Dearest Milton James by N.R. Walker

Chapter Ten

Julian pushedme down on the bed, pressing his weight onto me. He lifted my leg and hitched it around his hip, our erections gliding against each other, slick with precome.

The friction, the heat, the building pressure was delicious.

His kiss was demanding and consuming. His firm hands left no doubt as to what he wanted, clawing at my skin, desperate and delicious.

Then he slicked himself with lube and was just about to push inside me. I wanted it so bad. I stroked myself, and I edged closer with each pass, ready for him to be in me, to fill me. I’d never wanted anything more. I was so close, so ready to come, so . . .

A beeping sounded, out of time with my hand on my cock, out of time with our rhythm.

More beeping and Julian disappeared. His kiss, his weight, his heat . . . gone.

My hand stilled and my alarm continued to fucking beep.

Fuck.

A dream.

I hated dreaming.

Fucking hated it.

I tried to close my eyes and get dream-Julian back. I tried to picture him, to feel him. He was just about to fuck me, goddammit. I tried giving my dick a few long strokes. I tried to recapture the moment . . .

And then my phone beeped again because I must have hit Snooze instead of Stop.

I considered throwing my phone but realised then it would just be beeping at me from across the room, so I hit the screen repeatedly until the noise stopped.

My dick had lost all interest, and now I was pissed off.

Fucking hell.

I was still mad in the shower, I was still mad when I got dressed, and I was still mad on the bus to work. I was still mad when I got there.

“Oh wow,” Paul said when I walked in. “I read somewhere that NASA was missing reflectors from the Hubble. Didn’t realise they made them into wearable pieces.”

I looked down at my jacket. It was reflective silver. It matched the patches on my boots. Not that Paul could appreciate that. I met his serial-killer beady eyes. “I wore this so you could have a real long, hard look at yourself.”

Cherry smiled, Theo laughed, and even Paul conceded a nod. “Good one.”

After I smiled for Theo and sniffed my disdain in Paul’s general direction, I sat down beside Cherry. “Morning,” she said with her usual lack of enthusiasm.

I sipped my coffee. “Hm.”

She ignored my petulance. “The boss isn’t wearing brown again. Navy and white today. Looks all right too.”

I kept my coffee mug at my lips, trying hard to remember the way he kissed me last night. “Hm.”

Her gaze shot to mine and she leaned forward. “You’re blushing.”

“No I’m not.” I lifted my cup higher to try and hide my face. “I’m absolutely not.”

“Holy shit. What happened?”

“Nothing!” I peeked at her from around my cup and her eyes were as wide as her smile.

“Holy shit. And that was the worst attempt at lying I’ve ever seen.”

I put my coffee on the table and took out my phone. “Siri, how can I be a better liar?”

“What happened between you two?”

And then, of course, Julian walked in. Mine and Cherry’s conversation stopped right there and my face burst into flames. Not literally, obviously. But it sure felt like it.

“Morning,” he said, ever so casual. He was wearing navy pants, different to yesterday’s. I could tell by the stitching, and these shaped his arse a whole lot nicer. And a white button-down shirt with the sleeve cuffs rolled once.

Just once.

Like it was a whole other level of sexy.

“Morning,” everyone else said.

I was still staring at his forearms.

“Morning,” I said belatedly. I also sounded like an eighty-year-old woman who smoked two packs of cigarettes a day, which earned me a strange look from Cherry, which of course I ignored.

Julian turned around to face us, his fresh-made coffee in both hands. He sipped it, smiling when Denise walked in. “Another big caseload today. Cages galore down the back. And boss, your phone’s ringing.”

Julian ducked out of the breakroom, but ‘cages galore’ meant we were in for a busy day, but without too much grumbling, everyone washed their coffee cups and began their day. Cherry waited until we were alone. She washed her cup and I waited my turn. “So you and Julian, huh?”

“No,” I replied. She shot me a disbelieving look and I could feel my face was on fire, so I gave up trying to lie. “We decided that it would probably be a bad idea.”

“Oh.” Cherry frowned and began drying her cup. “Why?”

“Just complicates things, you know? I like my job and he likes his job . . .” I began washing my cup. “If things get messy, it gets complicated.”

“And your dad is his boss.”

I cringed. “Yeah well, I’m just going to pretend that’s not a thing.”

She almost smiled. “It only gets complicated if you let it.”

Julian walked in then and came straight over to the kitchenette. I moved from washing my cup to drying it. Cherry backed out of the room quicker than goth lightning, smiling as she went.

Then it was just me and Julian.

I didn’t want things to be awkward between us, so of course, I made it super awkward. “I’m still mad at you, just so you know.”

Julian paused, then turned to me. “About last night? You didn’t seem too mad when I left.”

I scowled at him. “No, not that. Not the kiss,” I whispered. “Christ, you can do that to me any time you want. Right here if you’re game.”

He smiled but was obviously confused. “Then why are you mad at me?”

“Because I was having a dream about you. A very nice dream, if you get my drift. And just when it was getting to the really good part, my alarm went off and you disappeared.”

His brow knitted and he gave a nod. “Right. So dream-me, not real-me, is in trouble.”

“Correct. Well, both, but mostly dream-you.”

“How can I be in trouble for something I didn’t do?”

“But you did do it.”

“In your head.”

“Yes.”

Julian chuckled and nodded slowly. “Right. Soooo, you dreamed of me?”

“Well, yes. But I—”

“And it was a nice dream, you said. And we were getting to the really good part . . .”

“Yes.” My heart was squeezing a little too tight, my belly full of butterflies. “But I can’t be held responsible. The way you said goodnight was hardly fair.”

He smirked and made a low grunting sound of approval that lit me up inside. His eyes went to my lips. “So what was I doing to you in this dream?”

Holy fuck.

He was playing me like a violin.

I needed to resume some control or I was going to climb him like a freaking tree. “You were washing the dishes and vacuuming the floors. It made me really happy because I hate housework. You were just about to clean the bathroom when I woke up.”

His eyes met mine and he smiled. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“So I keep getting told.”

“Oh well. Maybe I’ll finish the bathroom when you dream of me again tonight.”

“You’re awfully confident.”

“You’re awfully cute.”

He was so close now. Was he standing this close a second ago? I wasn’t sure. He smelled good too.

“I didn’t think we were doing this at work,” I mumbled, dazed by his stupidly attractive face. “Actually, I didn’t think we were doing this at all.”

He studied my eyes, searching for what I didn’t know. “We probably shouldn’t. You’re right.”

“And you probably shouldn’t have kissed me last night,” I breathed.

He was definitely standing closer.

“I probably shouldn’t have. Yet I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

“Me either.”

He lifted his hand as if to touch my cheek but then remembered where he was. He snapped out of whatever trance we were in, breaking our connection, and took a step back. “I thought saying no . . . to doing your housework was a good idea, but now I don’t know.”

I snorted. “My housework.”

He chuckled. “I would very much like to do your dishes and vacuuming.”

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t object to just getting straight down to cleaning the bathroom,” I said with a shrug. “If you know what I mean.”

He grinned and looked back to the door before fidgeting with his fingers. “Being with you is fun. I forgot what fun was like. But if it’s okay with you, maybe we could start with the dishes, then progress to some vacuuming. Cleaning the bathroom would be great, don’t get me wrong. But dishes and vacuuming are important too, don’t you think?”

At this point, I really wasn’t sure. “Just so we’re clear, we’re talking about things like dinner and conversation and some making out and more kissing like you kissed me last night because, holy fuck, yes please. And cleaning the bathroom is mind-blowing sex, right? Because in my dream, that’s what it was and this conversation is completely metaphorical and I just want to be sure what I’m actually agreeing to. I mean, if you want to come to my place and actually clean my bathroom, I won’t stop you.”

Julian laughed. “Yes, metaphorically, we’re on the same page.”

“Oh good.”

“So maybe we should do the basic housework first, like dishes and vacuuming. I’m all for that. I think we could then establish if we’re prepared to move onto bathroom cleaning before it gets any more complicated. Given we work together and need to have . . . professional boundaries.”

“Like this conversation?”

He laughed again. “Discussing housework is acceptable.”

This whole conversation was unbelievable. “I’m glad.”

“So . . .”

“Dishes at my place need doing again,” I suggested. “Plus, I added more to the notes for the Milton James letters and I did a quick google but couldn’t find anything. I didn’t get very far. My brain was a little scrambled last night when you left. I had to vacuum and clean my own bathroom a few times, if you get what I mean.”

Julian laughed, a warm, rumbling sound. “Should I apologise for that?”

“Oh, believe me, no apology necessary. Unless you want to apologise for disappearing in my dream just when the bathroom really needed a good clean.”

He grinned and looked at the door again. We really had been in here too long. “So, tonight . . . ?”

I nodded. “Sure.” Then I remembered something. “Can I ask you what you meant last night? When you were leaving, you said something like, ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’”

For the first time, he looked a little embarrassed. But his eyes met mine and he pierced me with his gaze. “I wondered how you’d respond. How you’d taste.”

Oh, holy fucking fuck.

My knees felt wobbly.

“And?”

“And it was as good as I thought it would be.”

My left knee buckled, and my head spun. “I think I need to sit down.”

He chuckled again. “So, tonight . . .”

All I could do was nod, and he left the room with a smirk.

Arsehole.

I put my hand to my forehead and took a deep breath. The only reason I didn’t have a hard-on right now was because my brain had short-circuited from the rest of my body.

404 Error. Erection Not Found.

Being able to walk and talk wasn’t looking too good either. Until Cherry poked her head around the door. She wore a curious smile. “Everything okay?”

I nodded and shook my head at the same time, my hand still on my forehead, and my breathing was kinda weird. “Sure,” I squeaked.

She laughed. “Good. You’re already behind on your first cage.”

Oh right. Work. I had to actually tell my legs to move, one in front of the other, to meet her at the door. “Sorry. Brain’s a little scrambled.”

She grinned, and as we walked together down aisle D, she said, “You’re telling me everything at lunchtime.”

* * *

“You and Cherrylooked like you were having a cosy chat at lunch?”

Julian and I were in his car on the way to my place after work. It was drizzling rain, kinda miserable, and he was coming to my place to . . . do the dishes and maybe some vacuuming. Which, if you haven’t caught up yet, was code for dinner and making out.

He was driving, of course, and his question threw me a bit. He was smiling but there was an edge to it, and I knew I had to come clean.

“I told her you kissed me,” I blurted out. “I’m sorry but she asked why I was all flustered and had lost my ability to speak or think, and you know I can’t lie. It’s been well established. So I told her that we were working on the Milton James letters—which yes, I also told her about. I warned you that I cannot keep a secret, sorry about that—and she said, ‘Oh my god, what is going on between you two? The pheromones are suffocating,’ and then with the letters and you being at my place last night, and how you kissed me so fucking good my ancestors thanked you—”

He blinked.

“I’m sorry, but it all just came out and you know I can’t stop talking when I get nervous but she promised not to tell anyone. And she will keep her word. She can keep secrets. I, on the other hand, cannot. I’m sorry.”

Julian concentrated on traffic for a second before he smiled. “Your ancestors thanked me?”

“Right back to the Middle Ages.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“You’re not mad at me?” I asked. “I’m sorry. She asked and I panicked.”

“I’m not mad. I’d rather anyone else at the office didn’t know, but I can’t be mad at you for telling the truth.” He sighed. “I like that you can’t lie.”

“Technically, I can lie. I just look like I’m being Tasered while trying.”

“Tasered?”

“Yes. High voltage impairment of physical function. A glitch in my matrix, an error 502 Bad Gateway kind of response.” He laughed and I pouted. “I also had the same reaction when you kissed me last night and when you did all that dirty talk today about doing the dishes and vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom. That was when Cherry knew something was up because I was still malfunctioning when she found me.”

Julian laughed and shot me a warm smile. “I just never know where a sentence is going to go when we talk.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, it’s all cute now. Just wait a year when you’d rather stab yourself in the ear with an ice pick than have a conversation with me.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “A year, huh?”

God.

“I’m not implying that we’ll still be . . . doing dishes or cleaning each other’s bathrooms in a year. I was, more to the point, implying you’ll want to stab yourself in the ear rather than listen to me prattle on. Well, god, I made this awkward. I’m sorry. I wasn’t implying anything. No need to panic. I’m not drawing any conclusions about where this is going or even how it’s going to work out. There’s no pressure. I’m not a pressure kind of guy. It’s just a ‘let’s do the dishes and see how things go’ deal, right? God, I’m trying so hard to shut up right now—”

Julian held his hand out to me, palm up, across the centre console of his car. What was I supposed to do with it? Hold it?

Oh.

I slid my palm into his, he laced our fingers, and he placed our joined hands on my knee. I stopped talking. In fact, we never spoke another word all the way back to my house.

We just held hands.