Page 34 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

“Yes. They’ve gone back to the hotel tonight and back to London tomorrow.”

“They could have stayed here and been welcome.”

I smile. “I know. Thank you. Shaun would have been happy to, but I think it’s probably best that Jasper doesn’t experience firsthand the idiosyncrasies of our house before we rent it out.”

Something about that statement makes him smile but he covers it quickly. “Like the cupboard in the kitchen when the handle comes off in your hand?”

I nod. “And the toilet where you have to put your hand into the cistern to be able to flush it.”

He laughs. “It never happens in Lord Branton’s house.”

I stand for a minute, enjoying the warmth of the sun and inhaling the scent of cut grass and Silas’s aftershave.

Finally, I stir with Shaun’s words on my mind.

They’d seemed like a challenge and an invitation to see something about Silas that I’m not noticing.

“So, when are you thinking of going to London?”

He kisses my hair. “Next week. I’ll only be a couple of hours with the solicitor. Then we can get your suit and afterwards whatever you fancy. What about a play?”

I shake my head. “Nope. It’ll seem too confining in a theatre after Minack.” He looks extraordinarily pleased and I carry on hurriedly. “Where are we staying?”

“In a hotel? There’s a nice one in Knightsbridge.”

I take a glug of Jack Daniels and my thoughts whirl.

Am I really going to do this ? I think of James and his disdain for my upbringing, Jasper who barely concealed his astonishment and some of the others, and my mind is made up.

It’s a test and I know he’ll fail. It’s awful of me but it might be the jumpstart I need to get my life going when I get back to London.

I’ve done nothing so far, as if in my head I’m staying with him eternally.

“Why don’t we stay with my mum?”

I thought he’d be horrified and polite, but instead he grins. “Really? She won’t mind?”

I shrug awkwardly. “She’ll be fine. Anyway, she’d go barmy if I didn’t go home when I was in London, and you don’t want to risk the wrath of an Irish woman.”

He laughs. “Okay then. Give her a ring and arrange it. Shall we say Tuesday?”

I nod, incapable of coherent speech. I settle for looking at the old game. “Is this like bowling?”

He steps back and grins. “Sort of. It’s Kayling. It’s been played in Cornwall for at least five hundred years.”

“Oh, that explains why I’ve heard this called the Kayling Lawn?”

He nods. “The skittles are called by their Cornish name, kayles. The ball is called a cheese.” He points at the two groupings of baluster-shaped skittles. “This is a really old set.”

I laugh. “I’m trying to imagine a game of cosmic bowling like they do at home. We could paint them neon and play trance music.”

A shadow chases across his face when I mention home, but he smiles.

“I will even provide you with clown shoes that give you a foot fungus to make the experience truly worthwhile.” I laugh and he shrugs.

“Bowling used to be restricted by law to the rich, but the locals always used to come here and have a game when I was little.”

“Your father let the peasants that near the house?”

“He locked the windows and had a constable on duty,” he says in a snooty voice and I throw my head back and laugh, feeling my worries melt away. “Fancy a game?” he asks and there’s a glint in his eye.

“Why am I getting nervous?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re shit and you don’t want me to know.”

I laugh. “Trash talking. Really, Silas?”

He nods. “It’s the only way to do it.”

He looks up at the sky, which is a deep blue shot through with red, and taps his finger against his lips in a thinking pose which is belied by the twinkle in his eyes. “Why don’t we make this interesting?”

“How?”

“Strip Kayling.”

“What the fuck ?” I laugh loudly. “Oh my God, have you no shame? This is a part of your heritage .”

He shrugs. “So is interbreeding and alcoholism. Well?”

I straighten. My competitive nature is raising its head. “Okay, what are the rules?”

“The one who knocks over the least amount of kayles with one throw of the ball has to lose one item of clothing. The winner gets to ask a question of their choice and the loser has to answer honestly.”

I stare at him. “That’s extraordinarily detailed for an off-the-cuff game. You’ll be telling me next that you’ve got membership cards printed out.”

“Only little ones, but they are laminated very nicely. And you’ll get the hang of the words to the club song when you’ve sung it once.”

I laugh. “I’m quite sure this never happens in crown green bowling.”

He grins. “You on?”

I curl my fingers at him. “Bring it on.”

He hands me the large ball. It’s heavy and cold. “Okay, short stuff. Give it your best shot.”

I snort. “Fuck me. That’s terrible heckling.” I pass him the ball and stand back. “I insist you go first. Age before beauty.”

He shakes his head wryly and rolls his ball hard at the row of skittles. Unfortunately, it hits a lump of grass and it sends it off course ending up with … “No kayles knocked over,” I say gleefully.

He laughs. “I’m starting to detect a very competitive streak in you, Ozzy.”

I smile evilly. “I’m a very sore loser.”

His gaze drops to my lower half. “You will be,” he promises.

I feel my cock stir and shake my head. “Do not distract me with your sexual wiles, you jezebel.”

I take the ball from him and bowl it smartly down my run and then jump and cheer when it knocks over four kayles.

I turn to find him grinning at me. I tap a finger against my teeth, affecting deep thought. “Okay, get rid of some clothes, loser.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Very well.” He reaches down and unties the laces on his faded navy Converse and kicks them off.

“Spoilsport.”

“Yep.” He grins. “Okay, ask me your question.”

“What is the naughtiest thing you did as a teenager?” I love hearing funny stories of him and his brother.

He thinks hard. “Jesus, that’s difficult. We did so much. Okay, once we put laxatives in my father’s tea.”

I laugh. “Did he deserve it?”

“Oh, totally. The old bastard. I don’t think he quite deserved the quantity we put in though. He sat on the toilet for so long that the loo seat had an imprint of his buttocks.”

I throw my head back and laugh. He starts to put the skittles back into order and I help him. He grins at me. “Prepare to go down. I know the lay of the course now.”

I nudge him. “Pride goes before a fall.”

A minute later I watch as he does some sort of strange victory dance that makes him look rather like a dying chicken. He stops and grins at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be losing something?”

I smile slowly at him before reaching down and pulling my t-shirt off. His eyes darken and I grin at him. “Only wusses remove shoes first.”

He shakes his head. “Okay, my question for you is, what is the stupidest thing you did as a child?”

I grin. “I ran away from home once and decided to hitchhike back to Ireland.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t that another question?” He shoves me and I relent. “I didn’t like London when we arrived. I hated it because I’d run very free in Ireland. Anyway, matters came to a head when my mum refused to let me watch the Brit Awards so I packed up all my worldly belongings and headed out.”

“How far did you get?”

I laugh. “The bus stop. It was raining and dark and I knew my mum was making a fish pie, so I headed back and we watched Coronation Street instead.” I laugh. “I know you’re thinking what a rebel I am.”

He grins and hands me the ball. “I might be too intimidated by your bad boy reputation now to play at my best.”

A few minutes later I grin. “I don’t think there’s any ‘might’ about it. Lose something interesting this time.”

He smirks and takes a very long time to remove his top.

I stare at his wide, hairy chest and the way his shorts hang from his narrow hips, showing the skin that I know is as soft as silk and drives him mad when it’s kissed.

I look up to find his lips quirked queryingly and jerk.

“Oh yes, my question. Let me see. I know. How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

He whistles in appreciation. “Good one. Which gender?”

I swallow. “Both.”

“Okay. Fifteen to a girl and sixteen to a boy.” I look at him and he smiles. “There was very little in the way of entertainment at boarding school,” he says wryly. “What about you?”

I grin. “I thought I won the question.”

“This is for the hill of grass on my side of the run.”

“That’s not a hill. It’s a pouch.” I smile. “I was fifteen.”

“Was it good?”

I shake my head. “No, but I thought I was in love, so it didn’t matter.” I laugh. “I should have known better. He told everyone at school about it and I got beaten up and my head stuck down a toilet.”

His face darkens. “What a little fucker.” He pauses. “What did you do?”

I stare at him for a second, struck that he already knows me well enough to guess I did something.

“I told everyone he had a four-inch penis, suffered from premature ejaculation, and called me mummy when he came.” He laughs loudly and I smile. “Shaun helped spread the rumour.” I pause. “Actually, I think Shaun is still spreading the rumour.”

I hand him the ball. “Try and challenge me this time, please,” I say in a bored voice.

Half an hour later I’m dressed in my briefs and one sock while he’s wearing just a smile and listing slightly from the bottle of Jack Daniels we’ve finished.

I look at him and laugh, but my mouth waters at the sight of all that tanned skin and hair and the long cock that’s plumping up nicely. “Don’t you think I’ve won?” I ask. “You have nothing left to lose.”

“Only my virtue,” he says primly. “I play to the death, Oz. Now bowl.” I go to throw the ball and he steps beside me. “Afterwards I’m going to fuck you against that tree.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, trying to sound modest, but I know I’m failing.

He would dare. One of the things that I’ve found out about Silas is that he’s shameless.

In bed he’s amazing. He’s earthy with a bawdy sense of humour and lacks any inhibitions.

He does whatever feels good and he’s not afraid to laugh.

Sex has never felt like it does with him. Immediate and raw and fun.

I’d thought he would just top but he’s happy to bottom too.

It’s not my preferred position, but the other night he’d asked to be fucked, and pushing down on him and into him brought me a pleasure I’ve never felt so strongly.

I’d crouched over him, watching my cock shiny with lube disappear into his arse as he groaned and panted beneath me.

“Oh look,” he says happily. “Someone likes the idea.”

I look down at my hard-on which is barely contained by my electric blue briefs, the head poking out impudently, and then shake my head. “I will not fall for your diversionary tactics,” I say loftily and throw the ball.

I don’t get the chance to look where it lands because at that moment he grabs me and turns me, taking my mouth with a deep groan. His callused hands slide my briefs down, throwing them impatiently over his shoulder.

“Fuck! I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I say. “Are you sure we can’t be seen?”

From a pocket in his shorts he produces a condom and a small sachet of lube. “No. But I don’t care anyway. If someone wants to spy on us, then they must accept the eye bleach they’ll need afterwards.”

“I like your attitude,” I laugh, but it turns into a groan as he backs me up to the tree and kisses me hard.

He fucks me against it ruthlessly, waiting until I’ve come twice before he finds his own release.

When we finish we’re covered in sweat, and we half collapse, half lower ourselves to the ground.

“I like Kayling,” I say slowly, hearing the slur in my voice. “I think I’m quite good at it. I could take it up professionally.”

He chuckles from his position lying crossways with his head pillowed on my stomach so I can stroke his hair. “I don’t think professionally you’ll be required to strip.”

“Oh,” I say in a disappointed voice. “I won’t bother then.” I glance towards the kayles and poke him. “Hey,” I say indignantly. “I fucking won that last round. You totally cheated.”

He laughs and snuggles closer, patting my hand demandingly to resume the stroking of hair. “You can have your question then.”

My question must be borne from my soft feelings of satiation and contentment because I’d never fucking ask it normally. “What do you most want in a boyfriend?”

Other men might have answered with looks or money or just lied, but Silas’s answer is simple and honest to his bones. “I want someone to love me for just me. Someone who will watch out for me and someone who will feel like home.”

“That’s lovely,” I say hoarsely. He doesn’t reply which is good because I want to shout, I can do that. I want to be your home.

I don’t. Instead I lie naked with him hidden in the shadow of the tree, stroking his hair on a drowsy summer’s evening and wishing I had more time.