know my face is wearing.
“Not at all,” I say brightly. “I’m going to take him out for lunch and show him around.”
“I’ll be back fairly early tonight,” he says and there’s a definite wistful tone in his voice. “Do you think I’ll have a chance to meet him?”
I still. I’ve been so concerned that Silas not be here for this meeting that I think I’ve given him the impression that I’m hiding him. My stomach twists in a way I’ve learnt to associate with disappointing him. I hate the idea that I’ve inadvertently hurt him. I come up on my knees. “Silas,” I say urgently.
He turns back to me and stills when he sees me naked and kneeling in the sheets. I reach for him, and when he comes close I grab his face gently and cup his high cheekbones. “I would love you to meet Shaun,” I say clearly. “I want him to meet you. You’re both important to me.”
His face lights up. “I am?” He stops and clears his throat. “I mean, that’s lovely. I’ll try and get back a bit earlier. Perhaps we could take him to that pub we ate at last week?”
“The one with the homemade fish cakes?” I ask, distracted at once, and he grins when my stomach rumbles.
“That’s the one.” He hesitates. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” I declare, and he relaxes instantly.
“Okay, I’ll book a table.”
“Erm, ask for a bigger table,” I say, thinking hard. “I know there are three of us, but you and Shaun are big men.”
He looks puzzled but nods obligingly. “Okay, Pika.”
“Don’t call me that,” I protest, but it dies to a moan as he pulls me to the edge of the bed and kneels and takes my cock down his throat in one swift, assured move.
I moan and tangle my hands in his thick, soft hair. I hate not telling him the full truth about today, but I don’t want to get his hopes up. That’s my last thought apart fromharderandoh my fucking godbefore I fall back into the sheets in a tangled, sweaty mess.
A couple of hours later I hear the sound of a car on the gravel at the front of the house and race to open the door. I fling it open and dart down the steps in time to see Shaun getting out and stretching as if it was a clown car rather than a very swanky BMW.
I whistle. “Nice car.”
“Obviously not mine,” he says wryly, laughing as I fling myself at him and hug him tight.
“It’s so good to see you,” I whisper, and he chuckles.
