“It has been known. I tend to, around you. You relax me.”

  “You’re calmer when it’s just us. These days, anyhow.”

  “Yes. Older, and wiser.”

  Another drawn-out silence, but of the best kind. “I’ve missed this.” He didn't need to elaborate, because I knew what he meant. Quiet intimacy, unrelated to how far apart we lay or how nearly our bodies were entwined.

  “Me too. After you and Cav got together, I felt abandoned. Even though I saw you quite often. Not only by you. But with Tristan in California, and Frankie and Lys so happy together, sometimes, especially at the weekends, I felt as if I’d been hung out to dry.”

  A kiss to the top of my head again, his mouth staying there, in amongst the hair. “God, Milo, we’ve wasted a lot of time. And taken a few wrong turns.”

  Had we ever. “Mostly my fault, though.”

  I’d dwelt on our years of lost opportunity over the last few months. The periods when I’d probably known Mungo wanted me, if only I’d paused to consider. “But sometimes I wonder if maybe it needed to happen. Without the distance we’d never have appreciated the closeness. What we were missing.”

  He could have done without Cav, though. “How are you feeling about… everything?”

  “Good,” he answered immediately. “Mostly. I’ve accepted that I’m not the difficult person he made me out to be. I’m not unstable or disorganised or clumsy; I’m a competent, normal adult. In retrospect, we weren’t suited, but the problem wasn’t me. I was with someone who has a problem, and he probably should seek help. I actually feel a bit sorry for him.”

  Mungo’s big heart. One of his greatest qualities and his biggest weakness. Fortunately, from now on, he’d have suspicious little old me looking out for him. “Love you, Mungs,” I said.

  “I know you do.”

  Tipping my head up, my lips found his, brushing together, naturally, like something that happened every night before sleep. “I meant it,” I murmured against his mouth. “What I said to you outside the restaurant. I’ve never loved anyone else. It took me a while to recognise it, that’s all.”

  “What, like twelve years?” His mouth curved into a smile, his scruff tickling my chin.

  “Yeah. I’m a dick like that.”

  My pillows rose as he inhaled deeply, letting out the breath in a long sigh through his nose.

  “Have I left it too late?”

  He laughed, low and content. “What do you think? Sweetheart.”

  CHAPTER 21

  MUNGO

  I couldn’t remember feeling so at peace for a very long time. Using the crook of my shoulder as a headrest, Milo slept burrowed into my side, chin dipped, knees tucked, and hands and elbows folded into himself, as if hibernating for winter. We hadn’t exchanged more that single, perfect, light kiss. We didn’t need to. The rest would come when we were good and ready.

  He lay perfectly still and silent, the only sound and movement his cool, even, slow exhales fanning my chest hair, like a gentle summer breeze. Each one tickled my nipples into aching hard points.

  Cav never slept like this. We’d bought such a big bed so he could have his half and me mine, an imaginary line drawn down the middle. Sex had been blessedly frequent and lively, though. Sometimes I’d joked it was another form of exercise for him, then wondered if it was a joke at all. But, like his no-nonsense, efficient approach to most bodily needs, once completed, he turned his back and wriggled away.

  Goodness knew what time of night it was. Being in the penthouse was like living on a cloud. I’d disturb Milo if I reached for my phone. Very gently, I rested my arm down and across his back, smiling to myself at the slippery texture of the fabric. He’d always had a penchant for flamboyant nightwear. This little get-up was a dark navy satin vest, paired with matching short shorts. Under my fingers, it felt glossy and insubstantial.

  In other words, sexy as fuck.

  Another little cool breath gusted across my taut nipple. I shifted my weight. Since that hideous night, my dick had all but given up on erections; seemed my sleeping friend’s snuffles and soft sighs had reignited the on switch.

  Skimming my fingers down the satiny planes of Milo’s back hardly eased the pyjama situation. They crested over a band of warm flesh, flawless under my fingers and even silkier than the ridden-up fabric. I shifted again, trying to get comfortable as an eager battalion of red blood cells marched their way south. Horny illogic assured me he wouldn’t wake if my hand dropped lower to smooth over the swell of his peach-perfect arse.

  “Mm.” Milo stirred, with an adorable sigh of contentment. Unfolding one of his arms, he slotted it around my belly and hugged me tight. His knee bent up too, his groin now lying half across me. The satin stretched under my fingers, and I followed the curve down to his thigh, stroking over the fine downy hairs. Another soft moan squeezed past his lips. I stilled.

  “Don’t stop,” he mumbled. “Feels nice.”

  Nice didn’t even begin to describe it. Trapped against the waistband of my pyjamas, my dick throbbed hungrily. Sleepiness and darkness softened all of Milo’s hard edges; his supple body moulded into mine, fitting perfectly. Lean muscles balled under my palm as he lazily rolled his hips against my side and nuzzled his face into the triangle of my neck and shoulder.

  “You’re clinging on like a koala,” I murmured.

  Another adorable sound shoved past his lips, muffled and sleepy into my neck. “Never going to let go. I live here now.”

  I wanted this every night. No more goodbyes underlining a snatched lunch on a cold park bench, no taxi drop-offs after a night out with friends. I wanted goodnights and a duvet pulled high around us, with Milo’s head on my chest and his leg across mine. I wanted sleepy, blissful caresses like the one he gave me now, his warm palm fondling a path down my flank, dipping under the drawstring of my pyjamas, settling on my bare hip. As if instinctively knowing what I loved, his thumb gently rubbed the dip of the bone, melting my insides.

  Milo was a quiet lover, but as I felt my way in the darkness, I learned, then stowed away his tells. A sweet gasp, elicited by running a finger along the elastic edge of his shorts. The near-silent hitch in his breath as I teased them off his hips. A muffled giggle against my neck as they tangled around his knees. Fingers walking down his lower spine bringing another languid roll of his hips against mine, pliant and sensual. A pretty, pretty sigh as my hand slipped between his legs.

  He lifted his head, fingertips carding my hair, parted lips searching blindly for mine. “Need you, Mungs, need you.”

  “Here, sweetheart, I’m here.”

  Our mouths collided, but not with lightning bolts or shooting stars or claps of thunder. This sweet kiss began with only a tender grazing of tongues. With Milo steadily, determinedly cherishing my mouth, tunnelling into my core, and filling all the empty spaces in my heart and soul, and then all the places in between, laying down the foundations of a love set to last.

  My hand curled around the velvet-smooth hardness of his shaft, and he gasped against my mouth. And then, as my thumb brushed over the curved metal barbell near his tip, he made another sound, vulnerable and raw, filled with all the words we were both feeling. I’d known he had a piercing. I’d lived with him when he’d had it inserted, trying to show concern, not laughter, when he waddled through the front door like John Wayne afterwards.

  Gathering up the wetness leaking steadily from his slit, I stroked it again, rolling it under the pad of my thumb, back and forth. He clung on to me, and his slight body shuddered.

  “You like that?”

  “Sensitive,” he muttered.

  Abandoning my mouth, he buried his face in my neck, licking, and sucking as I stroked his dick. Firm downstrokes, then teasing the metal on the upstroke. He was smaller than me, leaner too, in proportion with the rest. But my God, he was needy and wet.

  I whispered into his hair. “I didn’t know you would be like this.”

  “Like what?” he breathed.

  “So…” I searched for the right word. “So intense. So… sweet.”

  He grinned, wide and wet against my neck, rubbing his cheek against my thick scruff. “I’m only sweet on you.”

  A low moan escaped my throat, and I arched against him. My dick throbbed. I needed to touch myself. Badly. Better still, I needed Milo to touch me.

  Sensing it, his hand slipped from my hip to my shaft; he teased the back of his knuckles along the length, up and down, up, and down. The featherlight touch had me bucking again, until precum pulsed from my tip. He smeared it around my straining head, rubbing over the exquisitely sensitive ridge on the underside. Then, as if precision-moulded for that exact purpose, his hot fist gripped me. A sound somewhere between a groan and a snigger gusted against my neck.

  “Fuck me, Mungo. I didn’t want to spoil the delicate moment last time I got my hands on it, but just for the record, your cock is blooming enormous.”

  My belly laugh shattered the quiet of the night. That was the Milo I was used to and adored. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  A silly question to which I already had the answer. How many times over the years had I listened to him and Frankie waxing lyrical on this exact topic?

  “You know me,” he laughed, “Famous for my love of long walks on the beach, poking dead things with a stick, and big dicks.”

  With a chuckle, I rolled him onto his back like he weighed nothing, propping myself on one elbow. And then kissed the hell out of him, devouring his ready mouth as if I was starving for it. His arms tightened around my neck, already making good on his promise to never let go. With my fist closed over both of us, slippery and so damned hard, I stroked us together. Around my mouth, Milo let out a low needy groan.

  “Doesn’t this feel so fucking good?”

  Two cocks, two mouths, two bodies. So basic, but oh, so intense. The kind of sharp intensity following twelve years of waiting.

  “We were made and meant for this, sweetheart.” I pumped us harder, thrusting my hips into the channel of my fist, rubbing our hard shafts together. His metal bar dug into me, pain catapulting into pleasure. With nothing more than a hiss through clenched teeth, Milo climaxed in a rush, liquid heat flooding over my knuckles. He whimpered as I jerked us more. Then I spilled over with him, adding my own to the layer coating our bellies.

  Was it possible to feel empty and full at the same time? Emptied of tension, flowing out of me like a river, alongside a fullness, the overwhelming relief of the missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place. With having my precious man, the love of my life, cradled in my arms.

  “I love you too, sweetheart,” I whispered. But already, Milo drifted back to sleep; my own eyelids drooped too, dizzy with freedom and belonging and long-awaited peace.

  I woke without Milo’s warm body curled next to me. Which was fine, because the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was him, sitting on the bed. He’d thrown on one of my old baggy sweaters over his sleepwear, practically skimming his knees. His small hand tangled with mine. The other plonked a cup of tea and a plate of toast on the bedside table. Fuck, I could wake up like this every day.

  “We’ve been rumbled.” Rolling his eyes, he jerked his chin towards the rest of the penthouse. “I forgot Lys does his ridiculous early-morning swim thing.”

  “Frankie will be imagining all sorts of nefarious goings-on.”

  My face heated. I’d waited twelve years to finally call Milo mine, and on our first proper night together, I’d talked him to death, then fallen asleep. Made up for it in the early hours of the morning, mind, although in my fantasies, my first night with Milo had been a lot steamier.

  “They’ll be interrogating me later for a full rundown.” Milo turned my palm over, tracing his thumb across it before kissing it gently. “I’ll have to make up something terribly depraved. They’ll never believe the truth.”

  The truth had been better than a night of torrid sex. Well, almost. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. But I had no complaints. Our night together had been about much more than getting off. Tugging him closer, I slid my arm around his waist.

  “I liked having you in my bed.” I never want you to leave.

  Leaning forward, he planted a fat kiss on my forehead this time, letting his lips linger. “I liked being there.”

  “So why the fuck did you get out?”

  Pulling back, his gaze flicked up to mine, almost shyly. “To make your breakfast? To look after you? And Tristan and Dom are leaving soon. We should see them off.”

  Milo shifted back against the headboard and rearranged the pillows. Obediently, I sat up, a huge smile spreading across my face. Breakfast in bed and forehead kisses. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so rested. Or loved. And I thought I knew this man inside and out. So abrasive out of bed, who’d have guessed he ran so tender in it?

  A warm, syrupy feeling spread through my veins. Was this going to be my life now? I took a bite of toast and then held the piece out for him to share. We’d say a quick goodbye to Tris, and then I could see no good reason why we couldn’t…

  “Sorry not sorry, Mungs, but we’re coming in. You two had better be decent; I’m a sensitive rosebud, as you know.”

  Old friends; manoeuvring behind the scenes to ensure all your dreams came true but being there to double check anyway. Bloody Frankie sashayed through the door, with such a disgusting, wide, told-you-so grin I wanted to throw something at them. Then Tristan, the little shit, shuffling in a few seconds behind, with Dom in tow. Lysander too, although at least he had the good grace to look vaguely apologetic.

  Anticipating debauchery, Frankie’s expression changed as if they’d stumbled into the Women’s Institute annual general meeting by mistake. Their gaze travelled from Milo, cross-legged like a cute little elf on top of the covers and demurely sipping his tea, to me, snuggling in my checked jim-jams under the duvet and scoffing toast.

  Frankie actually fucking sniffed the room. “Flameproof pyjamas and marmalade, Milo? Where are the zip ties? And the recklessly discarded undies swinging from the light fittings?” They shook their head in despair. “Petal, I’m so disappointed in you. My sock drawer has a higher Scoville rating.”

  Cool as you like, my little elf leaned across and plucked a crumb of toast from my beard, popping it in his own mouth. With a wicked grin climbing up his cheeks, his blue eyes, so warm and so familiar to me, stared into mine.

  “Frankie, flower? Close the door on your way out. My new boyfriend and I will not be taking questions at this time.”

  CHAPTER 22

  MILO

  We said our goodbyes to Tristan and Dom, promising to fly out to visit soon. Mungo suggested it without a second’s hesitation, not even bothering to check with me. Like the Mungo of old. No internal critic questioning his decision. No external critic whispering in his ear, pointing out that if he did X, then Y might happen, making him question his head even more. Instead, he simply stated it as fact, appeared thrilled, and outlined all the ways we would have so much fucking fun.

  I felt liberated. And strangely emotional, wanting to cry in a way I’d really needed to cry for a long time now. With a fist pumping the air.

  “Come home, Mungo,” I said suddenly. “Later today. When you’ve packed. Come home and let me look after you.”

  “Is that what you want? To look after me?” He seemed amused.

  “Yeah. I do. Call me old-fashioned, but yes. I want to iron your shirts and make sure you have plenty of those disgusting salad ingredients in the fridge. Amongst other, less homely things, obviously.”

  His hand, which had scarcely left mine since he woke, gave a soft squeeze. “Are we ready for that?”

  “God knows. But we could fondle it a little, to find out? Let’s take a risk, Mungs.” I tracked the index finger of my free hand down the length of his most excellent chest and belly. At some point, I’d allow him to get dressed, but right now, pyjama bottoms worked just fine. “From now on, I want you beside me.”

  My finger stuttered as I swept it along the groove of one of his abs. Mmm. Chocolate syrup canals. I hated how he’d had to earn them. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t be putting them to good use. “I want you beside me, or underneath me. Or indeed, on top.”

  The words brought a smile to his lips. “Haven’t you still got Danny living with you?”

  My finger edged under the waistband of his cosy pyjamas. “I wasn’t planning on you sleeping in the spare room, flower. And anyhow, he’s moving out in a couple of days. Simon has finally found them somewhere he can afford.”

  “That’s the brother, yeah? What’s he like?”

  “Scary,” I said. “Big, muscly, and not sure what to make of me. But lovely to Danny, which is the important thing.”

  “Is he gay?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Danny thinks not, but Simon doesn’t say much. Yet I’ve grown quite fond him, too.”

  Mungo raised an eyebrow. “Not too fond, I hope.”

  I laughed. “Jealous?”

  “No.” He stroked the beard. “I’m just territorial. Protecting what’s mine. Come back to bed. Sweetheart. Now.”

  Were we behaving like a pair of eager blushing virgins? Absolutely. Did we care? Absolutely not. And in some ways, I was experiencing a few firsts. I’d never before woken wrapped up in the arms of the person I’d be spending the rest of my life wrapped up in. And no one prior to Mungo had ever studied my pale, naked body stretched out next to his in quite the same hungry way he was looking at me now, devouring every inch with his eyes.

  One of his big hands enclosed around my throat, holding me still, as, with utmost care, he delivered a tender kiss. “I can’t look at you without wanting to do that,” he said, and kissed me again. “You’re very pretty without your clothes on, anybody ever tell you?”

  The big hand left my throat and settled at my hip. His mouth kissed a line along my collarbone, his beard trailing behind, peppering me with more scratchy kisses. He wasn’t the first bearded man to kiss me, not by a long shot, but he had a rare talent for using it, like his own built-in vibrator rolling across my skin in tandem with his mouth. As if to prove the point, he rubbed his chin over my nipple. I groaned in an exceedingly undignified fashion, and he snorted, then did it again.