Page 31 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Chapter

Thirteen

I just didn’t want to get his hopes up

ONE MONTH LATER

Oz

I come awake to soft kisses on the nape of my neck and warm arms around me. “Mmm,” I say meditatively and snuggle back.

He chuckles, and I feel the vibrations run through me. “Time to get up, Pika.”

I open one eye blearily. “When are you going to stop calling me that?”

He laughs and throws back the sheets and smacks my arse. “Never. You’re my Pika and that’s how you’re going to stay. Now get that cute backside out of bed and walk the dogs with me.”

I roll over and look at him indignantly, which is hard because he’s naked and warm and rumpled. “I think I’m going to have trouble walking this morning, let alone going on one of your route marches through the Cornish countryside.”

“One time we went further than a mile, Oz. One time . You act like I’m inducting you into the SAS.”

“I’m sure the SAS didn’t have you pounding their arse all night.”

He grins and rubs my bum. “Aw, are you sore?”

I nestle back into the bed and grab the sheets. “Yes. I think that the NHS Direct prescribes bed rest in these circumstances.”

His eyebrow arches. “They’ve obviously got very worldly since I last rang them.” He strokes my hair back. “You work so hard, Pika. Lie in today,” he says, and it almost sounds like tenderness in his voice. I’m not sure because I’ve never had that directed at me by a man before.

I eye him, and he flushes slightly and gets up. “I’ll walk the dogs.”

He pads over to the window and looks out while stretching.

I settle back into the sheets and watch him.

This is my favourite part of every morning.

Silas is one of the busiest people I know.

He rushes here, there, and everywhere and consequently has no time for the gym.

However, his work is so physical that he has an amazing body.

He isn’t gym-honed and doesn’t have a perfect six-pack, but he’s muscled and fit and very masculine.

I think this early morning tradition of standing at the window and stretching is his own version of yoga, when he stretches his body to be ready to meet the day and runs things through in that busy mind of his.

I love it because his eyes are tranquil and content before the stresses of the day hit him.

I think back over the last month and relax into the mattress even more.

It’s been a strange and amazing time. If I’d been worried that the relationship would impact my work, I needn’t have bothered.

I’m not the type to take advantage. If anything, I work harder, and Silas has been so busy that the decisions have been left to me anyway.

However, the nights have been ours, and it’s an old-fashioned word to use but I feel almost courted by him.

We’ve criss-crossed across South Cornwall as he’s shown me places that the tourists can’t find.

One night we loaded the dogs into the car and drove to a deserted cove.

We’d walked them across the sands in the moonlight and talked and laughed.

Another night he took me to a small pub on the cliffs where we ate mussels and drank a dry white wine while we watched a beautiful sunset lay stripes across the sea.

On the nights that he’s worked, I’ve waited for him and cooked.

One night I packed a picnic and we took it down to his cove where I lit candles that guttered in the breeze as we ate and talked.

He laughed when he found the lube and condoms in the picnic basket, declaring his mother would have been horrified, but he stopped laughing when I stripped naked and rode him in the moonlight.

I swallow hard because the sex just keeps getting better and it was pretty fucking epic to start with.

I have no experience of relationships, but I can definitely see the pros for them if this is what happens.

That lack of experience, however, leaves me floundering slightly.

We’ve made no ties or commitments, and my contract ends in a few weeks, but surely there shouldn’t be this tenderness and care in something that should by definition be casual.

I’ll catch him looking at me sometimes with a focused look in his eyes. I know that look has never been directed at me before. It combines intense interest and a lively affection, as if in that moment I’m everything he can see.

I run my tongue over my lips nervously because it isn’t just him.

He fascinates me. I’ve never met anyone who I can talk to like Silas.

He’s clever and dry and has a snarky, sarcastic tongue on him.

However, he’s also kind and decent and generous and sometimes I want to wrap him up in bubble wrap and save him from being hurt because his heart is so fucking wide open.

My brow wrinkles because I don’t want to be the one who hurts him, and I sense I could.

He turns from the window, and he looks so unconcerned by anything that I clear my expression because my mind is wandering this morning.

I’m getting fanciful in my old age. He grabs a pair of old black shorts and a grey sweatshirt that says Hogwarts on it and rather geekily proclaims him to be a house captain at Quidditch.

It’s a favourite of his and it’s so ancient that it’s stretched out and the print is faded and barely legible.

His eyes are sleepy and his face has a pillow mark down one cheek but he makes me warm inside.

I clear my throat. “No underwear, Silas. You’re quite the hussy these days.”

He laughs and makes a slow production of tucking his cock in and zipping up. I swallow hard as I feel my cock stir despite the fact that I started the morning off with two orgasms before I fell asleep again.

He stamps his feet into an old pair of checked Vans and I smile.

He may have a title and a heritage that goes back centuries, but half the time he looks like a bit of a tramp.

His clothes are good labels but they’re old and comfortable and seem to mould to his body.

In my clubbing days I’d have been horrified by his appearance, but here he fits.

His hair is wild looking after a night of me pulling it and his beard needs trimming, but all I can see are those pretty eyes clear and green in the early morning light and the smile that tugs his pouty lips.

He cocks his head to one side. “Isn’t today when your friend is coming?”

I grin and sit up, running my hands through my hair and enjoying the leisurely way he runs his eyes down my body. “It is.”

“You look happy.”

“I am. I’ve missed him.”

He comes to stand by the bed, running his finger down the bedpost and tracing the delicate carving. “I suppose you miss London,” he says, and his voice is too casual.

I narrow my eyes. For a split second I think about lying and saying I do.

It will make the inevitable separation much easier if we get used to it.

For a few wild moments over the last month my mind has toyed with the idea of a long-distance relationship, but I run into the same stumbling blocks every time.

He’s too busy to ever undertake that sort of relationship, and I’m not what he must be looking for.

With his title and history, he’ll be looking to settle down with someone from the same class.

Someone who won’t embarrass him at social functions when I get the cutlery mixed up or my accent gets heavier.

Someone without eyeliner and nail varnish and too-tight jeans.

I picture the invisible man or woman and I sigh because they’ll probably wear a lot of tweed and cord and have an accent you could cut glass with. My stomach churns.

“Oz?” he says, and I jerk.

“Sorry.” I look into his eyes and I can’t do it. I can’t lie to him. “I don’t miss London,” I say in a low voice, my usually agile tongue tripping and stuttering. “I don’t miss it at all.”

His eyes flare for a second but then he shutters his expression and gives a calm smile. My eyes narrow. I went on a call once and watched him with a sick horse. If he uses that even voice with me, I’ll punch him.

Luckily, he just swings away and grabs his watch from the side table. “I hope you’re not working today,” he says distractedly and therefore misses the guilty expression that I just know my face is wearing.

“Not at all,” I say brightly. “I’m going to take him out for lunch and show him around.”

“I’ll be back fairly early tonight,” he says and there’s a definite wistful tone in his voice. “Do you think I’ll have a chance to meet him?”

I still. I’ve been so concerned that Silas not be here for this meeting that I think I’ve given him the impression that I’m hiding him.

My stomach twists in a way I’ve learnt to associate with disappointing him.

I hate the idea that I’ve inadvertently hurt him.

I come up on my knees. “Silas,” I say urgently.

He turns back to me and stills when he sees me naked and kneeling in the sheets. I reach for him, and when he comes close I grab his face gently and cup his high cheekbones. “I would love you to meet Shaun,” I say clearly. “I want him to meet you. You’re both important to me.”

His face lights up. “I am?” He stops and clears his throat. “I mean, that’s lovely. I’ll try and get back a bit earlier. Perhaps we could take him to that pub we ate at last week?”

“The one with the homemade fish cakes?” I ask, distracted at once, and he grins when my stomach rumbles.

“That’s the one.” He hesitates. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” I declare, and he relaxes instantly.

“Okay, I’ll book a table.”

“Erm, ask for a bigger table,” I say, thinking hard. “I know there are three of us, but you and Shaun are big men.”

He looks puzzled but nods obligingly. “Okay, Pika.”

“Don’t call me that,” I protest, but it dies to a moan as he pulls me to the edge of the bed and kneels and takes my cock down his throat in one swift, assured move.