Dearest Milton James by N.R. Walker

Chapter Sixteen

Wakingup in Julian’s bed, in his arms, was surreal. Being the little spoon to him was warm and safe, and his bed was ten times better than mine, so I could also add luxurious to the list of superfluous adverbs in my floaty brain.

For a brief second, I’d thought I’d woken up in heaven.

His huge morning wood didn’t help . . .  Actually, could that be called a trunk? Or a log? A branch didn’t seem right . . .

“Morning,” he murmured, voice deep and rough. He kissed the back of my head.

“Hmm.” I sighed. “Brain isn’t fully functional yet.”

He ran his hand down my side, over my hip, and he chuckled. “Want me to help with that?”

God, yes.

I wiggled my arse as my answer, trying to line up his erection between my arse cheeks. His firm hand on my hip stilled me. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, please.”

So he got up on his knees, pulled my legs over his thighs, bringing me close. I thought for a second he was going to fuck me, but he slid our shafts together, pressed together in his fist, and began to jerk us both off.

I think I lasted maybe twenty seconds. Twenty-five, tops. He came straight after me, jerking off onto my belly. His strong body, his skilful touch, his perfect cock, and the sounds he made when he came . . .

So fucking hot.

He collapsed on top of me and I wanted to stay there forever. With his weight on me, his come smeared on me.

I never wanted to leave.

“I’ll fall asleep if you keep rubbing circles on my back,” he mumbled.

I hummed happily. “Do you think they’d miss us if we both called in sick today?”

Julian laughed into my neck, making me shiver. “I think they would, yes.”

“Such a shame.”

Julian rolled us over. “Shower time. You first.”

“Are we not showering together?”

“If we do that, we won’t be going to work today.”

“That’s not helping your argument.”

He chuckled again and, taking my hand, helped me off the bed. He showed me into his bathroom, offered me a huge fluffy towel, and left me to it. His shower was bigger than mine, the water hotter. Everything in his place was better than mine. But not wanting to use all his hot water, I made it quick.

He, of course, was downstairs. Coffee and toast was made. He took one look at me wearing my clothes from last night. “We can run past your place on the way to work if you want,” he offered.

“Nope, it’s fine. I only had them on for about two hours. But just so you know, I’m not wearing my briefs. I am totally free-balling it right now, so all day at work you’ll have the privilege of knowing I’m not wearing any underpants.”

He made a low grunt sound. “That’s not fair.”

I sipped my coffee. “Just something for you to think about all day before you make good on your promise for tonight.”

He closed his eyes slowly and put his coffee down. He let out a slow, measured breath. “Okay. I should go shower. Before we don’t go to work today.”

I grinned as he glowered at me when he trudged up the stairs. I had to wonder how much I could tease him before he threw me down on the bed and taught me a lesson.

I had no clue how strong his resolve was, but I was keen to find out.

I took a bite of my toast just as my phone beeped. It was a message from Moni.

If you don’t reply to this text I’ll call the police.

It was apparently the third text she’d sent me. Two late last night and now this one. She was checking up on me after my date to make sure I was okay.

I hit Call.

“Are you dead?”

“Been to heaven a few times, but nope, still on this mortal coil.”

“I texted you last night.”

“Sorry. I was busy going to heaven.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. You must have got home late.”

“I’m still at his place.”

“You are?”

“Yep. He’s in the shower. He cooked me dinner last night; he made me breakfast this morning. Moni, he’s the sweetest man I’ve ever been with.”

“Aww.”

“And hung. He’s hung, Moni. Like those slab sticks of salami in a deli window. My arse may never be the same, and I cannot fucking wait.”

“So you didn’t go that far yet?”

“Not yet. Tonight, probably.”

“Well, be safe.”

“Always.”

“Text me if you need.”

“I will. And same. If you go out tonight and need me, you call.”

“I wouldn’t dare interrupt your slab-of-salami dick sex.”

I snorted. “I will forgo even that for you.”

“Liar.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Have fun tonight.”

“Oh, I will.”

She laughed and hung up on me, so I finished my toast and washed up the few things we’d used. I was drying them when Julian came downstairs. He wore his navy pants, a sky-blue button-down shirt with a smile on his face and a skip in his step.

He took my breath away.

“Good morning, handsome,” I said, giving him a blatant once over.

He fixed his glasses and blushed. “Are you ready?”

“Sure am.”

Morning traffic was shit, as always, and the drive was slow. Not that I minded. Julian would give me smiley side-eyes every so often, and I was so fucking happy and stupidly giddy, I could have burst.

“So, this afternoon,” I said. “I can catch the bus home like I did yesterday. That way people won’t think it’s suspicious if we leave together.”

Julian made a thoughtful face. “Well, you can catch the bus if you want. I don’t mind either way. But there’s a good chance someone will see you getting out of my car this morning, which is probably harder to explain, so . . .”

“Oh shit. Did you want to drop me off down the block and I can walk up?”

He laughed. “No. I’m not dropping you off halfway down the block. If they see us, they see.” He shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to? If you’re not comfortable—”

“No, I just don’t want it to cause problems, that’s all.”

He squeezed my thigh and I threaded our fingers together on my knee. “How about we just take it one day at a time,” he said. “If they ask questions, we’ll answer them. No need to lie.” He was quiet for a few minutes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What do you think your father would say if or when he finds out?”

I smiled at him. “Are you asking as my boss or as a potential boyfriend?”

He rolled his eyes, but the flush of colour down his cheeks gave him away. “Both, I guess. Either. Both.”

“As my boss, he can’t really say anything. It’s not a breach of any protocol or regulations. He might not like it, but he introduced us so it’s his fault. As a potential boyfriend, you have a great job and you treat me well, so he has to like you. Also, he introduced us, so it’s his fault.”

Julian laughed. “I’m sure he’d really enjoy being told that.”

I grinned at him. “So . . . have you been considering this potential boyfriend thing for long?”

He shook his head, smiling. “I’m not answering that. There is no right answer and anything I say can be used against me.”

I laughed. “But you have considered it.”

He refused to answer, choosing to turn up the music instead. But that was fine. Because he had considered it . . .

I grinned all the way to work.

* * *

We werethe first ones there, which was probably a good thing. And if any of them thought it was weird that I was in the breakroom before them, no one mentioned it.

Well, Cherry might have given me a side-eye but she knew about me and Julian anyway, so thankfully, she chose not to bring it up.

Theo talked non-stop about his phone conversation with his Milldale librarian friend. Though she had retrieved the yearbooks from the archives, she hadn’t had a chance to look through them yet. It was on her to-do list for today.

So we had to wait.

I found getting through as much inventory as I could was a good way to pass the time. It worked as a distraction at least. I didn’t see Theo at his desk much, he was busy running his cage as well, and I told myself these letters had waited forty-something years, another day wouldn’t hurt.

The librarian would get back to him when she could . . .

I managed a quick bite at lunch and got straight back to work, and I was at the bottom of the J-K aisle when Theo yelled out my name so loud I could only guess that he’d either heard back from his librarian or the building was on fire.

I raced up to the front to find him excitedly waving a piece of paper in the air. “I have something!”

I was so excited my hands were shaking. Or maybe that was because I actually ran and my body was in shock. “What is it?”

“From 1969 to 1973 there were four Raymond’s who went to Northbury High,” he said. Then he brought up some images on his computer. “Susan scanned the pages for me. Raymond Bing was in fourth form in 1969. He played rugby for the school. Raymond Allcott was in sixth form in 1970. Says here the school wished him well at medical school, for which he was already accepted.” Theo shrugged. “I think we can forget those two.” He pulled up another image. “This is Raymond Dunn. He graduated in 1972. Excelled in English and drama club. Was also a very good swimmer. And the last one is Raymond Hollington—”

“It’s Raymond Dunn,” I said.

“How do you know?” Paul asked. Cherry and Denise were also standing there.

“Because he says in his letter he wants to be a teacher, and he said the river was more fun to swim in than the town pool. So he’s a swimmer. His name is Raymond Dunn.”

Oh my god.

I looked closer at the photograph. He was lean and had short brown hair, neatly combed. His shorts were fabulously short, as they mostly were back in the early 70s. He wore a polo shirt, tucked in, and he was smiling at the camera with a bunch of other guys.

I had to wonder if his boyfriend was one of them.

But my eyes were drawn back to Raymond. He had such a beautiful smile. It was him. I just knew it.

“It’s him. His name is Raymond Dunn,” I said again.

Cherry was already at her desk, tapping away at the keyboard. “I can find three Raymond Dunn’s listed in New South Wales. Cross-reference with . . .” She tapped away some more and squinted at the screen. “Date of birth . . . 1946; no. 1963; no. 1954; bingo. Raymond Dunn, born 1954. Age eighteen in 1972.” She scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “His phone number.”

“Holy shit, girl. Honestly, you should contact National Security for a job.” I stared at the number, then looked back at her. “Uh, was this information gained legally? Just wondering if I could get into trouble for this.”

She smirked. “Yeah of course.”

There was a solid twenty per cent chance she was lying.

But we had a phone number.

“What’s going on?” Julian’s deep voice asked.

I held up the paper. “We have a contact number for a Raymond Dunn. Graduated from Northbury High in 1972.”

Julian blinked and a slow smile spread across his handsome face. “Wow.”

I handed the paper to him. “You should do the honours. Because I’m likely to have a rambling fit on the phone and he’ll block me for harassment. Or call me an ambulance, I don’t know. It’s just probably best if I don’t be involved with the initial contact.”

Julian took the piece of paper with Raymond’s name and number on it and went into his office. I didn’t know if he was hoping for privacy, but we all followed him in. I sat opposite him, Cherry sat next to me, Denise, Paul, and Theo stood behind us.

He dialled the number and we waited. I swear I could hear the clock tick.

After an eternity, the phone picked up. “Hello?” It was a man’s voice. He sounded older, but by no means frail.

“Ah yes, hello,” Julian replied. “My name is Julian Pollard and I’m calling from the mail distribution centre in Alexandria, Sydney. Am I speaking to a Mr Raymond Dunn?”

“Ah yes, thank you, but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“No, Mr Dunn, I’m not selling anything,” Julian said quickly. “This isn’t . . .  Um, the mail distribution centre is the new name for the dead letter office. We found some letters we think may belong to you.”

“Letters?”

“Yes. There’s a few of them. Would you be familiar with any mail addressed to a Dearest Milton James?”

Everyone held their breath. I held Cherry’s hand.

The phone was quiet for a long moment. “Oh my god,” came the whispered reply.

“Mr Dunn, are you there?”

“Yes, yes. I just . . . I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

Julian smiled at me. “These letters have been here at the distribution centre for a long time, Mr Dunn. We never thought we’d find the man who sent them.”

Mr Dunn let out a breathy laugh. God, was he crying? Please don’t be crying. I couldn’t handle it if he were crying . . .

I put my free hand to my face. “Is he okay?” I whispered.

“Mr Dunn,” Julian said. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes, I’m just . . . I can’t believe it. I haven’t thought about those letters in . . . well, a very long time.”

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to return these letters to you. Do you have a postal address I can forward them to?”

“Yes, of course . . .”

Julian wrote down the address on his notepad, then stared at it as he chewed the inside of his lip. “Actually, Mr Dunn, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to personally hand-deliver these. These letters have become legendary in this department. For over forty years.” Julian smiled at me. “If it’s okay with you, I’d really like to deliver them to you myself.”