Page 172 of Off the Pitch

“Oh God. Shit.” Hugo’s hands found my hair, tangling in the long strands, using it as an anchor as I worked his cock. Pre-cum burst across my tongue, and I allowed myself to savour the taste for a moment, slowing my movements until Hugo was whining in desperation. “Please,” he said. “Please, Kit. Please. Don’t stop.”

His hips made a desperate little thrust, chasing my mouth. I hummed around him, picking up my pace again, faster this time. I wanted to feel his cock pulse on my tongue as he came down my throat, and I knew it wasn’t going to be long until I got my wish.

“Fuck, I’m… I’m…” Hugo groaned. His cock throbbed and the salty tang of his cum splashed across my tongue. I swallowed him down, gently stroking his thighs as he rode out the last of his orgasm.

Hugo’s legs began to shake, and I released his cock, guiding him to the sofa and pushing him onto it. I unfolded myself and climbed up, pulling a blanket off the back of the cushions to spread across us as I curled up next to him, leaning against his chest.

“Thank you,” Hugo said. “That was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I love you so much.” He tilted his head down for a kiss, and I smiled against his lips.

“I love you too.” I sighed happily. “How was training?”

“It was okay. Nothing particularly exciting happened. How was your day?”

“Pretty good. I put the new canvases away, although I think I might have ordered too many because I did have to use force to get them in place.” Hugo chuckled. “David popped round, and I invited him and Christian to dinner tomorrow. They’re going to bring pudding. I asked him to bring something chocolatey. Oh! He’ll probably tell you himself, but David got promoted.”

“That’s amazing. We can celebrate.”

“We can.”

“Do we need to get any more of that raspberry lemonade? I think there are still a couple of bottles in the fridge. I’ll have to check.”

“Not tonight! You are forbidden from going in the fridge.”

“Oh?” Hugo asked, a playful lilt to his voice. “What’s in the fridge? Is it for me?”

“Of course it’s for you,” I said, laughing as Hugo ran his hands down my sides. “And it’s a surprise. For Valentine’s Day.”

“Hmmm. An edible surprise?” Hugo raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Yes, but definitely not that kind of surprise!”

“Oh good, those kinds of surprises are messy.”

I chuckled and Hugo snorted, and we sat laughing together for a minute, just letting the time pass us by, content to just be together. “We should probably put some clothes on,” I said eventually. “Although I’m tempted just to go and put my PJs on rather than my jeans.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Hugo said, kissing my temple. “I’ll be up in a second, I just need to grab something.”

“For me?”

“Maybe.” He chuckled. “I guess you’ll find out in a minute.”

“Such a tease.” I heaved myself off the sofa and grabbed my clothes, pottering up the stairs to our bedroom. I dumped the dirty clothes in the washing basket and pulled out a pair of clean PJs. They were several years old and incredibly soft and comfortable, in a red and blue checked pattern. At some point I was going to have to get Hugo to either stay upstairs or ignore all noises from the kitchen while I sorted the platter out. I knew I should have done it earlier. I hadn’t quite thought about plating it up with a nosy Frenchman in the house who could hear the rustle of a cheese wrapper at a hundred meters. The man was worse than a Labrador.

“I can hear you talking, you know,” Hugo said from behind me. He was leaning against the doorframe, still gloriously naked, and my chest filled with warmth. He was so beautiful, I still found it hard to believe he loved me sometimes.

“I didn’t realise I was talking,” I said. I smiled at him as I buttoned up the top of my pyjamas.

“You were muttering something about Labradors.” Hugo chuckled. “Is that a hint?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, I would like a dog, but I wasn’t hinting. You’ll know when I do since I’m not particularly subtle.”

“Good to know.” He moved into the room, dropping the pile of clothes he was holding into the wash basket. “I have a present for you.”

“Hugo,” I said, attempting to be cross but failing miserably. “We said no presents.” Technically I wasn’t counting the cheese as a present. That was just dinner. There were no rules against having a special dinner.

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