Page 32 of Milo
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 andthen 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’shorrible.”
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.”
“I think you mean false advertisement,” he says slowly. “And that’s just not true.” He smiles at me. “You think you’re bad in bed because one wanker told you that. Was he your first?”
