Page 64 of Pressure Head
I woke up, the way I often do, just a couple of minutes before my alarm was due to go off. Right. Early drain. I turned the alarm off quickly, not wanting it to ring and wake up Phil. He was lying on his back, his mouth slightly open, breathing softly. I had it on good authority that if I tried that, I snored like a foghorn. His face was softer in sleep, more vulnerable, the blond hair mussed up and boyish. I briefly wondered about waking him up with a kiss or possibly a morning blowjob, then regretfully decided we probably weren’t at that stage yet.
Yet. That was implying things were going to carry on from here. We hadn’t done a whole lot of discussing things last night—maybe Phil didn’t want to carry things on? Maybe last night had been his way of getting me out of his system? My chest felt uncomfortably tight at the thought as I swung my legs out of bed and got up. My bum was aching a bit. I’d be thinking of Phil all day whether I wanted to or not.
Coffee. That’d make me feel better.
When I got downstairs, Merlin greeted me like I’d been gone for a week, winding in and out of my bare legs like I was a kitty slalom course. Arthur just yawned at me from his perch on top of the fridge, the big lump. I got the kettle on and filled up the cafetière; then I took pity on poor, skinny Merlin and filled up his food bowl. That finally got Arthur’s attention, so I fed him as well.
“Bloody hell, aren’t you frozen?”
I straightened to find Phil standing in the doorway, fully dressed, which made me feel twice as naked, if that’s possible. “You could come and warm me up,” I suggested.
He gave me a speculative look, then, just as I’d convinced myself he was going to make his excuses and leave, possibly forever, he moved. Four silent steps, and his arms slid around my waist, pulling me close. I hadn’t realised I was cold until I felt the warmth of him against my skin. I breathed out into his cashmere sweater, the soft fibres tickling my nose. When did the smell of him get so bloody familiar? His hands dropped to my arse, kneading it gently.
I took that as an encouraging sign he probably wasn’t finished with it yet, and pushed him away gently. “I’m going to have to cut and run,” I said. “Customer’s expecting me. Just got time for a bit of breakfast.”
He smiled. “God forbid you go without your food. All right, what’s on the menu?”
“Toast,” I said. “But I’ve got some bacon and eggs in the fridge if you want to cook yourself something and let yourself out after.”
“Toast’s fine,” he said, running his hands up and down my hips. Then he stepped back, away from me. “Suppose I’d better let you get on with it.”
I made toast and marmalade, and we ate leaning against the kitchen counters. I still felt naked, but it looked like Phil appreciated the view. Scars and all.
“Thanks for coming round last night,” I said as I bunged my plate in the dishwasher.
Phil handed me his plate. “My pleasure.” He took the opportunity to grope my arse a bit more, and when he pulled me back against his body I could feel his erection growing.
“Some of us have got work to do,” I said, moving away from him with regret.
He raised an eyebrow. “What, you can’t spare five minutes?”
“Only five? Is that all?”
“I bet I can get you off in five minutes.”
My dick jumped up to say it’d take that bet, and against my better judgement I let him pull me against him once more, this time face-to-face. His lips were salty from the butter on his toast, there were a couple of tiny crumbs in his stubble, and I was in way over my head, here. He kept on kissing me like the toast had just been the first course and it was me he really wanted for breakfast, while one hand massaged my arse and the other worked on my cock. Pleasure surged through me in pulses, making me gasp into his mouth.
Five minutes? It was more like two and a half before I was coming helplessly, my spunk shooting out in an arc that landed on the kitchen floor, narrowly missing the cats. Merlin gave me a disgusted look, then carried on chowing down.
Phil backed off a couple of inches, a smug expression on his face. “Better wipe that up before anyone slips in it,” he suggested. “Oh, and Tom?” he added as I reached a limp arm over to the kitchen roll.
“Yeah?”
“I’d think seriously about getting some blinds in here. The neighbours are getting a right eyeful, and I think they’re getting a bit pissed off about it.”
I darted a panicked glance to the window. There was no one there, of course. “Stop winding me up, you git,” I muttered as I bent down to clean up the mess.
“Now there’s a sight I could get used to,” Phil murmured.
“Since when have you liked to watch and not touch?” I said over my shoulder, with my best come-hither look.
He stayed thither. “I can wait till there’s time to do the job properly. And that arse isdefinitelyworth doing properly.”
I waggled it at him, then went upstairs to get dressed with a smile on my face.
When I came down again, he raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t got any other clothes here—what’s your excuse? Forget to do your laundry, did you?”
I looked down at my clothes. All right, I’d worn them last night, but they weren’tthatcrumpled. “I’m not putting on clean clothes to go shove my head down a blocked drain. Trust me, no one’s going to even notice ifIpong a bit.”
