Page 74 of Milo
I straddle Niall, sweat pouring down my body, and give a guttural groan. His cock is a hard spike inside me and I ride it, feeling it press against my prostate which sends sparks through me and makes my vision blur.
I look down at that long, strong body. His hands are fisted in the sheets at either side of his hips and his head is thrown back, his teeth bared in a grimace.
“Niall,” I gasp out and his eyes open, the pupils making them look almost black. “Fuck, I’m close,” I groan and he grunts.
“Do it, sweetheart. I want you to come all over me.” He reaches out and his hand which is still wet with lube circles my cock. I look down at the ruddy length of my cock shuttling between his long fingers and the visual sends me over.
“Oh fuck!” I choke out and squeeze my eyes shut as I start to come.
“Yes,” he moans and levers his hips up once, twice in a series of battering thrusts and then he gives a sharp cry and I feel heat inside me where he’s filled the condom. “Fuck,” he mutters, his voice wrecked, and I shudder as another wave of aftershocks runs through me.
When we both quieten and have stopped gulping for air as if we’re on a planet with no oxygen, he grabs the base of his dick and the condom with the ease of practice while I lever up and off him. I collapse next to him in a sated sprawl.
“I know it’s customary for the person on top to rush off and get clean towels and tenderly bathe your body,” I murmur.
“But?”
“But I’m knackered and I really feel that I did all the work. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
He snorts with laughter and I feel him sit up, and I listen as he gives a contented groan. I open one eye and gaze at him sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching. I’ve never known before how much I love men’s backs. I mean, how could I? I’d only ever seen Thomas’s and I was usually glad of it because it meant he was walking away from me. But Niall’s back is beautiful.
His shoulders are wide, tapering down to a narrow waist, and it’s pleated with muscle. But my favourite parts are the tiny imperfections that only a lover would notice. The freckles on his shoulders from a holiday in Spain when he was little and burnt badly. The two-inch pink scar on his lower hip where his brother hit him with a sword when they were playingLord of the Ringsafter reading the book. According to Niall, his brother was pretending to be Aragorn, but he looked more like Gimli. I smile because that’s just not true, as his whole family is pretty. His mother is Swedish and an extremely beautiful woman, so all ofher children look like they’re ready to pose for a Nordic fashion magazine.
I watch as he gets up and pads to the bathroom. I can hear the sound of running water and a cupboard opening, and I must have dozed off because his hands on me startle me awake.
“What?” I ask blearily and he smiles.
“Nothing, sweetheart. I’m just cleaning you up. Go back to sleep.”
Instead, I stare at him as he works, cleaning my cock and balls gently and removing the lube and sweat from my arse. His expression is soft, and I’d say it was unguarded and almost hesitant if it was anyone other than Niall, and I’m fascinated.
He’s been almost gentle this week since we got back from skiing. Gone is the wild frenzy that marked our early sex. Now, it’s languid and lasts a long time because Niall has edging down to a dark art. But it’s not just that. He touches me more outside the bedroom. When we walk, he’ll throw his arm around me or touch my hand. He’s quick to brush my hair back or touch my mouth, and when he does that, his expression is always the same as the one he’s wearing now. Soft and almost content.
I frown because I can’t parse the emotion in him, used as I am to his lively sarcasm and cheerfulness. He seems almost meditative, as if he’s come to a conclusion over something that’s been bothering him and is content to stay there in that position for a bit.
He looks up, and when he catches my gaze, he stills for a second as we look at each other. His eyes are dark and mysterious and almost fierce for a second, and then he wipes them clean of expression and smiles happily before leaning forward and kissing my forehead.
“There. All done,” he says tenderly and roots his nose into my hairline and inhales as if taking my scent into him.
I blink and he’s gone, pacing back to the bathroom and throwing the towel in. He turns at the door. “I’m going to get a drink. What shall I bring you?”
“Tea,” I say in a heartfelt voice and he grins suddenly. It’s wide and white in his face and the lines elongate along his eyes.
“Of course. You’re like the anti-Ernest Hemingway.”
“I’d be glad of that,” I shout after him. “Given his fondness for guns and whisky.”
His laughter grows faint as he walks away, and I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling before exhaling slowly. I don’t know what to do with this feeling that wells inside me every time I’m near him, like a helium balloon is expanding inside me. Since Gideon made me admit that I have feelings, they seem to have kept growing until they’re out of control now. I think about Niall constantly, often smiling like an idiot at something he’s said. I bring his name into everything to the extent that Oz had challenged me to go five minutes without mentioning his name. The penalty had been to stand in the garden for ten minutes. It had been cold out there, but Oz had lent me his coat.
I scrub my hands down my face and groan.What the fuck? One fling, I wanted. One measly fling with the man of my dreams. No ties, and then I’d be off to find the real man I’d end up with. Someone quiet and steady, who would give me quiet, unassuming love and contentment and no switch-streams of emotion that would leave me fumbling like an idiot.
Instead, I’ve fallen for the one man I shouldn’t, and I’m caught in a whirlwind of emotions every time I’m with him. I’m fascinated with him and almost bespelled because every day he shows me more of the real him. I’ve learnt that he has an unexpected sweet tooth and adores rose and violet creams, to the extent that he can devour a whole bag in one sitting. I know that he’s too busy or too tired at night to read but he has an addiction to audiobooks and always has one on the go in his car.His feet are always cold but he can’t bear to wear anything in bed. I’ve seen the quiet him who’s content to lie with me, despite Gideon’s depiction. And the part of him that’s at home outside like it’s his natural habitat but who still wants me alongside him as we tramp across fields out in the open air, laughing and talking.
Then there’s the man who dares me to do things outside my comfort zone that I immediately do because I feel safe with him and I know he won’t let me come to any harm. Like the other night when he’d dared me to fuck him in a club. I’d done it, relishing the dark thrill that anyone could walk in at any point and see me fucking this gorgeous man. But later I’d found out that he’d paid a bouncer a hundred quid to say the toilet was out of order so I’d be safe and wouldn’t regret it.
I still. But surely it’s my responsibility to make sure I’m safe. Not his. I frown. I’ve always felt like I’ve coasted along in life like a piece of driftwood on the tide, letting others make my decisions. I never even managed to save myself from Thomas. That was Niall. And that makes me feel weak. I don’t want to rely on someone to rescue me or be responsible for my happiness. I should do all that myself.
I hear his footsteps and clear my expression. I’m no nearer knowing what to do. All I know is that I’m falling for him so fast that it scares me and exhilarates me at the same time. Like a rollercoaster that hopefully isn’t going to make me chuck up my dinner on the person in front. I snort.
