Page 17 of Milo
I wake up with a start, my breath coming fast, and once again my cock is hard at the thought of Niall. I shake my head. I don’t think at seventeen I ever thought he’d want me in return any more than I do at twenty-seven. Why would he? My brother is gorgeous and witty, and even as a teenager he already had that extra elusive something about him that had made him a star. Niall would never have looked at me.
I’d just wanted to be close to him at the time. However, they never knew I’d been there. I slipped downstairs and went to stay with a friend for the weekend but after that, I’d removed myself from his presence whenever I could. At first, he’d been puzzled and almost hurt, but he was a grown man so he soon forgot.
I lie still for a few minutes just breathing and trying to get back to the state of mind I’d arrived at a few weeks ago when I’d realised that I was drifting along through the days waiting for him to finally see me. It had coincided with a weekend when he’d gone away with my brother who he still fucks. I’d watched them through a window laughing together all bright and confident, and the next morning I’d woken up with the realisation that he would never be mine. I’d made the resolution that I would move on and try and find someone of my own. Someone kind and quiet like me. Staying here alone with Niall might be bad for this plan, but I’m determined to stick to it.
I don’t know how long I lie in bed thinking, but the silence of the room suddenly drags me into the now. It’s too quiet. When I went to sleep, I was lulled by Cora’s tiny snores and snuffles. Now, there’s nothing. I jump up with my nerves jangling and my heart pounding and race over to the Moses basket tucked neatly in the corner of the room, only to sag with relief when I find it empty.
I look around wildly and then stop and laugh. It sounds loud in the room, but what the fuck was I thinking? Did I imagine her rolling out of bed and going out for a coffee? There is another person in the house with me who must have her.
I move towards the door only to stop dead as a mortifying thought hits me. Niall came in to get her while I was dreaming about him. I rub my hands down my face and groan. I hope I wasn’t talking in my sleep, which has been known to happen. It’s as if in dreams my mouth lets all of the unsaid things out.
I take a deep breath and shake my head. Not going there. Resolved, if still somewhat embarrassed, I move over to his bedroom but the room is empty. I sneak a look around. Decorated in shades of white and grey (of course), it’s a big room that looks down onto endless fields. The window is ajar, letting in a cool breeze that disturbs the curtains and sends them billowing. I smile because Niall always has to have a window open when he sleeps, no matter how fucking cold it is outside. It’s as if he’s so at home outdoors he feels trapped under a roof and hemmed in by bricks and mortar.
The bed is huge and rumpled, the duvet flung back as if he’d got up in a hurry. I breathe in the sweet woody scent of his aftershave and back out of the room. Padding down the stairs, I become aware of the faint sound of music coming from the kitchen and a light shining from there, laying warm stripes over the hallway.
I edge to the door intending to make a smart remark about baby-napping but instead, I stand stock-still. Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” is playing softly on the Bluetooth speaker, the whimsical and almost folksy music seeming to suit the hush of the house, and Niall is standing in the middle of the kitchen lit by the downlighters on the cabinets. He’s shirtless and wearing only a plaid pair of pyjama shorts that hang low, clinging to the swell of his arse. The light gilds him as if he’s been colour-washed in pale gold paint. It shows off the wide expanse of his lightly haired chest and the length of his legs. His bare feet are long and narrow and his arms bulge with muscles, as does his torso, celebrating the amount of physical work this man does every day.
Held to his chest, Cora looks as tiny as a little doll. Wrapped in her dinosaur-patterned sheet, she has one small hand wrapped up in a hank of his golden hair and she’s staring at himas he sways to the sweet song and croons the lyrics. I watch her eyes blink heavily a few times as she fights sleep.
He smiles happily down at her. All of the energy that he seems to thrum with during the day is muted now, held at bay in the stillness of the night. He seems softer somehow, like his hard edges have melted away, and against my will, I sigh. If only he was like this all the time, he’d be so much more approachable. Instead, he’s forceful and confident and makes me feel a little bit less.
However, he must catch the sigh because his head shoots up. When he sees me, he smiles, but it dies as he looks down my body. It’s a slow, long slide of his eyes and I feel self-conscious in my old yoga leggings and washed-out, tight Mr. Messy t-shirt that my brother bought me years ago. I don’t look like him. My skin is pale and I’m thin rather than muscled and golden. My hair is loose around my shoulders and doubtless makes me look like a scarecrow.
I shake my head impatiently at the silliness of my thoughts. This is me and Niall. He’s never been attracted to me before, so why would he start now?
I make myself smile at him. “Ed Sheeran. Really, Niall?”
The slow darkness of his gaze clears and he blinks before looking almost embarrassed.
“It was the only bloody thing she’d settle down to. Do you think Oz or Silas play it to her?”
I shrug. “God knows. Knowing Oz’s taste, it’d be more likely to be Slipknot.”
He grins. “Well, the ginger singer did it tonight. All hail, King Ed.”
I laugh. “Did she wake you up? Because I never heard a peep.”
He shakes his head. “She’d just started fussing when I heard her. You were sleeping heavily.” I blush fiercely and want to holdmy hands up to my cheeks. His gaze sharpens but he neatly sidesteps the landmine. “I thought I’d let you sleep. You’ll have her all day. It seems only fair for me to do my bit.”
I pad over to the kettle and switch it on to make tea now that I’m awake. “Actually, while I think of it, there might be a morning when I’ll need you to have her. Is that okay?”
He nods. “Of course. Let me know, or better yet, tell Barb. She’ll remind me.” Barb is his grey-haired, take-no-nonsense secretary. She keeps all the estate staff in check and has a mind like a steel trap. He looks curiously at me. “What are you doing?”
I fiddle with the kettle. “Simeon Frith is visiting. He’s got some pictures that he wants me to look at with a view to restoring them. I told him I don’t travel much so he’s coming here. It’s taken so long to arrange it that it would be terrible to try and cancel.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “Is that the bloke from the night we had Shakespeare by the lake?”
I nod. Oz had started these highly successful evenings last year. The cast descends on us and performs the play in return for lodging at the house. Visitors bring their own picnics and sit out under the stars. So far they’ve been huge successes, mainly because the English weather has obliged us. I’d met Simeon at one of them. He’s an art collector, a very successful man in his late thirties. I’d enjoyed talking with him immensely once I’d overcome my shyness, and I’m looking forward to seeing him again.
Niall’s eyes sharpen. “That’s the one who spent the whole night ignoring the play and slobbering over you?”
I frown. “There was no dribble involved. Ugh, that’s horrid.”
His gaze turns inward. “I don’t know. There’ve definitely been occasions when I’ve slobbered very pleasurably.”
I have an instant vision of him choking on a man’s cock and turn scarlet. Luckily the kettle switches off and I turn away,busying myself making some chamomile tea, but I can feel his gaze hot on the side of my face.
I turn back to him, startling slightly because just for a second he seems to have been looking at my arse with a hungry expression on his face, but it slides away instantly so I dismiss the suspicion. He rocks Cora, still swaying slightly to the song, and I put his tea on the table.
