Patchwork Paradise(62)

When he resurfaced and sat back on his heels, he looked so deliciously debauched that I did a crunch so I could reach for him and pull him down. As I kissed my own flavor away, I wriggled out of my pants, straightened my boxers, and pushed him up to sitting.

“Right,” I said as I kneeled between his thighs. “I haven’t done this in a long time, but—” I’d reached for his jeans, but he caught my wrists before I could touch his belt. “What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. “You don’t want me to?” I eyed the large bulge in his pants.

“I do,” he said. “But if blowjobs aren’t something you usually do, then . . .”

I tilted my head to the side. I’d have put a hand on my hip if he weren’t still holding my wrists. “Do I look like I don’t want to?”

He smiled. “No. Wearing nothing but underwear and an unbuttoned shirt, you look like you want very much.”

“I do.” I lifted my chin and strained for him as I said, “I want an awful lot of things we don’t have time for right now, just so you know.” I kissed his slightly slack-jawed mouth smugly. “Now let go of my hands, handsome. And let me get reacquainted with the act of fellatio.”

He groaned. “Please don’t call it that.”

“No? You prefer kneeling at the altar? Bob some knob? Gobble—”

“Stop talking, Ollie.”

I grinned up at him. “Make me.”

His eyes darkened, and a hot spark raced down my spine. With slow movements, he undid his belt, his button, his zipper. He pulled his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprang free. Was he going to— Oh yeah. He put his hand on the back of my neck and drew me forward. He was gentle about it, which I appreciated since it had been a long time, but there was no mistaking it. I let him push my face against his cock. I nuzzled him, inhaled him, licked him root to tip. He let go of my head and sank back into the couch with a deep, satisfied sigh.

I rubbed his thighs soothingly, a promise in a touch. Let me take care of you.

He gently swept my bangs aside, and take care of him I did.



On Friday I met with my lawyer, Sam’s parents’ lawyer, and Simon and Martine themselves. Martine kept throwing me watery glances, but Simon sat in stony silence, staring at the wall behind me like I wasn’t even there. The whole thing went by so fast, it felt unreal. I wrote signature after signature, until I couldn’t keep track of the documents anymore.

When it was done, I felt shivery, as if a fever lurked. I stood on the doorstep outside of the lawyer’s office, hugging my arms around myself as rain came down hard, contemplating whether I should wait it out or make a run for it. Martine appeared behind me and faltered when she saw me.

“Oliver,” she whispered. Her bottom lip trembled. She looked ten years older than the last time I’d seen her. “I’m sorry.”

I wanted to say a million things. Not as sorry as I am was one of them. Not as sorry as Sam would’ve been, if he’d known. But Simon came out behind her, taking her arm in an iron grip and marching away like it wasn’t raining at all, and I said nothing. I was sorry, but not for myself. Money was only money, after all, and I had a glorious, warm home to return to.

“What’s up?” Thomas asked that night, startling me into closing my laptop quickly. Milo looked all nice and clean from his bath. Thomas eyed me curiously, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s nothing,” I said, ignoring his dubious look. I didn’t want him to see how empty my bank account was. I didn’t want him to feel obligated in any way. If he was staying, it was because he wanted to be with me and for no other reason. I’d make sure of that.

My phone rang. On autopilot, I pressed the Answer button and put it on speaker.

Cleo and Imran had been caught up in a coinciding double-duty nightshift, which didn’t happen very often, but when it did, they tended to fall off the face of the earth. So I wasn’t surprised Cleo didn’t sound completely sane. “Ollie!” she practically shouted. “Tell me everything! How did the date go? Oh my God, I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to you in so long. Did you guys get on okay? Are you resurfacing from a black hole of sex and debauchery? Is that why we haven’t heard from either of you?”

Thomas turned around slowly at the same time I looked up. He began walking Milo around the kitchen. Milo had no interest in going to sleep tonight.

“I thought you told her,” I whispered to him urgently.

He shook his head, eyes wide. “I thought you told her.”

Oh God.

“Um, Cleo there’s something you should know.”

“What?” She suddenly sounded dead serious. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes. We’re both okay. Uh, the thing is . . . Thomas had a baby.”

Silence.

“And Thomas and the baby are—” I glanced at him, then back at the phone “—temporarily living with me until things settle down. It’s a long story.” Why was I so nervous about telling her this? And why was she not saying anything? “His name is Milo, and he’s gorgeous. We were wondering if you and Imran would like to come and meet him?”

“Thomas had a baby?” she asked in a really small voice, and promptly started crying.

Thomas gave me a what the hell? look, and I shrugged. He leaned over the phone. “Cleo? You okay?”