Page 77 of Milo
“I think that’s because you’ve usually put out before the need for a date arises,” I say gloomily.
He shoots me a startled look. “Are you okay with that?”
I stare at him. “Are you?”
He shrugs. “I’m fine with my past. I have no major regrets.” He pauses. “I’ve gotsomeregrets, obviously. I mean, I’m fine with public nudity, but the Italian police turned out to be alarmingly prudish about it, and I do regret the cell because the seating was very uncomfortable.”
I laugh and squeeze his hand. “I’m fine with it. Your past is your past. I mean, yours is more colourful than a bumper box of Crayola, but that’s you.”
“It was me,” he says quietly.
I’m startled. “What do you mean?”
He shoots me an indecipherable look. “I mean that was me. It doesn’t mean that it’s the present or future Niall Fawcett. He's a different person.”
“He’s a different person seeking help for mental problems if he keeps referring to himself in the third person.”
He bursts out laughing and diverts the conversation to more getting-to-know-you questions. He shoots me a look after a few minutes of discussing our favourite films. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say peacefully. “Just surprised that we’re doing this. We’ve known each other for most of my life, not to mention that we’ve fucked each other countless times. It seems strange to be having the same conversation as people who’ve just started dating.”
“But we have,” he says simply. “I’m getting to know you. Milo Ramsay. I want to know everything that makes you tick.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” he says calmly. “But I’m thinking you’re not prepared to talk about it at the moment.”
I shoot him a quick glance. “It would take forever anyway,” I say gloomily. “As soon as I discuss anything like that, I stutter. The time it takes me to say anything sometimes, we’d be on our first date for a year.”
“And I would be just as happy. I don’t care how long it takes you to talk to me, Lo, just as long as you keep talking to me and never stop.”
I stare at him open-mouthed. That is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, and the fact that it’s Niall should amaze me. Should but doesn’t, I think, eyeing himprobably not covertly. It still surprises me to have this inbuilt knowledge inside me now that the confident, sarcastic Niall that everyone else knows is actually a big softie who enjoys poetry.
He shoots me a look. “What?’
I shake my head quickly and divert the conversation to something that has happened at Westminster today. We move from that to a footballer moving clubs to an art show that I’d like to see, the conversation never faltering while we eat a superb meal at a small fish restaurant tucked away in a small corner of St Ives.
I push my plate away finally, leaning back and groaning. “God, I’m stuffed.”
He smirks. “Not yet, but you will be.”
The low voice and the gleam in his eyes make my cock plump, and I stir. “Shall we go home?” I say quietly but to my amazement, he shakes his head.
“Nope.”
“What?”
“We have a date to finish, remember?”
“I’m trying to remember how your cock feels in me, but it’s becoming a very distant memory.”
He bursts out laughing and the rich sound makes people nearby look at him. A couple of people smile, and I can’t blame them. He has a really dirty-sounding laugh that’s almost contagious. He sobers and grins at me. “Milo, I see I’m going to have to be the chaste one of the two of us. You’re far too much of a strumpet.”
“Chaste?” I look around and smile an apology because that was way too loud. I look back at him to find his mouth twisted in amusement. “Chaste?” I whisper. “What is happening at the moment?”
“Well, Milo,” he says mock seriously. “My milkshake might bring all the boys to my yard, but I’m afraid you’re not getting adrink yet because I value my body too much to give it away for free.”
“That started awesomely and finished somewhere between Barbara Cartland and Georgette Heyer.” I shake my head, trying not to smile. “You’re supposed to be the casual shag of the year. Just once I try you, only to find out that you’re defective.”
