Dearest Milton James by N.R. Walker

Chapter Eleven

“So,what I have so far is . . .”

Julian and I were on my couch, there were takeaway containers on the coffee table with glasses of mineral water, and Buster Jones was asleep on the lino floor after I’d given him a chicken snack.

Julian and I had managed not to maul each other’s clothes off the second we walked through the door. Mostly thanks to Buster Jones who was meowing rather rudely at my balcony door. Julian had ordered dinner this time and it was delivered in no time at all.

I wondered if Julian would pounce on me the second we got inside, but he obviously decided that a long, smouldering eye-fuck would be more effective.

He wasn’t wrong.

I couldn’t stop looking at his eyes.

“Yes? What you have so far is . . .?”

Oh right.

I looked at the notes I was holding. “Notes. On the letters. The Milton James letters.” My brain was a steaming pile of goo. “You have to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like how?”

“Like you want to skip cleaning the dishes and vacuuming and move straight on to cleaning the bathroom.”

He laughed, carefree and lovely. That deep voice of his did swoop and shiver things to my insides. “Well, you’re cute. I can’t help it.”

“I’m cute?”

“Yes. You told me, to my face, that I was attractive. Why can’t I say the same about you?”

“Because I have very little control over what comes out of my mouth, and that’s not an excuse you can use.”

He smiled but there was a serious edge to it. “I’m not using any excuse. You are cute.”

“Cute in a good fun way, or cute in a childish, patronising way?”

“Definitely good and fun.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t joking when I said you were like sunshine and that I’d forgotten what fun was. Hanging out with you is different and exciting, definitely not what I’m used to.”

“What are you used to? What kind of guys?”

“The boring, sensible ones. And I guess that suited me. I’m not the outdoorsy type or the adventurous type, really. My ex and I would have dinner parties and all that pretentious bullshit. When what I wanted to be doing was having themed movie nights, like 80s or sci-fi, cuddled up on the couch. Or going to art shows. Or to make food passports and eat all the different nationalities cuisines we’ve never eaten before. What he wanted to do was pretend he wasn’t turning thirty and do lines of coke with random men in nightclub bathrooms.”

Oh man.

“What was his name? Your ex. I need to know what name to curse every time I hear it.”

“Christopher.”

“Not Chris?”

“Oh no, Christopher.”

“Well, I hope he’s decidedly miserable and I hope karma craps on him from a very great height.”

Julian smiled. “I don’t really care what karma does to him anymore.”

“What kind of tosser wouldn’t think that a food passport is the best thing ever? You could make a little booklet and have stamps for every meal from around the world you eat. I love that idea.”

“I know, right? It sounds fun.”

“And if there wasn’t a restaurant or café, we could buy the ingredients and just make it instead. I don’t know what the odds are of finding an authentic Andorran or Kyrgyzstan cuisine here in Sydney, so we might have to google it and make it ourselves.”

“You just said we.”

I tried to play it off and be cool about it. “Well yes, if we decide that we’re not well suited for . . . vacuuming and cleaning each other’s bathrooms, then there’s no reason we can’t still hang out and try all 195 cuisines from around the world.”

“I’d like that.”

“Same.” Then I added, “But just so we’re clear, I’d really like the housework thing to be a thing, but I’ll understand if it’s just not going to work out. At any rate, I’m glad we can talk about it.”

“I am too. And yeah, just so you know, I appreciate your honesty and candour.”

“Being open and upfront is the only way to avoid the bullshit, yes? Especially given we work together.”

“Very true.”

“And speaking of honesty and being upfront, did you want me to go through this list of notes on the Milton James letters, or should we just forgo the formalities and start making out?”

He chuckled and it ended with a moan. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this . . . but the letters? If we’re going to take our time and be responsible . . .”

“Oh my, your self-control is made of steel!”

“Made of stupidity,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe I’m going with the letters over the opportunity to kiss you again.”

“I never said you couldn’t kiss me after we read the notes.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then hurry up and read them to me.”

I very briefly entertained the idea of chucking the notes over my shoulder and climbing on top of him, straddling him, and kissing him for all he was worth. But we were being adults, apparently . . .

I took a deep breath and read my notes out loud. “You probably know all this already, considering you did try and find our Milton James.”

“I didn’t try very hard. I googled about three things and decided not to pursue it.”

I nodded, because that was fair enough. “Okay, so they lived in a small town that had no cinema. They needed to go to the next town for the movies, so we can assume their town was a satellite town to a larger town. No more than an hour away, I would think. There was a road outside the town called Acacia Road that led to the creek slash river where they swam. That should be a pretty good lead if we can narrow it down further. And I’m assuming this all took place in the centre band of New South Wales, because when they talk of going to the city, they say Sydney. If it’s the southern part of the state, they might go to Melbourne, or up north, they’d probably go to Brisbane because they’re geographically closer. Their town had a council office. Well, their town had a council office back in the early 70s. There was a hardware store owned by a Mr Killian that had an alley behind it. Maybe we could access business registration details for that time and see if we can find a Mr Killian. That would at least give us a town.”

Julian smiled. “Good idea.”

“What did you find when you searched?”

“There was an American guy named Milton James who acted and did a lot of voice-over work in video games. But he didn’t start a public life until a decade after these letters were written. Most internet searches lead to him. There was a real estate office and a lot of notices from the war memorial for servicemen from the world wars. So I refined the search for earlier decades, given Milton is an older generational name. I thought if this was written in the 70s and they’re referring to someone who was already quite older, I should start looking as far back as the 1920s.” He shrugged. “But we know Milton James isn’t his name. Raymond says one day he’ll call Milton by his real name. And one thing that hasn’t changed over the decades is that teenagers idolise famous people, right? So I looked at actors and singers because most teens are into that. There was no internet back then, so they had to be famous by some popular media means. Maybe. Who would know.”

“It could be a painter,” I suggested. “Or a famous English poet from the 1700s they learned about in school. Oh, hang on, that was John Milton.”

“Exactly.” Julian nodded slowly. “It could be any famous James or Milton.”

“Or it could be completely fictional. Or maybe one of them lived on Milton Street, or it was his middle name. Or maybe he just liked how it sounded.”

“There are quite a few James Miltons as well. Both names are interchangeable for first or last names.” Julian sighed. “I think looking for outside clues is our best bet, like you said. The hardware store owner or the name of the road. Then maybe we’ll find something that makes it all link together. There’s also the town named Milton which doesn’t help in searching.”

I nodded and pulled over my laptop and put Google to work.

I came up with exactly nothing on the name front. Well, lots of hits, but like Julian said, it went nowhere. We needed to get a town first.

I typed in Killian Hardware rural NSW for a broad sweep, not expecting any results and got exactly that. So then I went to the National Archive website and Australian Company Records, tried a few different variations and dates, but came up with exactly nothing.

When I looked up at Julian, I found Buster Jones was now on his lap purring and Julian was smiling at me.

I’d never wanted to be a cat so much in my life. “Excuse me, that’s not fair,” I said, offended. “Why is he allowed on your lap and I’m not?”

Julian laughed. “Technically, I never said you weren’t allowed.”

I gasped and gestured to my laptop. “You said I had to do this first.” Then I squinted at him. “Actually, you said you wanted to do all kinds of housework, then you said we shouldn’t do any kind of housework, then you said we could, then we kind of said we shouldn’t, and now I’m allowed on your lap. And all this back and forth, I’m so confused, I don’t know if we are or if we’re not—”

Julian put poor Buster Jones on the floor and took my laptop and slid it onto the coffee table before taking my hands and looking me dead in the eye. “I want to see you, Malachi. I want to spend time with you. I know work complicates that and I’m sorry. I tried to not want you and I tried to ignore how I feel, but here I am. I want to be more than friends with you. The more time I spend with you, the more I like being with you. And if you want to climb onto my lap like the cat, I certainly won’t stop you.”

Oh wow. My heart felt like it was about to escape out of my chest. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

Then he ran his hand through his hair. “But . . .”

Ugh. There was always a but.

“But what?”

“But I’m your boss.”

“I know.”

“So I know we talked about this before, but I need you to know that nothing at work changes. You’ll still act like a good employee and I’ll still be a fair boss. I don’t expect any more or any less from you. And you don’t expect any more or any less from me. There’s no pressure. If you decide you don’t want to see me, you have my word, Malachi, that your job is protected.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want anyone to think I coerced you or made you think you needed to be with me to keep your job.”

I snorted. “Anyone who knows me knows I can’t be coerced into doing anything I don’t want.”

He smirked. “You didn’t want this job when you first started.”

“No, I didn’t think I’d stay. I wasn’t opposed to starting. I was opposed to staying.”

He laughed at that. “And now you want to stay.”

“I do. The people I work with are great, and the boss is really fucking sexy.”

“Is that right?”

I nodded slowly. “And as luck would have it, he’s on my couch right now. And he has a look in his eyes that’s setting my insides on fire.”

His smile turned into something sultry and delicious. “I’d really like to kiss you right now,” he whispered, low and rough.

“I’d really like you to kiss me right now.” I don’t even know how I managed to speak, let alone take his glasses off. Those umber-coloured eyes burned into me.

He slid his hand along my jaw and swiped his thumb across my bottom lip, ever so gently. His eyes never left mine, dark and intense, as he pulled me in for a kiss.

His lips were soft and warm, and it was sweet and chaste . . . until he tilted my head just so and opened my lips with his own. His other hand was on my neck, up my throat, and in my hair, and his tongue was in my mouth. He was owning this kiss, and he was owning me along with it.

I was putty in his hands, to be shaped and plied as he saw fit.

The way he kissed me last night had been amazing, but this was different. There was tenderness in this kiss, along with the man-handling and apparent daddy vibes I didn’t know I needed.

There was no doubt about it. He was one hundred per cent in charge and I fucking loved it.

He kissed me deep, he kissed me sweet, he cradled my face, my jaw, ran his fingers through my hair. It was sensory overload, but it wasn’t enough.

I needed to feel him against me, in all the right places. But being side by side on the couch wasn’t ideal. I broke the kiss, either so my soul could leave my body or so I could breathe. I wasn’t sure at this point. And I pushed up and swung my leg over his thighs so I could straddle him.

He looked up at me, surprised but smiling, and this time I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. His hands went to my hips and around my back and he pulled me in closer and . . .

Holy fuck.

The sound he made, the groan, the pained, guttural moan that rumbled from somewhere inside him shot sparks along every fibre of my body.

I tried to grind on him, to rub and push. I wanted to feel him, but his hands on my hips held me still. “Malachi,” he murmured against my mouth. It was a plea, a warning.

I whined, of course, like a kid who couldn’t have ice cream because he didn’t eat his veggies.

“We should cool it a bit,” he said with a wince. “It’s been a long time for me and my body’s not used to it.”

“Oh. Sorry. Need me to help with something?”

He laughed and ducked his face into my neck. His warm breath and wet lips were sublime. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Except, his lips on my skin sent a shiver through me. He grunted and I laughed. “That was your fault.” But I’d heard what he’d said, so I pulled back a little to sit more on his knees rather than grind against his crotch. I thumbed his cheek, his jaw, I pecked his pink, swollen lips. His eyes couldn’t seem to focus. “Can you see me without your glasses?”

He smiled. “Yes. You’re the most beautiful blur I’ve ever seen.”

I laughed and kissed him again, and again, and again, teasing his lips with the tip of my tongue, just enough to make him growl at me.

“I’m trying to be good,” he said, slowly closing his eyes. “You’re not making it very easy.”

“I’m sorry.” I pulled away and he let me go, which was a little disappointing, not gonna lie. I gave him back his glasses and took his hand and kissed his palm. “But you’re incredibly good at kissing. If I could leave a Yelp review, it’d be five stars, would totally recommend, will hopefully be doing it again soon.”

He laughed and fixed his glasses, then took my hand again. “You have no idea how much I didn’t want you to stop. But we’re easing into doing the housework, right? Making sure it’s what we both want before we just start on scrubbing the bathrooms.”

I nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I know. And I do appreciate that. But we can do some light housework, right? Dishes, clean some windows, a bit of dusting.”

“I would very much like that. I just got a little overheated, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s a compliment.”

He sighed. “Are you done working on the letters for tonight?”

“I might try googling some more stuff later. Pretty sure I’ll be watching some . . . housework hub when you leave.”

He chuckled. “Housework hub.”

“Yeah. Like GayHub but for . . . well actually it’s just straight-up GayHub. Calling it housework hub felt weird. I was just trying to keep the joke going.”

“Maybe next time we could progress to some other light housework duties,” he said, his cheeks pink. “I could take you out for dinner or to a tapas bar or something first, if you like.”

“Like a proper date?”

He made a face. “Well, yes. But is me coming here for takeout not a date?”

Well, shit.

“I guess so. I wasn’t sure what to call it, to be honest.”

So that would make this our second date? I was too scared to ask.

He smiled shyly and played with my fingers for a bit. “Would Friday night suit you? For dinner?”

“Friday night sounds great. Can we do the food passport thing? I love that idea.”

He beamed a smile at me. “We absolutely can. Then I should get going now and leave you to . . .”

“Watch porn.”

He groaned. “You’re not making it easy to leave.”

I kissed him, my hand to his cheek, honestly just about to tell him to stay when my phone rang. Of course the word Mum flashed up on the screen, which was the equivalent of a bucket of cold water.

“Ugh.”

“You should get that,” Julian said.

“I should throw my phone out the window,” I said, then answered the call while disentangling myself from Julian. “Hey, Mum.”

“Hello, darling.”

Of course Julian stood up and readjusted himself. A rather large bulge in his pants.

“Jesus Christ.”

“What’s wrong?” Mum asked.

“Oh nothing,” I whispered. “Just watching something on the TV. Hang on one sec. Mum, can I call you right back? Gimme two minutes.”

I disconnected the call and gawped at the huge—and when I say huge, I mean huge—dick-shaped bulge in Julian’s work pants. I mean, I knew I could feel something when I was straddling him, but seeing it? It turned my bones to jelly.

Julian laughed. “Are you okay?”

“I really am,” I said, still ogling his crotch. “Can’t say I’ll be saying the same after Friday night. Your dick is huge.”

Julian laughed again and re-readjusted himself. I could tell he was a little embarrassed but he cupped my face in his hands, kissed me, and said, “I will make it so good for you.”

Then he picked up his jacket from the back of the chair, and with a smug smile, he left me standing speechless and dazed in the middle of my loungeroom. Pretty sure I heard his laughter echo up the stairwell.

Still stunned, I collected my wits enough to realise I was still holding my phone. I sent him a quick text message.

Pleased to announce that this Friday we will be forgoing all dishes and vacuuming and moving straight onto scrubbing bathrooms.

His reply was almost immediate.

Or we could do dishes, vacuum, AND the bathrooms.

I had to sit down before I could reply.

So much housecleaning.

No reply was forthcoming and I assumed he was now driving home, so I called my mum back. She only wanted a chat, to ask me how I was still enjoying my new job, to ask me if I was eating okay, that I should come around for dinner soon, and to ask how Moni was doing.

I tried to be interested, but all I could think about was Julian, his massive schlong, and his promise to make it good for me on Friday.

Lord.

He was assuming I’d even live to Friday. My heart was thumping rather peculiarly and my head was spinning just thinking about it. Not to mention that my testicles were buzzing at a constant one on a TENS machine. It was very likely that I could drop dead of horny anticipation before Friday.

“Okay, Mum, thanks for calling,” I said as there was a break in her droning on. “I should go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, love.”

“Bye.”

I ended the call and pulled my laptop over, trying to decide on what kind of porn I wanted when my phone rang again.

I groaned but saw it was Julian calling. “Hello?” I answered.

“I’m curious,” he began, no small talk. “When you said ‘so much housecleaning,’ was my suggestion of dishes, vacuuming, and bathroom cleaning too much? Or are—”

“Okay, so I’m just going to stop you right there. One, there is no such thing as too much. And two, I had to listen to my mother talk nonstop for ten minutes and I only got off the phone with her right this minute so I’ve just opened GayHub and I’m trying to decide if I want to watch Twink Gets Railed by Huge Cock or Daddy Makes His Boy Moan for Hours. So does that sufficiently answer your question?”

His warm laughter sounded in my ear. “Okay, I was just checking. Wanted to be on the same page, that’s all.”

“Same page, same book, same library at this point. I’m going to go with the Twink Gets Railed by Huge Cock video. Because I saw what you’re packing so I better see what I’m in for. Research is very important.”

He laughed again. “Then I’ll let you get back to it. I’m just going to have a steaming hot, very soapy shower. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re a cruel man. Now I’m thinking I need to watch shower porn. Ugh. So many decisions.”

“Good night, Malachi,” he said, his voice low and soft. It sent a shiver through me.

“Good night, Julian.”

I tossed my phone onto the couch beside me, grinning to myself. I decided on the twink-getting-railed porn and I wasn’t disappointed. I needed a shower afterwards, which of course made me think of Julian in the shower and how, when he’d readjusted himself twice, he was basically moving his dick on his hip.

He was big.

Aaaaand then imagining it was me getting railed by him, I watched the Daddy Makes His Boy Moan video, and I needed to clean up again.

Before I fell asleep, I double-checked the calendar. Three days to go until Friday.