Patchwork Paradise(61)

I went home early on Wednesday. No matter how much I kept the smile plastered on my face and reassured Thomas that all would be fine, in reality nerves made me consume twice my daily amount of coffee. I made phone calls and wrote emails to get the ball rolling on acquiring the mortgage, which didn’t help my mood. Eventually I had enough.

My brain buzzed with caffeine overload the whole tram ride home, and I was pretty sure people were eyeing me suspiciously. I didn’t care. I practically ran home from the tram stop and fell through the door, only to have Thomas shush me as I kicked off my shoes in the hallway. He tugged me into the living room and quietly shut the door.

“Milo went down for a nap.”

“How did it go? Where’s Mom? Did you eat? What did Liesbeth say?”

Thomas’s eyes grew larger with each question. In the end he shut my mouth with his. Without breaking contact, he dragged me to the couch, pushed me down, and cushioned my fall with his arms.

“You taste . . . caffeinated,” he said, and laughed. “Your mom went home when I got back from work, dinner is in the oven, and Milo is fine. Listen, about the other—”

I wasn’t ready for that conversation, so I grabbed his button-up and tried to shake him, which wasn’t easy from my position. “How. Did. It. Go?”

He grinned and kissed me again, so I figured it couldn’t have gone too badly. For a moment I let him have his way with me, because, oh God, I really needed to get him all to myself for one night. Just one night. Was that really too much to— He dug his tongue into my ear, and I yelped.

“It went fine,” he said, and pushed the hair out of my eyes so he could see me. “She cried a lot. But she was very happy to see Milo. She said we’re taking good care of him, but—”

“But? Why is there a ‘but’? There can’t be a ‘but’! We are taking good care of him.”

“Ye-es,” he said slowly, “but she wasn’t too thrilled about us living here. With you.”

“What?” I sat up so fast I nearly brained him. This was the last thing we needed. “Because I’m a guy? Did you tell her we’re together? Is she having issues with me being—”

“Ollie, chill.” He eased me down again and began to unbutton my shirt. “Not because you’re gay, or a guy. Because she doesn’t know you. She wants to meet you next time we go to see her.”

“Oh.” I tried to process that, but his fingertips were tickling my belly, sending little zings of pleasure downward. “There’s going to be a next time?” I said weakly.

“Yes, she can see Milo once a week. And you can come too.”

“Okay. That sounds . . . good.” He tugged his shirt off and lay down on top of me.

Not-so-pleasant feelings were churning on the back burner. Fear of him pulling away when I was already in too deep. Guilt for lying here with him and not Sam, and liking it. Annoyance because I knew this could get cut short again any minute, and I realized that wasn’t fair, but God. I just wanted. So I pushed it all aside and tried to be here with him—not my past, not the uncertain future.

I loved how his chest hair felt against my skin. I wriggled a little as I sighed happily. “You know,” I said when his hand drifted downward and he cupped me through my slacks, “I thought I was done with handjobs on the couch when I turned twenty.”

He kissed my jaw, my neck, lifted his head, and murmured, “Who said anything about handjobs?”

I gulped as he licked my left nipple. I gave a nervous laugh that turned into a moan when he sucked it into his mouth. With a sharp pop I felt in my balls, he let go.

“Unless that’s what you want? I mean, I don’t have to go down on you. I could—”

“No, no,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you. Who am I to stop you from doing what you—ah Jesus—want?” He’d unbuckled my pants and yanked them open. My cock slapped my belly when he pulled my boxers down.

He bit his lip. “Hmm, Ollie.” His eyes were laughing at me, but in a kind way.

“What?” I snapped, almost desperately. “What now?”

“I have to admit, I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw that painting.” And then he grasped the base of my cock, pointed it at his face, and devoured me whole.

“Oh my God.” I pushed the pads of my thumbs into my eyeballs and tried really hard not to shove my way down his throat. He applied some sweet, sweet suction, and moved his mouth up so slowly that it was pure, awful agony at its finest. I could feel the soft touch of his palate, the smooth roll of his tongue as he pushed it under my foreskin, a hint of teeth at the back of his mouth. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. Sam had never been a fan of blowjobs—which had been fine with me. We’d enjoyed the main event too much to linger on the lack of mouth action. But this . . . “Thomas,” I whispered far too soon. “Ah, I’m not going to last.”

He let go of me, and I made a bereft sound. Instead of giving up, he gently licked my balls, worked a finger behind them, and tickled my taint. “How about now?” he asked, rubbing my perineum with his thumb.

I gritted my teeth. “Yep. Nope. Now I’m just going to come all over myself.”

He laughed softly, and his breath cooled the spit on my balls. I shivered and groaned and clasped a hand over my mouth because he’d taken me down again. He was done playing and was going in for the kill. He sucked me on the way up, tongued me on the way down, squeezing the base of my cock with one hand as he kept his balance with the other. He went at it in a rhythm that made me sympathetic for his jaw. Only for a second though, because my balls drew up, my breath stuttered in my chest, my legs went rigid, and I shouted into the palm of my hand. He kept sucking me through my orgasm, swallowing until I had nothing left to give.