And I lose the plot.
I’m not even ashamed to say it.
I hump the sheets like some lunatic, and suck his cock back into my mouth and the prostate massager just seems to do its thing as I nudge it with my hand to keep it inside of him. My nose buried in his pubes as I take him as far down as he can go, and yeah.
Then I scream, my mouth full of cock and my dick releasing into the sheets, and I think he comes, because his hips rise off the mattress and he is shouting so loudly that I’m sure that my neighbours must think they have front row seats to the Pontus Andreassen porn show.
I think I pass out.
I think I may have died, and killed him off in the process.
I think that may have been the best sex ever.
I think I’m a bloody pro at this sex thing.
What the fuck did I just do?
Oh, and now I’ll have to look him in the eye, and all he will see is that I just had his cock in my mouth and my fingers up his arse, and then I fucked him with a Prostate Deluxe Pro.
The number one choice of the Adult Industry.
Fuck my life.
“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 we can talk 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.
“No, not my mum, a friend. Not a naturist. Normal person who roasts coffee and wears clothes. You know, not everyone is a naturist. We do socialise with clothed people too, you know.”
“Just kidding.” He smiles. I smile. We both blush. Fuck. Awkward.
“Please don’t make this weird.” I whisper. “I don’t want it to be weird.”
“Not weird.” He whispers back.
“I really like you.” Yeah. Still whispering.
“Me too. I like you. I like… everything about you, even the weird bits.” Pontus is looking right at me, and there it is, the little twinkle in his eyes that makes me all weak in the knees. Fuck, I love him.
“I really, really want this to work. I want to be with you, and do the whole being together thing. I don’t want to be friends who fuck, or just hook up. I want to be in love with you and I want you to be happy and you make me happy. This, right here, just waking up and cuddling with you and making you porridge makes me happy.”
Way to go Louis, rambling away as Pontus pushes me away and grapples for the tea towel on the counter.
Oh.
SHIT.
Yeah. That’s the porridge boiling over and the nice neat stove is now covered in greyish slime and Pontus is kind of dabbing at it with my nice new clean tea towel.
“Sorry… ooh… shit, just leave it.”
That’s me being all flustered and trying to lower the heat and rescue Pontus’ breakfast. I wanted to make it perfect. And now? It’s probably burnt on the bottom as well and I can feel my bottom lip quivering and my eyes stinging, and I’m a bloody fuck up, again, who can’t even cook his hopefully-one-day boyfriend porridge.
See? Boyfriend. I am way ahead of myself here, standing here all stunned by my own stupidity as Pontus is running the tea towel under the tap and trying to rinse sticky oats out of the fabric.
“I am in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it. It just makes me all flustered and I don’t know how we are going to do this, and I don’t know if you even want to. I just want to be with you. Sorry, I know I am too much. I’ll just go and get my stuff and I will leave you to work.”
That’s me. Because it’s almost ten, and in all honesty
I should go. Let him get on with his day and be all normal. Not clingy and pathetic and standing here terrified that I will burst into tears or get a boner… or… both. Fuck.
Because now I’ve weirded him out, completely. Pontus is standing right there with the tap running on full blast and the soaking tea towel dripping dirty water on the floor. And he’s staring at me and I stare back and I can’t read him anymore. He’s all over the place going from angry to weird to flustered to maybe about to smile and then he is reining himself in again and just creepy staring at me.
“Are you coming back? Later?” He asks, and I still don’t know. Is he angry? Sad? Does he want me to?
“Can I sleep here?”
I have to ask. I need to. Please.
“Yes… of course. Please. Just come.”
There goes the dirty tea towel back in the sink, and he slams the tap down and wipes his hands on his naked hips and then growls like he’s just done something stupid, newsflash, he has. His hips are wet and his hands are up in the air and he stomps around in a circle before grabbing my fabric shopping bag off the floor and angrily wiping his hands first on it, then his hips. I’m never washing it again. I’m going to carry it around with me all day, sniffing it.
I’m officially creepy. And I know it.
“I meant it, Pontus. I want to see you. Tonight, and every night. I think, I know I am way ahead of myself here, but I think you and I would be so bloody good together. But that’s just me, if you need space just tell me and I will fuck off and wait for you to call…”
“Shut up.” He says, smiling. Then he kind of throws himself at me and slams me into the fridge door knocking a fridge magnet and some papers off the door, but I am too mesmerised to care. He’s right there. Face in my face. Nose against the tip of mine. Staring at me and I can’t see his mouth. I don’t know if he’s smiling or what he is doing, but I kiss him. I just can’t help myself. Just small pecks on his lips. One after another. Mine. Mine, mine, mine.
“You’re mine.” I whine. Pathetic. I’m going to start to cry now, because there are just all these feelings. Bloody feelings and wants and needs and dreams and hopes and bloody… stupid emotions.
“I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re bloody weird, Louis.”
If I wasn’t so emotional, I would have laughed in his face. Instead I want to punch him in the stomach. I don’t, of course.
“I tell you I love you, and you tell me I’m weird? Way to go, to kill a guy trying to woo you.” I stutter out. I’m trying to be funny here.
Fail.
“You don’t love me, you’ve only just met me and I’m still a grumpy rude bastard with a prostate massager under his pillow, and I can’t keep my flat clean to save my life, and I will die an early death from dehydration and living off cereal and coffee. Jonas tells me every day. You don’t love me.”
He’s waving his hands around in the air, almost looking angry. At least he’s talking to me and not pushing me out the front door.
“That doesn’t mean that we can’t make each other happy?” I try. I don’t dare to say the love word again. Apparently, that freaks him out. I can tell, because he’s stomping around again.
“Stop jumping around like a Duracell bunny, and come here.” Gotta do what a man’s gotta do. And I have things to do.
“Why?”
“Because I need to know where I stand!” I shout.
Fuck. Desperate Louis is out in full swing. Tears due any second.
“You are standing in my kitchen.” He deadpans.
I would laugh. I kind of try to and end up just pathetically spitting saliva out of my mouth.
And the bastard he is? He just smiles.
“I need to go see clients and cook and see Mum and do her Mindfulness class at four. After that I want to come back here and have dinner with you, and then I want to cuddle and go to lie in your bed. With you. And I want you to fuck me until I lose my mind and then we should sleep. That’s what I want...”
“We can do that?” He says. Like I’ve asked him to perform some mundane task. Like clean the stove.
“I wasn’t finished.” I huff. I’m nowhere near finished. “Then tomorrow I want to get up and blow you before breakfast, and then I want to come back after work and you can blow me. Like in return. Then we should go for a walk and chill. Have a beer somewhere, and then go home and fuck. Like bunny rabbits. Then sleep. Next morning, rinse and repeat. Saturday you should come for dinner…”
“I get the idea Louis.” Pontus says, almost too calm, whilst I am panting for breath. I think I forgot to breathe in-between sentences.
“You don’t. I want this. I want the whole shebang. The fairy-tale. I want to be your boyfriend and I want it all.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” He laughs. “I kind of got that bit.”
Fuck he drives me crazy. So bloody dry. Yet he just stands there with his arms crossed and an almost triumphant smile on his face.
“Say something!” I shout. Again. I need to stop shouting, but he’s so bloody frustrating.
“Porridge is fucked. The bottom of the pan is burning.” He says calmly, nodding towards the cloud of smoke rising from the pan.
I lean over and turn the heat off.
“Fuck the bloody porridge.”
“No thanks, but I’ll gladly fuck you tonight, with my dick, if the offer still stands?”
Bloody Pontus. Now I am laughing. Coughing a little from the smoke. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
“Cornflakes?” He laughs and hands me the box.
“Okay?” I say weakly. Fuck. What is he doing to me?
“And by the way, you can come and sleep here every night. I don’t mind. I want you here as much as you can, just come and hang out. I need to work until six most days, but I would love it if you were here. Keeping me company. Having a cup of coffee now and then, and giving me kisses.”
“I can do that? I could even offer a say, twice-daily coffee break with a blowjob thrown in? Just to kind of relax you. You know?”
He laughs. I’m fist bumping in my head. Cheering silently.
“You are so weird, Louis.”
“I hate you.”
That’s me. I don’t hate him. He’s kissing me again, crawling all over me, pressing me up against the fridge and now the boner is back. Cheeks flaming. Teeth clashing. I need to eat. I need to go. I don’t want to go anywhere.
“You love me. You told me earlier. Even if I’m an idiot most of the time, and I’m rude and not very good at this relationship thing, but, I kind of think….”
He leans back and looks at me. Really looks at me. Like he is trying to figure me out.
“You want to do this? Be my boyfriend? Just me and you, like exclusive?”
“Is there anyone else?” Fuck. I hadn’t even asked.
“Noooo!” He laughs. “Just you. Seriously? Don’t you think I would have said something by now? We’ve been fucking for what? Twenty-four hours? There is nobody else. I’m not a jerk, and I wouldn’t do that, I don’t cheat. I never will, trust me. You and me. Period.”
He’s stupid.
I’m so bloody stupid because here come the tears. Big chunky sobs coming out of my head and crocodile tears running down my cheeks and he kisses my lips and just holds me as I cry. I fucking cry. I couldn’t even tell you why, I’m just kind of relieved. Happy. I think we’re on the same page. We’re fucking, yeah, but he said you and me. He said a lot of things and reading between the lines, I think he kind of said what I needed to hear.
“You love me too?” I slobber.
I’m a child.
“I fucking adore you. Like you have to ask.” He says sternly, and I have snot running down my nose which I try to wipe away with my hand.
“Sorry. I’m disgusting.” I whinge and he just grabs my hand and kisses it, then reaches for the last clean tea towel on the side, which he uses to wipe my face. If I wasn’t so bloody mesmerised with him and too emotional to think rationally, I would have shouted at him. N
o snot on the bloody tea towels!
“I love you.” He says softly. Almost like he is tasting the words. “I think I do too. You, you have kind of... I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.” Instead he shakes his head and kisses me again. Does another round of wiping my face with the tea towel. “Can I interest you in some Nemlig.com own-brand cheap copy cornflakes? With real fucking milk? And instant coffee? I have no bloody organic shite to offer, mate.”
“I’m lactose intolerant and vegan.” I snap back, and his face is a picture.
“This is never going to work.” He laughs.
“This will work just fine.” I giggle. “Give me five minutes to make a fresh batch of porridge, and you make the coffee and we will have breakfast and then I really need to go.”
I kiss him. He kisses me back.
“Then you will come back tonight, and you will let me fuck you?”
Blunt Pontus? He looks serious as well, and I blow my nose in the damn tea towel. I’m buying a new batch today and taking these home to wash.
“We are going to fuck. A lot. Whatever you want.” I wink. He blushes. I giggle like a kid and he snorts. And kisses me. And he has a semi. Fuck. I'm going to be so late.
It’s going to be weird. I know. But we can apparently talk about it and it’s fine. I love him. I think he loves me back. I hope. We’re fucking tonight. I’m bringing dinner, and I already know what to cook him, and there will be dessert and I need to buy tea towels and should really be at Ms Anita’s in forty minutes.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Instead, I grab his arm and pull him in and squeeze the living daylights out of his skinny body and he squeals and play fights me and threatens to kick me out and pour milk on my bloody porridge.
I think I really do love him. It’s just that easy.
Chapter Thirteen
Pontus
I’m surprisingly calm. Totally chill. Nah. Who am I kidding? I’m sweating like it’s some heatwave going on, when in reality it’s nice and cool in my flat. I have all the windows open and have downed three cups of coffee in the last hour, am almost caught up with today’s work, and I have made a good start on Louis’ tax return. I missed eating lunch but wolfed it down like a lunatic twenty minutes ago, so Louis won’t notice and tell me off. I kind of feel a pang of shame over that. See? I’ve made myself all these promises, I’ve made all these promises to Jonas and now to Louis, and I don’t keep any of them.
The Naked Cleaner Page 10
