Page 53 of Milo
“So, why didn’t you come after me sooner?” I whisper and feel my cheeks immediately heat when the words come out without my permission.
He stiffens as if surprised and then croons something under his breath and kisses my neck, nestling his long nose under the fall of my hair. I shudder at the touch of his warm, soft lips and the tickle as he breathes in deeply.
“He wanted to talk to me,” he finally says. “And I couldn’t stop my arrangement with him without speaking first. I owe him that.”
I breathe in. “You’re stopping it?”
“Of course, sweetheart. You know I am.”
Silence falls as I digest his words but despite my best efforts, I’m sleepy. The warmth of his body, the way my body has relaxed its tenseness, and the late hour conspire to make my blinks longer until my eyes drift shut. Nevertheless, I stir myself with one last question. “So, how did it go?”
He chuckles sleepily. “It didn’t. We got in the house and he started talking about other things. No matter how I tried I couldn’t get round to the subject. You Ramsay men are determined.”
That should bother me, I think sleepily. But I’m so tired and when he whispers ‘Sleep, darling,’ I let the sweet words push me into sleep.
Chapter
Eleven
Is it because I’m fucking Niall? I have to have a holiday because of that?
Milo
He’s gone when I wake up the next morning, and when I slide my hand across the bed it’s as cold as if I dreamt him being here. However, when I move in the sheets, I can smell his woody scent and it makes me smile a little. I wonder what time he left.
Shaking my head, I slide out of bed and hiss when my feet hit the cold floor. Servants’ quarters in old houses are notoriously cold and this is no exception. It’s a miracle no one died of hypothermia. I bolt into the bathroom and turn the shower on. It heats up quickly, which is a blessing, and I sigh with pleasure when I climb under the spray and feel the hot water sliding down my body.
I twist and turn under the spray, letting my mind wander. I can see marks on my body that are subtle mementos of the lastweek. Tiny fingerprint bruises on my hips where he grabbed me, impatient in his need to come. Red marks over my nipples where he licked and sucked and bit. My cock stirs and I groan, reaching down to fist it.
I reach up and squirt some soap into my palm and then, making a tunnel of my fist, I start to shuttle my cock through it, twisting my hand as I get to the top.
A montage of memories, explicit snapshots flit through my head and I marvel that the wild-looking man in them is me. It’s been a revelation to me, having sex with him. I come away from it sated but with an undercurrent of needing more underneath. More kissing, more sucking, more coming. It’s like I have a previously unknown engine inside me and it’s constantly idling. Even when I’m spent, I’m inventing reasons to get there again. I’ve never been less than half hard all week.
I reach back and feel between my arse cheeks. I trace a finger delicately over my hole, shuddering at the silvery pleasure that runs through me. He hasn’t fucked me yet. I’ve held out against that because my only memories of this are pain and tearing and as such, I’ve tensed every time his hand even goes near my backside. However, he’s kept at it, tracing a fingertip there when I’m fucking him, tracking my taint while he blows me, and slowly he’s getting me used to having his fingers there and even wanting them.
I wonder what it would feel like to have him fuck me. To have him over me, all that big body bearing down on me. The image is so vivid I groan and shout out, coming in long creamy ropes against the shower wall.
I rest my hands against the tiles as I pant for breath. I wonder whether that means I’m ready to try anal sex again. I frown. Maybe I won’t get the chance. I remember his words as I slid away from him and into sleep. My brother hasn’t spoken to him yet and I know where Niall’s loyalty lies. He may be enjoyingthis with me but it’s temporary, no claiming words uttered, no declarations of fidelity. The only thing stopping him would be me, and I’ve never expressed a wish for a relationship with him beyond what we’re doing. Do I want that after all? The thought stops me dead, but I shake my head crossly and stop the shower. No more thinking.
Finally, dressed in jeans and an oversized scarlet jumper which I’m sure used to belong to Gideon, I clatter down the stairs and towards the dining room. When I enter it’s to find Oz trying to feed Cora while Silas gathers his vet’s bag and coat together.
“Morning,” I mutter, crossing to Cora and dropping a soft kiss on her forehead. She crows happily at the sight of me and offers me the spoon she’s been banging on her highchair.
“No, thank you,” I say. “You have it back. You make far more noise than I ever could.”
“That’s a fact,” Silas says, wincing as the banging recommences. He crosses over to Oz and kisses him goodbye. I avert my eyes and focus on getting my breakfast from the side table. When I turn back, he’s standing back up and Oz’s mouth is swollen.
I shake my head. “Have a good day, Silas.”
He smiles, no doubt because for the first few years here I’d struggled to call him anything except Lord Ashworth. It had seemed at the time that my security lay in being polite and keeping him happy. I’d learned that he was actually made happy by being treated normally, and now he exists in some way as my older brother.
“I’ll be back late,” he says, patting my shoulder and looking back at Oz.
“I’ll wait up,” he says steadily, and Silas gives him a warm, loving look before ducking out of the room, rapidly followed byBoris the dog. I set my plate down on the table and sit, looking at Oz.
“You okay? You look like you’ve got something to say.” I pause. “Not that you don’t always look like that. You have so much to say.”
He raises his middle finger at me. “I actually have something very important to announce.” He pauses as if listening for an invisible drum roll before shrugging when it doesn’t come. “Silas and I think you should have a holiday.”
