On Saturday night, I got to his place around ten thirty. I hadn’t eaten, of course, so he ordered pasta and we made out until it arrived. Kissing him, holding him, felt like coming home. Like I’d been homesick all week and finally walked into familiar arms.
And the crazy part?
I didn’t even want sex. Okay, so that’s not entirely true. I would always want sex. But I was so tired . . . I just wanted to curl up with him, kiss and cuddle, and be close to him.
That was enough. It was more than enough. It was what I craved.
I told him all about where the store was up to while I ate. We sat on his couch, he had his legs all tucked up underneath him, a wine glass in his hands. He picked at my plate, listening intently, asking questions, his free hand on my thigh, my arm, in my hair.
Always touching me.
But after I’d eaten too much, my eyelids began to droop.
I patted my belly. “Oh, carbs activated,” I said. “Coma in four, three, two . . .”
He laughed and took my hand. “To bed with you.”
We stripped down to our underwear, I set my alarm for far-too-early o’clock, and we crawled into bed. But this time, he pulled me close, his arms tight around me, my head on his shoulder. He rubbed my back, stroked my hair, and I was warm and content, so loved that I slept like the dead.
My alarm went off, and honestly, getting out of Michael’s bed was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I sat up and tried to rub the tiredness out of my eyes. “Mm,” Michael murmured. “Morning.”
“Stay in bed. I’ve gotta get going.”
“What have you got on today?” he asked, barely opening his eyes.
“Cleaning the whole store from top to bottom.”
He snorted. “From you to me.”
It took me a second to get his joke. I laughed. “From floor to ceiling. Now all the construction’s done, all the fridges are in, all the furniture’s in, there’s dust and shit. I have to scrub everything, sanitise it all, and set up the health and safety logbooks.”
He groaned but sat up. “I can help.”
“No, you don’t have to do that.”
“We’ll get it done in half the time.”
“It’s your one day off,” I tried to reason. “You don’t have to give that up for me.”
“I want to. It’ll be fun.”
“Cleaning, Michael. I said cleaning. Since when is cleaning fun?”
“Since I get to do it with you.” He rolled out of bed and staggered into his bathroom. “Starting with a shower. We can do that together. Then we can get coffee on the way.”
“Or I could make you a kopi when we get to my store.”
He stopped in the bathroom doorway and turned to smile at me. “Even better. Now get that sexy arse of yours into this shower with me.”
I laughed as I untangled myself from the sheets, and I followed him. “Is this how bossy you’re going to be all day cleaning with me?”
He pulled his briefs down, standing before me, stark naked, half-hard with rumpled hair. “I think you’ll find that while I can be bossy sometimes—” He gave his cock a long, slow pull. “—I can also be a very good boy and do everything I’m told as well.”
My cock pulsed and I had to palm myself. “Is that right?”
He made a show of jerking off in front of me, making full eye contact, his tongue wetting the corner of his lips. “You’re taking too long. Either tell me to get on my knees and suck you off or bend me over and fuck me. But either way, Mr Schroeder, you have some catching up to do.”
My cock jerked, precome spilling from the tip. As much as I wanted to be inside him, buried to the hilt for hours, we just didn’t have time. “Get on your knees and put that mouth to good use.”
He grinned as he folded a towel into a well-padded rectangle and dropped it to the floor, going to his knees on it. He looked up at me, still smiling, and opened his mouth.
He didn’t speak. He just opened his mouth and waited for me to get the hint. He wanted me to put something in it, so I didn’t disappoint him.
I stepped in close, gripped the base of my erection, and let him have a little taste before feeding it to him.
He groaned around my shaft, his lips closing tight, his tongue hot and wet, his throat welcoming. The more I gave him, the more he moaned, and I realised then that he was jerking himself off at the same time.
He sucked me and I watched the whole show in the bathroom mirror. It was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.
Ever.
I was lucky to have lasted all of three minutes. He coaxed an orgasm out of me in record time and he drank down every drop before he came on the bathroom floor.
I was so lightheaded I almost fell over, and laughing, we stumbled into the shower. Ten minutes later, I was picking a clean shirt out of his wardrobe and we were on our way to the shop.
I was absurdly excited for him to do this with me, to share this with me.
“Oh my god, Bry,” he whispered as he walked in. “Look at this place!”
I grinned at him. “You like it?”
He looked around, taking in every detail. The white panel walls, the white cabinetry, and sand-coloured fixtures. The service counter, the wok area for roasting, the menu boards on the bulkhead, every small detail done to perfection.
“I love it.” He beamed at me. “You should be proud.”
His words hit me right in the heart. “I am, thank you. I can’t wait to be open. Just to begin, know what I mean?”
He nodded, giving my arm a squeeze as he walked past. “Okay, tell me where to start while you make the kopi.”
I laughed and pointed to the menu boards. “Which one?”
“One of each? Just to sample them all?”
I stared at him. “If you drank one of each, you’ll be hearing colours and seeing noises.”
“Good to know.” He laughed. “Make me your favourite.”
“Two kopi-di-lo coming up.”
He walked into the storeroom and squealed, excited. “Oh my god!”
“What is it?” I rushed in after him, not knowing what I was about to find.
He waved his hand at the storage shelves and containers. “All the labels. It’s all so neat and organised. And the smell. I think I’m in heaven.”
It smelled of coffee beans: fresh, roasted, ground.
“Glad you like my organisational skills.”
“Are you kidding? It’s like organisational porn in here.”
I laughed and pulled one container off the shelf. “This is the one I need.”
Michael disappeared into the cleaning closet and I set about making the kopi. The beans had already been roasted with butter and some hazelnuts and ground down to the powder I needed. I’d done it a thousand times by now and had it down to a fine, fast art. I had two cups poured by the time he returned with a bucket and filled it with hot soapy water. “Here, taste this,” I said, suddenly nervous.
“Love the cup,” he said first. “Very authentic.” I loved that he knew that. Kopi was traditionally served in thick ceramic cups. Then he noticed what was printed on the outside of the cup. “Oh my god, this is your logo.”
He looked around again, this time seeing the stack of takeout cups with the same logo. “Take away kopi is traditionally served in plastic pouches, but I couldn’t find an environmentally friendly equivalent so I had to settle for the standard cardboard. But these are recycled bamboo and they’re completely biodegradable. More expensive, of course, but . . .” I shrugged.