I dropped myself into his lap right in the middle of the kitchen, sucked my own come off his tongue, spat in my hand, and shoved his boxer-briefs out of the way to curl my fist around him, jerking him off hard and fast and sticky, precome and spit coating my fingers and making obscene wet noises in the otherwise silent apartment. Milo clung to me with both hands, squeezing tight as he came, both of us panting into each other’s mouths.
Damn.
Brady had definitely never donethat.
“Probably the filthiest sex I’ve ever had,” I said as soon as I had enough blood in my brain to turn thoughts into words.
Maybe Milo would laugh at me for it, but there was something about the need, the desperate edge to it, the fact that we were on the kitchen floor. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced before.
There was a lot of that, with Milo. And okay, he was only my second…
Boyfriend?
Was he my boyfriend?
Whatever he was, he was only the second person I’d slept with, but I was convinced it wasn’t normally like this. Dante’s flings weren’t, I knew that because of the excruciating detail he told me about them in. Milo was different. Being with Milo was different.
“Yeah,” Milo agreed, still flushed and dark-eyed, a strand of hair flopping over his forehead that I couldn’t stop myself from smoothing back with my almost-clean hand. “Yeah, I… I just… needed you,” he said softly, looking away.
“I’m into it,” I said, tilting his chin so I could kiss him again, slow and deliberate this time, stroking his tongue with my own. “You’ve gotta let me suckyourcock sometime, though,” I murmured as I broke off.
Milo’s blush darkened a couple of shades, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Oh, hewantedthat.
That was more exciting that I might’ve expected. I could hardly wait to give it to him, feel him coming undone because of me.
Later, though. I’d been hungry before, now I was starving.
I kissed Milo one last time, holding his head in both hands so I could have my way with him, and then climbed out of his lap just as Nebula jumped onto the kitchen counter to investigate breakfast.
She got down again when I looked at her, bounding away with her tail in the air like she was offended.
“You should let me make you breakfast,” Milo said, hauling himself off the floor, still a sticky mess with his hair all over the place. “I could—”
The sound of his phone going off in the bedroom stopped him, and he rushed back in, cursing under his breath.
I washed my hands and went back to making breakfast, pausing once to pry tiny kitten claws out of my sweatpants, where Orion had tried to climb up my leg when I got the cheese out.
“Not for cats,” I said, as though I expected him to understand. Or care, even if he did. I’d read about a study once that said cats understood humans, they just chose to ignore us, and that sounded right to me.
Milo came back while I was settling Orion back on his heating pad and sat down on the other side of the kitchen counter, on one of the bar stools tucked under it. My stomach dropped when I turned to look at him.
“Milo?”
“Mm?” he said, as if I couldn’t see the red around his eyes, or the way he’d tried to hide it by washing his face. He’d thrown his shirt on now, too, and had it buttoned halfway up.
None of that felt like a good sign.
I finished up the omelet I was making, divided it in half, and slid each half onto warmed plates, passing one across the counter to Milo.
Then I walked to his side of the counter and wrapped my arms around him from behind, squeezing tight and resting my forehead against the back of his neck.
“You can tell me what’s wrong, or I can do this all day,” I said.
Milo picked up his fork. “Why would I want you to stop doing this?” he asked.
I pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and sighed. “Take pity on me, I haven’t made coffee yet.”
“It’s nothing,” Milo said, picking up a bite of his omelet. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
