Page 67 of Seen
“I’m there,” I pant, lurching for his dick. I should be working him, but I need more hands, maybe a separate brain, another head with another mouth. Neil bats my hand away with his cast at the same moment as my world turns white. I hose into him. Warmth floods between our bodies when Neil hoses against me a second later, so I guess I’m doing something right.
I flop on top of him, gasping, until blood reluctantly returns to my brain. Inside him, I soften, but as soon as I pull out, he grabs my hand and shoves it between his legs.
“Put your fingers in,” he pants. “Keep filling me, Luke.”
Oh, fuck. I nearly come again.
CHAPTER 30
NEIL
Luke rolled away to the far side of the bed in the night—who can blame him? Under anything more substantial than a thin sheet, I sizzle like a furnace. Folded inside one of my old T-shirts, he’s hunched on his side facing away from me, his spine a narrow clean line down to the curve of his waist. I watch the rise and fall of his ribcage, my own swelling. Why the fuck do I find him sleeping socompelling?
I’m not big on declarations, not sober, fully conscious ones, at any rate. If Luke doesn’t know how much I like him by now, then he never will. But it’s become a hell of a lot more than like, as drunk and bleeding out me already knew. Something about the way I don’t want to move, the way I don’t want to disturb him—the way I want to make him fucking Marmite soldiers and then hang around to be sure he eats them—keeps my useless eyes glued to him.
Later, we shower together, as if neither of us can stand to be apart even to ablute. He directs my bad arm out of the way as I wash us down. We kiss for what feels like forever under the scalding hot streams, but nothing sexy happens. My dick isknackered, and my arm and arse ache. He fucked me again a few hours later, and I blew him a couple of hours after that. In fact, I lost count of the number of times either Luke or I orgasmed last night. The wet puddle underneath us indicates several.
“What shall we do today?” I ask as he puts breakfast in front of me before taking the seat beside me. Life hack: get yourself a man who can and enjoys cooking. Grabbing the back of the chair, I drag it closer still until our legs touch.
“You’ve still got the energy to do something today?”
His arm curls around my back. His coppery hair is uncovered; it’s especially tufty around his ears, with a biggish bald patch at the back. But when I told him he was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen? I wasn’t lying.
“Some parts of me need a rest,” he admits with a grin. “But we can’t just lounge around all day.”
“Can’t we?”
“No. I do enough of that when I’m feeling low. Today, I’m feeling great.”
“I bet.”
Luke grins widely. Normally, I’d be downstairs by now, stocking up, prepping for our busiest day and night of the week. But Ezra insists I’m on sick leave from work, thanks to my arm. Regardless, I’ve been turning up and getting under his feet. My injury was self-inflicted. I feel guilty lolling around while he’s working, even though, he reminded me, I covered for four weeks without complaint when he took an extended break.
“Okay, what do you normally do on Saturdays?” I ask.
Luke shrugs. “Sometimes I swim. I try to go to the pool at least four or five times a week.”
“Are you up to swimming today? I mean, it’s not like we got a lot of sleep.” I bop his forehead with mine. “I tried, but someone refused to leave me alone.”
“Pretty sure that was the other way around,” he answers coolly. “Especially around one a.m. when you insisted I fuck you again.”
Who am I to argue? And he got better and better; I’m gonna have to start calling him my prostate sniper. My skin still itches with the need to touch him, and my arse is definitely reminding me where he’s been. Obediently, I swallow down a spoonful of granola.
“Do you do any regular sport?” he queries, spreading a thick layer of marmalade on a piece of heavily buttered toast. Why is it just me on the retinal health diet?
I laugh. “Does running away from my RP prognosis count?”
“Ah.” Luke waggles a sticky finger at me. “I’m glad you brought that up.” He swallows his toast. “I noticed an unopened box of acetazolamide in the bathroom.”
Trying and failing to seem innocent, I freeze, spoon halfway to my mouth. I shouldn’t like the way he calls me out when I’m being a twat. No fluff, no sugar-coating, even a little prissy. But I do. God help me, I kind of dig it. “Really?”
“Really.”
“They must have slipped past me. Bad eyesight and all that.”
Luke can fit an impressive amount of disappointment into one look. “Are you still taking them as prescribed so that your retinal pressures decrease, and you optimise yourbad eyesightfor as long as possible? Or have you stopped because you were too impatient to wait for the side effects to subside?”
My old maths teacher used much the same exasperated tone. “Um. The second bit.”
