Patchwork Paradise(73)

“Jesus f*ck, you’re killing me here,” Thomas croaked, and I tensed all over, gripping his hair too hard and pulling his face into my neck, but I couldn’t help it. My body seized, my cock jumped and pulsed, and my ass squeezed around Thomas’s cock as I finally started coming. His thrusts turned sharp and frantic. He cried out between his teeth, for he’d clamped them down on my neck, and pushed hard and deep, staying pressed into me and forcing another jet of come from my balls.

I didn’t know where he got the strength from, but he managed to extract himself gently and lower me onto the bed. A few oblivious minutes later, the come and lube had been wiped from my body, and he’d wrapped himself around me, tight, like he never wanted to let go.

“Ollie . . .” he whispered. “That was really . . .” He fell silent, and I smiled. I wanted to make a joke, but my brain was too orgasm-addled.

“Yes,” I said, turning over so I could kiss him. “Yes, it really was.”





“Now this,” I told Milo, “is much more exciting than that baby oatmeal stuff. See?” I held up a spoon of goop. “It’s squishy and green, and so much fun to stick your hands in.” I paused. “But I suggest you only do that with Daddy. With me, you can eat nice and clean, can’t you, you big boy?”

He’d changed so much, I found it hard to believe he’d been such a tiny baby only a few months ago. I wouldn’t miss the interrupted nights—he’d started sleeping for ten hours at a time about a week ago—but he already didn’t fit into the crook of my arm anymore, and I missed holding him like that.

“Da da,” Milo said, and he bounced in his high chair.

“Yes! Daddy, that’s right. He should be home any minute. And we’ll tell him we’ve missed him lots and lots, won’t we? Because we did. Now, how about we surprise him and show how well you can eat, huh? This is avocado. Can you say that? A-vo-ca-do.”

I held up the spoon, and Milo looked at it. He looked back at me. Back at the spoon. Then opened his mouth.

“Yay, see? Easy peasy.” I gave him the spoonful of avocado I’d pureed. He held it in his mouth. His face scrunched. I braced myself, ready with a paper towel, but he swallowed it down. “All right! Fist bump, little man. You are the best.” We bumped fists.

“Da da,” Milo said again, and he giggled and kicked his legs. He was looking over my shoulder, so I spun around. Thomas was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. He looked windswept and slightly chilled from the December cold. His hair was starting to grow again, and it fell loosely against his cheekbones. I wanted to climb him like a tree.

“Oh, hi,” I said. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear how well you can say ‘avocado.’” He grinned, and I rolled my eyes.

“Your son is eating new things. He said, ‘No more baby oatmeal! That stuff is boring and for ordinary babies, not for special babies like me.’ Isn’t that r—” I turned to look at Milo just in time to see him stuff his hand in the bowl. Before I could even blink, I got a face full of avocado. He stared at me for a second, his blue eyes wide, then shrieked with laughter. His hands flailed about, more avocado going everywhere. When he caught sight of his green fingers, he stopped laughing and happily stuffed them in his mouth.

“Well,” Thomas said as I plucked goop from my eyebrow. “At least he seems to like it.”

“Har har. How did it go?” At this point I was pretty unfazed by anything that wasn’t bodily fluids flying in my direction, so I reached for the paper towel and cleaned my face.

Thomas loosened his tie, looked at the chair, gave it a quick wipe, and sat down. “The contracts are signed,” he said. “Milo will officially be with us every other week from January onwards.”

“And Liesbeth is happy with that?”

“Yep.”

I took in the sadness in his smile. “How about you? Are you happy with that?”

He sighed and stroked his thumb over Milo’s chubby arm. The baby had put on a lot of weight over the past two months, so much that we’d brought it up during his last wellness visit. The doctor had assured us the weight would drop once he started crawling instead of flailing in place like a tiny and adorable beached whale.

“I’m going to miss him like crazy, but I’m happy he’ll be with his mom,” Thomas said. He put his other hand on my arm. “And I’m happy I’ll get to spend more time with just you.”

I covered his hand, squeezed it, and asked, “So you ready for our trip this weekend?”

“Oh yeah, so ready. Do I need to do any more packing for Milo?”

“No, it’s all done. He doesn’t need much anyway. Mom has plenty of baby stuff at her place now.” Thomas kept looking at Milo, his eyes gentle and a little wet. “We can always change our minds, you know. We can easily take him with us. We have that travel cot and—”

“No. I want this weekend with you. It’s another month before Liesbeth has him half the time, and . . .” He bit his lip. “I’ve really been looking forward to some alone time.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yes.”

I studied my nails. “We could go kayaking while we’re in the Ardennes.”