“But you shop there?”
“No? I order food online from Nemlig.com, or get stuff from the shop on Fasanvej, but I don’t tend to socialise with the cashiers in random shops. Seriously, Louis?”
“Nothing wrong with the cashiers. This Astrid is one of Denmark’s most famous BDSM instructors, she does courses all over the world in the art of Dominance, Submission and stuff like flogging, you know, whips and chains and pain stuff. She’s also a naturist.”
“Louis, I don’t want to know.”
“She’s lovely, and really interesting to talk to. My mum has read her books, and she’s kind of famous. I was a little starstruck when I realised where I recognised her from.”
“Louis. Shut up. I need to be able to go down to the 7-Eleven when I need to and not have a panic attack thinking that the cashier is about to whip my arse.”
His laughter is actually freeing. He makes me laugh. He makes me laugh and that is frightening. It was easier to deal with him when he was an arsehole. I don’t like this side of him, the nice funny bloke who is leaning back on my sofa. I will have to get him to wash the blanket, because his arse is right on it. If he farts, I will scream.
He’s not farting.
He just shakes his head and picks up my empty cup from the coffee table.
“You have an hour, then your skinny arse is mine. And if you work a sheer minute longer, I will call Astrid and ask her to come and demonstrate some good spanking techniques on you.”
He winks.
I laugh.
Then I squirm.
Then I fire up the computer and load the email client. Then, I sigh. Bang my head against the desktop and whine into my hands.
I have an hour.
He doesn’t make the rules.
I hate him.
He makes me smile
He makes me fucking laugh and I want to shout out to the kitchen and ask if he’s staying the night and can he please sleep in my bed, and I will drink whatever shite he offers up as long as he stays.
My life would be much less complicated if he just left.
Please stay.
Fuck my life. Just fucking fuck it.
Chapter Eight
Louis
It’s almost one in the morning when I check my watch. Which is like. What the heck happened to time?
Pontus is slumped on the sofa like some lazy-arse teen who can’t be bothered to use furniture the way the good lord surely intended. I’m sitting bolt upright staring at the damn TV screen half wanting Pontus to press next, so I can get my bolting heart under control, and half wanting to be sensible and say, enough for the evening, time for bed.
I do neither.
“I’ll need to be at my granddads at nine tomorrow, to sort out his meds and give him his injections.“ My stupid mouth says instead.
It’s not stupid. It’s my job. Jonas and I alternate days to swing by and sort him out and tomorrow is my turn. I’m going to need to be there, come hell or high water. But this TV series is gut punching me in the feels, and I kind of need to know what’s going on with the two dudes with the fluorescent paint on their faces, and that Emma girl who I want to pick up and shake, and who the heck does that Sonja think she is? Honestly? I was so into it I could barely breathe at one point, and now Pontus is twirling the remote control between his fingers and giving me a shit-eating grin.
“You can have one more episode if you make me another of those toastie sandwiches you made earlier.”
Well, that makes us both laugh. They make toasties on that damn addictive show. So, I pause the TV, threatening Pontus that I will sit on his face if he touches the remote-control until I am back.
He doesn’t. He knows when I’m serious and…
I make another round of toasties. Because. I like him.
Which is a bit of a messy situation in my head, because he’s rude and obnoxious and… cute and he laughs and my head spins.
Not good, Louis. Not good.
Well who the hell am I kidding. I knew I was gone for the bloke when his head hit the floor that first day I saw him. It wasn’t hard to figure out where my head was at when I kneeled on the floor trying to get some life into his listless body, and the pale ribs sticking out and his knobbly knees. Fuck, he was a mess.
He’s a little less of a mess today as he sits…well more like his body is arranged weirdly across the sofa. Feet up on the coffee table and his arm slung casually over the armrest with the damn remote dangling in his fingers, and he is still wearing the damn bathrobe.
“You need a good night’s sleep.” Sensible-Nurse Louis says, sounding confident, and all the time my head is chanting, ‘ONE MORE EPISODE, ONE MORE EPISODE…’
“You staying?” He says casually and my head goes into a full-on stadium cheer.
“Of course. Would I leave you alone? You would totally sit here and watch the rest of the season without me, just to fuck with me.”
He would as well. I have zero trust in him right now, especially as he laughs, and the air fills with bloody unicorn sprinkles and glitter as my mouth just smiles at him.
Then I pull myself together and shake my head.
“Come on, let’s go to bed. Then if you are good, I will wake you at eight and we can have one more episode over breakfast, and then I am taking the remote with me to work so I can make sure you don’t watch a single minute without me.”
“It’s just a TV show, Louis.” He’s smiling so hard that I can’t help but chuck an empty crisp bag at him. Yeah, because apparently having a three-season marathon of some teen show does silly things to your morals and ideas. I gobbled down a bag of crisps, and didn’t even bother to read the ingredients, and now my stomach is churning with e-numbers and carbs and weirdness.
Nerves.
I shouldn’t lie to myself. I am rattling with nerves as I hobble out to the bathroom and brush my teeth with the nice new toothbrush I bought myself earlier. Like I am moving in. I’m going to ask if I can get a drawer for my clothes in the wardrobe next, and then Jonas will turn up and have me committed. He’s already threatened to, quite a few times today, when he texted me to check up on Pontus.
Instead, I catch Pontus brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink and wiping his mouth with the tea towel. My tea towel. I bought one down at the 7-Eleven since Pontus doesn’t seem to own normal stuff. Like kitchen towels. And I am just about to launch into a disgusted rant about him being a bellend and that normal people don’t go around bloody wiping toothpaste and spit on the freaking tea towel when he turns around and smiles shyly at me and my heart melts.
I kind of shudder at myself and turn the light off just to annoy him, and he cackles and swears at me as I fumble my way down the hallway in the pitch dark.
He’s right behind me, and obviously knows his own home better than I do as I stub my toe on the doorframe and swear, several longwinded not-very-civilised words of anger, and jump up and down in childbirth comparable pain and agony. The fucking doorframe is getting it tomorrow. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that hurt.
“You okay?” He says softly and gets under the covers. I can’t see fuck, but my hearing is perfect, and he shuffles around a little, obviously getting himself comfortable.
“Yeah.” I sniffle, shaking my damn foot out, hoping that I haven’t broken my toe. “I think I broke my toe. I’ll have to stay here for a week now, so it can mend properly.”
Lame. I’m joking. Of course.
“Fine. As long as you cook.”
Oh. That was unexpected.
“Thanks for today.” I almost whisper. I can’t believe we are having a nice conversation. One of many today. We grunted our way through Season 1 of that damn show, nodding appreciatively. Then we hated on Wilhelm, the main dude in Season 2, and cheered on the girls, and yeah, it was good. Weird, but good, and then we started discussing all sorts of things and actually had to pause the TV so we could talk. It was, strangely, nice.
Then the bloody third season got me all hot and flustered and we made toast
ies.
It’s been the nicest evening I have had in a long time, and I think it’s messing with my self-preservation skills. Of which I have none. Jonas has told me enough times. Even my mum just sighs at me as I mope around after another disastrous date or hook up.
“Louis?” He questions softly.
“Yeah?”
I roll around in bed, on my side. My side. I kind of have my own side in Pontus’ bed. And that’s me giggling at myself like a loser.
“You know I said no cuddling?”
“Yes. I can respect that. I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”
I can. I can be sensible. I can respect boundaries. I am a nice person.
“This thing, us being friends?” He says that like he doubts it. Like a thousand percent.
“We’re friends. No ifs or buts. Friends. Easy.”
I am totally on board with that. I have no doubts. I am down with this enough for the two of us.
“Does this friendship come with…” He coughs. Sniffles. Shuffles awkwardly in the bed making the mattress bounce. “Benefits?” He almost whispers.
I think I handle that one well, without spluttering spit all over the bed or wetting myself.
“Benefits? What kind of benefits are you hoping to include in this friendship, Pontus?”
I’m being nice. I’m being nice. I’m all for benefits. Please tell me you want to blow me because that would be awesome.
He coughs again. Wriggles. The mattress bouncing to the point where I think I might get seasick.
“Stop bouncing around and just talk to me. There is nothing, and I mean nothing you can say right now that will make me embarrassed or make me laugh at you. Just ask for what you need, and I will, within reason, perhaps agree.”
I have to catch my breath after saying all that in one go, and my throat is bone dry and I need water. Why didn’t I bring water? Did Pontus drink water? I’m losing my touch here, I mean the whole point of me being here is making Pontus healthy and getting him better. I don’t know what I am asking. Saying. Doing.
“Could you hold me again? Like you did last night?”
Oh, just fuck my life, because now there are tears in my eyes and I’m all warm, and hot and bothered, and more than a little sappy, because, of course, I just bounce my arse over to his side in one-fell manoeuvre, and then I smile like the crazy human being I am, because he is naked again, and my cock fits nicely just below his arse and my body curls around him like it lives there, and I’m planting little kisses into his neck without thinking, and then I whisper, “Thank you.” Like some love-starved animal.
And he releases a breath, like he’s been holding it for hours. Like that took everything out of him to ask. He’s brave, I admit that. Braver than me.
“You can ask for benefits too, you know.” He says softly. “Within reason.”
“Oh.” My stupid mouth says.
“It’s only fair.”
He’s flirting with me. I hate him. I hate that he’s brave and funny and kind of… charming.
“I like kisses.” My traitorous mouth blurts out.
“Okay.” He breathes. Breathlessly, his body tensing a little.
“We don’t have to. You can say no.” I say, faster than I should. Not smooth, Louis. Not smooth at all.
He’s quiet. No doubt thinking about how to formulate a non-patronising rejective answer.
“I’m not a total eejit, I fully respect boundaries.” I state like an uptight plonker. I should just gently grab his chin and kiss the fuck out of him. Romance is a thing, Louis.
“Kisses are nice. Just kisses. You can have one. A good-night kiss.”
Fuck, he’s cute. What the hell am I doing? I’m glad it’s dark, because I doubt either of us would dare to do this in the morning. We won’t talk about this in the morning. I know that already. He will just ignore me, and I will ignore him and we will watch more TV and eat muesli, and I will go to work and things will be fine.
Nothing is fine. Things are fiiiiiiiine.
He’s twisting in my arms and suddenly there is hot breath against my cheek, and he’s too close and his chest is pressed against mine, and fuck his arms are tugging at my hips and ugh. Ooops.
Cock. Hello. Cock. Against Cock.
He has some kind of semi brewing.
I’m... Yup... Doesn’t take much to have me filling out nicely between the sheets.
He kisses me. A soft, sweet, super-gorgeous press against my mouth and I make some silly sound I am not proud of, and then he releases, and I whine like a baby and kiss him again, because my arms are wrapped up around his waist and I kiss and I kiss, and I fucking don’t know how to stop.
Fuck.
Fuck, yes.
He said one good-night kiss.
It’s going to be a long night, because one kiss won't be nearly enough.
Chapter Nine
Pontus
The flat looks completely normal. The sunshine streaming through the windows, the branches on the trees outside casting dancing shadows over the floor, and across the sofa where the blankets are neatly folded over the armrest. The coffee table is clear and obviously wiped down. The kitchen looks... Clean.
And somehow it feels like I might have dreamt the whole thing. Apart from that my cheeks blush at the thoughts of last night. Or early this morning. Whatever time we’ve decided to go to bed, and then I said some seriously slutty shit and Louis kissed me and I humped the hell out of him and... oh fuck.
My head falls in my hands. I did not just do that. Yes, I did. I whine and hug myself.
I am naked. Like meeting this Louis dude has made me think that walking around in my own home, stark naked, is normal. For the record, it’s not, and I am not about to become some weird-ass nudist, just because Louis walks around with that dick of his hanging out, and it bounces around against his balls when he moves and his arse is…
I groan. Loudly.
It’s almost nine, I have overslept like some teenage loser, and I have so much work to do that my head hurts.
Instead I am aimlessly walking around the flat as the coffee machine hisses and drips in the background and I wonder when Louis left.
There is no note. No text message on my almost-dead phone. Nothing.
Not that I have his number saved, so I quickly google his stupid website and add his details to my contacts. Still no message. I am not going to send him one. We are not boyfriends. That... that whatever it was, that went on last night was not a hook-up. That was stupid and irresponsible and weird and I behaved like the emotionally stunted dickwad that I am, and…
I cringe again. Whine loudly in frustration.
We didn’t talk, just snogged the hell out of each other and he sucked those bruises into my collarbone, and I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror, and fucking hell, I am all blotchy on my neck and what the hell has he done to…? Yes. There is a bite mark. On my shoulder.
Oh, fucking hell, Pontus. “Pontus, Pontus!” I say my own name out loud like I am scolding myself for my own stupidity. Because there is no hiding from the goddamn plain truth.
I pretty much jumped him. He kissed me and I humped him into oblivion, as I sucked on his lips and made all those slutty sounds and he pretty much humped me back and then his hand closed around my cock and I kind of grabbed him and then our hands tangled, and at one point I was kind of fucking into his grip and then his cock was there too and he was kissing me and I was kissing him back and sucking on his tongue, and he has the most amazing body and his chest is all hard and his lips are soft and I screamed. Yeah. I screamed when I came. When I orgasmed and coated his hand and stomach and then we both rolled around in all this spunk... and the bed is now disgusting and if I look carefully at my skin it is full of little white crusty…
I throw myself in the shower and clean myself up. Which is not a strange thing to do, but I almost obsessively scrub myself clean. Then I regret it because, I don’t know. It’s like I have washed him off me. I’m not sure I wanted to do that.
Fuck I am a mess. Well, what’s new?
I find the box in the fridge marked with the right day and breakfast. Then I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down like a normal person and eat breakfast. On my own. Wishing Louis was there. Thanking whoever is in charge of fate that he isn’t because what the hell do I say? Sorry I got horny? I didn’t mean to, it kind of just happened and you were there and you were naked and I thought?
Lies, lies, lies. I have a thing for him. I think he has a thing for me.
Cringe, cringe.
I check my phone.
Check my emails
Sigh.
By midday I have all my tasks prioritised, I have emailed the most desperate clients and given them a timescale, and eaten more fucking humble pie over missed deadlines and delays. I write lovely little passages apologising for ill health and promising all kinds of shit to make up for it. I will as well. I always do.
I load up task one. Then I sit there.
And do nothing.
Instead I think of the way I fell asleep last night. I was on my stomach. Louis had his head on my back. I can still feel the dull ache in my spine from sleeping like that, but his arms were around my waist and his breath was on my back and he kept pressing little kisses into my skin and I kept purring like a kitten. Yes. I was that desperate. That embarrassing. That stupid.
And now I want him to come back to me so I can relax and breathe again, yet I know I will be having a mini panic attack the minute he walks through the door.
Maybe he won’t come back. Maybe that’s it. He got laid, had a laugh, and now he’s done with me.
I still have his bloody plastic boxes. I can keep them hostage here until he comes and gets them. Am I worth it? Are his plastic boxes worth it?
The ping from my phone makes me jump and my mouth curves into the most stupid grin as I read it.
LOUIS: It’s lunch time. Just thought I would remind you to eat. And please drink a glass of water and take your iron tablets. Jonas’ orders.
I contemplate making a booking through his pathetic website to ensure he comes back. He won’t. That won’t even make him smile, and will be pathetic. It’s pathetic how I think that I know what he will find funny. I don’t. I don’t know shit.
The Naked Cleaner Page 7
