Page 57 of Topped

“You’re such an arsehole,” I said with a disbelieving chuckle. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged again. “I dunno.”

“Okay, well, let’s both agree that from now on, we’re open with each other. About everything.”

“Will you be okay with that? Because ten minutes ago you were saying everyone hides things, especially from people they love.” Milo levelled me with a firm look and a gentle smile. “I’m not saying it to be mean, sweetheart. It’s just, it’s a bit of a pivot. And I don’t want you to force yourself into something that’ll make you uncomfortable.”

He made a good point, but maybe it was time to push myself. I couldn’t let my fears and insecurities run my life, not to the degree they had been. My rejection sensitivity might be incredibly difficult to deal with at times, but if I wanted this with Milo, I was going to have to learn to ignore it.

“Maybe uncomfortable is good. Maybe I need to be uncomfortable sometimes.” I swallowed, letting the words slowly collect on my tongue. “I really like you, Milo. And I don’t want to let my brain get in the way of this. I know it’s not going to be easy, but I have to try. For me.”

“All right then.” He reached out to take my hand. “Let’s be open with each other. As much as we can. And if we’re struggling, we’ll tell each other. Even if we only take small steps, that’s better than nothing. We’ll get there, I promise. Doesn’t matter if it takes us a while. We’re all a work in progress.”

“I like that.” I nodded my head. “Yeah, I like that.”

I leant closer to him, brushing my lips against his, tasting the sea air and early winter chill. There was still a discombobulated feeling floating around in my chest, but I let it sit there without forcing myself to do something about it. This evening, and the conversation with Milo, might not have played out the way I’d expected, but it wasn’t a bad thing and I didn’t need to pick every detail apart to examine what had happened.

“What do you want to do now?” Milo asked. “Want to go back to yours and chill? We can easily order something for dinner.”

“Can we… can we still go up to the castle? I know we’ll miss the switch on, but there’s still the market and the garden light trail, and I’d like to do those with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want to go on a date with you and have hot chocolate and eat burgers and chips and get ketchup all over my gloves because it always happens, no matter if you use the little wooden fork or not. As long as you want to, anyway.”

“Yeah, I do.” He kissed me again, his lips curling into a smile as he pressed our mouths together. “But I do have a question for you, before we go.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s your opinion on mince pies?”

“Delicious, obviously. Why?” I gasped playfully as I stepped back and saw his face pinch dramatically. “Oh my God, are you some sort of mince pie hater? This is heresy. I’m not sure I can deal with that.”

“Fuck off,” he said with a laugh, taking my hand and pulling me into step beside him as we finally resumed walking back towards my flat to retrieve my car. “Mince pies are trash and you know it.”

“Absolutely not, that’s slander! What’s not to love about fruit soaked in brandy and sugar and encased in pastry?”

“Um, everything. First of all, the only acceptable place for raisins is either in scones or rum and raisin ice cream. Secondly, they’re such a weird texture! Especially the pastry. And, like, why do some people use that like, super crumbly shortcrust and other people use puff? It’s fucking weird. And hardly anyone puts glacé cherries in them, which is the only good part. Just give me some cherries, sugar, and brandy in a bowl and that’ll do me.”

I snorted. “Do you want them cooked or just a bowl of glacé cherries, brown sugar, and brandy?”

“The second.”

“And that’s not weird?”

“Might be, but I’ll like it and that’s the important thing. Also, if it’s got enough brandy in it, maybe I could try fire breathing? I always thought that looked really fucking cool. I used to know a guy who spun fire poi and it was awesome!”

“Darling, do you seriously think that’s sensible?”

“I don’t see why not? It’s not like I’ve got a lot of hair to burn off. And if I did burn it, I could just shave my head again.”

“Are you thinking about doing that?” I asked, wondering if I should tell him that while a shaved head did suit him, I really liked the way his hair was growing back. It had a bit of a soft curl to it and seemed permanently windswept, even if we were indoors.

I liked being able to run my fingers through it when we were curled up on the sofa and he had his head in my lap, or when he fucked me slowly, his hands either side of my head as he folded me in half, or when he slid between my thighs to blow me, taking me apart with his tongue while I clung to him for dear life.

“Maybe, but my head was getting cold and I think I’ll be fucking miserable being bald all winter.” He tugged the beanie he was wearing lower over his ears, as if talking about it was making him cold.

I hummed teasingly in agreement. “Mmm, yes, if it makes you less whiny then you should definitely not shave your head again. It can wait until next summer.”