Page 33 of The Naked Cleaner

“I think I love you.” He whispers from up the head end of the bed.

I don’t know what to say to that. In my head I have all the answers. My mouth? Can’t say a thing.

He sighs after a few seconds as I bury my face in his groin.

“We are getting up now, and you are going to shower and I’ll make coffee.” He whispers, his voice raspy and full of emotion. “Then I am going to shower and then we are going to talk. Because I need this to be something good, Pontus. I need this to be something wecantalk about, and fucking hell, we need to do this again. Every day. All the time. Because, damn baby, where were you hiding all that talent? You, are bloody amazing.”

Chapter Twelve

Louis

It almost feels like I have entered another dimension. Like a parallel universe where my life is suddenly kind of…

I smile to myself and pour oats into water in the pan, and place it gently on the stove, trying not to make any unnecessary noise.

Pontus is still asleep, curled up like a baby animal with his arms around himself, drooling and snoring into the pillow. He looks relaxed, and at peace, which is exactly where I want him to be. He’s beautiful. Gorgeous. And I tiptoe down the hallway just so I can sneak another peek at him through the open door.

Still sleeping. Good. Arm now slung over his eyes and the snoring is loud and steady. I don’t mind. I love hearing him. I love him. Fuck, I think I love him. How stupidly cool is that?

My backside twitches, and I’m sure I blush at myself thinking back to earlier this morning. I just got laid. Fucked. Well and good, and I can’t wait to do it again. I have showered and cleaned myself up, yet I can still feel him. His fingers and that thing and his mouth and ugh. Boner alert.

We didn’t get up, afterwards, instead we snuggled, and he fell asleep in my arms and I just stayed there, stroking his hair, holding him whilst he slept. I could have stayed there all day, if it not for my 11.30 appointment with Ms Anita, and I really need to batch cook later for my food clients. I have things to do, yet here I am, standing here, lazily making porridge, letting my mind wander.

I can kind of see us, living here. I wouldn’t mind living here. The kitchen is good, just needs some proper utensils and large pans, and I can easily imagine myself working from here. I probably need to see if he will let me have some space in the cupboards for ingredients, and I can just fit my Magi mix machine over by the window. It will be great.

Or not. Fuck. I want this. I have it all planned out in my head. Please. Fuck please let this work out.

It’s not just sex. Don’t get me wrong, the sex. Wow. But it’s him. He’s hopeless, and sweet and grumpy and rude and funny and… bloody perfect.

And there he is, stumbling into the kitchen all naked, rubbing his eyes, and landing in my arms so I can hug him and rub his back and kiss his shoulder and he’s all sleep-warm and gorgeous.

“Love that you are naked.” I whisper. Because I do. He doesn’t make it a big deal. Never makes me feel weird about it. Well, I am lying there. He freaked out and fainted. Then shouted at me. Called me names. Still?

“I like naked.” He mumbles back, his mouth full of my hair.

“Me too.” I giggle back, my left hand cupping his bum and the other one busy roaming all over his back.

“What are you making?” he tries to peek over my shoulder as I try to get my mouth to reach his face. His cheeks. His mouth would be good.

“Kisses.” I hum and he obliges. Big soft wet sloppy kisses. Going for it like he is starving.

“Hungry?’’ I moan into his mouth.

“Ravenous.” He moans back.

“Porridge.” I mumble in between biting his bottom lip and trying to lick the tip of his nose. He just swats me away and grimaces.

“Seriously? Porridge? How old are we? Five?”

“Porridge is brilliant. Mine is the best, and I am going to get you some condiments, like maple syrup and brown sugar and organic dried fruit. Best porridge ever, and some almond milk on top, and just a dash of stewed apple. Goji berries. Do you like goji berries?”

“You’re so weird.” He laughs. “What’s wrong with coffee and cornflakes?”

“Bloody over-processed sugary crap.” I laugh. “Not good enough for you, baby. You need to eat like a king, and I am going to feed you all the yummiest shit you can imagine. Like my super porridge and my Mum has a friend who roasts her own coffee, it’s super nice. I’ll ask her to get us some.”

“She roasts coffee? Naked, I assume?”

God, he is ridiculous, but then he is licking my neck and he might be a little bit distracted by my fingers playing with his nipples.

---