Page 43 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
“Well . . . had you? Been that into him?”
“I fucking loved him.” Phil looked up at me, then, his eyes raw with emotion.
Something inside me snapped painfully at that. I told it to fuck off and die.
This wasn’t about me.
Yeah, it said. That was kind of the point.
“Shit,” Phil said, taking me by both arms. “I’m sorry. Just what you want to hear from your fucking fiancé, that, isn’t it?”
“Nah, ’s okay,” I managed. “I mean, course you’ve had blokes you loved before me. Just ’cos I never . . .” I shut up then.
Phil’s face had changed. “You? With the old Paretski charm? You must have.”
I tried to laugh it off. “Short-arse crip like me? They weren’t exactly queuing up at my door.”
Too late, I realised what I’d said. Phil had paled. Him and his bloody guilt complex. “Didn’t mean it like that,” I added quickly. “Just meant . . . There wasn’t anyone, that’s all. Not anyone who really meant anything.”
Phil’s hands tightened on my arms, then relaxed just as I was about to mention the possibility of bruises. He moved them up past my shoulders to grasp my face in both hands, and kissed me.
Christ, it was like we’d been apart for a month. A year, even. His lips crushed mine, his fingers by contrast oddly gentle on my jaw. He tasted of melted cheese and charcoal, which went pretty bloody well with the beer I’d been drinking.
And of hunger. Definitely hunger. And I don’t mean for more cheese on toast.
I didn’t remember putting my hands on his waist. I was glad they’d managed to get with the plot without me, and decided a bit of positive reinforcement was in order, so I pulled his shirt up and out of his trousers. Yeah, skin was definitely better. I ran my hands up and down his sides, so warm and solid, and played a bit with his nipples, which were becoming more solid by the minute.
Phil kissed me again, one hand still holding my head while the other dipped down the back of my jeans to grope my arse. There wasn’t a lot of room to play with, so it was just as well Phil’s a determined sort of bloke. Then he made a noise of frustration into my mouth, which was hotter than you’d think, and let go with both hands so he could work on undoing my jeans. “Christ, Paretski, did you shrink these in the wash?”
“Nah, putting on weight from all these meals you keep cooking me.” I grinned and lay back on the sofa to make it easier for him.
“Cocky sod, aren’t you?”
Well, he’d be the best judge of that, seeing as he had my flies undone and his mouth almost on my dick. Then there was no more almost about it, and I groaned aloud at the sensation of him sucking me through the cotton of my kecks. “Christ, that’s good.” I felt hot all over, as if his breath on my stiff prick had been enough to tip me over from ambient temperature to Jesus Christ, she’s gonna blow. Desperate for more, I scrabbled at my jeans until I’d got them and my underwear down past my hips. Then I stripped off my T-shirt for good measure.
Phil licked a stripe up my cock and rolled my balls with one hand, the other rubbing up and down my side like I was a startled horse that might bolt at any mo.
I could’ve told him there was absolutely no danger of that. Well, if my brain had actually been working, instead of short-circuited by pleasure, I could’ve. “Don’t stop,” I urged.
Phil looked up at me and smirked. “Sure you don’t want me to try something else?”
“Like what?”
“Like this,” he said, and sucked me down.
Fuck me. I gasped, struggling not to buck up into that gorgeous mouth of his, so hot and wet and fucking, fucking perfect. Phil’s hand slipped down to my hip and held it firm—on my good side, which if you think was an accident, then you’ve never met Phil Morrison. I was panting, an arm thrown over my eyes because it was so fucking good, and then he started to alternate sucking with teasing my cockhead with his tongue, paying extra attention to that spot just underneath the head.
I lost it. Howling loud enough to bring half the neighbourhood round to complain about the noise, I came in a stream of shuddering ecstasy that seemed to go on and on. “Oh God,” I breathed, and pulled Phil down on top of me for a spunk-flavoured kiss, squirming a bit at the pressure his iron-hard rod was putting on my frankly knackered cock.
“Kneel up,” I told him at last. “Kneel astride me and wank yourself off.”
Phil had his trousers off in two shakes of a lamb’s wotsit. He did as he was told, settling his knees on either side of my chest, far enough up that I could get a hand on him too. I grabbed a handful of that magnificent arse and squeezed as I tugged.
“Come on me,” I urged him. “Come on.”
Washboard abs clenched as Phil’s balls drew up. He groaned, long and low, and spattered me with hot spunk, on my chest, my neck, my face, and— “Oi, did you just jizz in my hair?” As I spoke, a dribble of spunk went in my mouth. I licked my lips.
Phil laughed. “Why, you got a hot date tonight?”
