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He shakes his head. “No. It’s…a little surreal, I guess.” He finally tears his gaze from the posters and looks at me, eyes full of affection. “You’re wrong, though. You didn’t have a crush onme.You had a crush onTom Whitford.”
I grin at him. “NowI have a crush on you.”
“Which is pretty amazing considering most people go running for the hills when they get to know the real me.”
“Most people don’t know the real you, Tom,” I say pointedly.
He steps closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m glad you do.”
I take a moment to just bask in his proximity. The heat of his skin burning into mine, his sandalwood scent, the feel of his breath.?“Mum’s going to call us down for pudding soon,” I remind him.
“Right. And on that subject—I’m going to manipulate you right now,” he says, pulling away slightly so I can see the mischief playing in his eyes.
I eye him suspiciously. “I hope you mean your hands are going to manipulate my dick.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I mean I’m holding out--unless you tell me the cucumber story.”
I groan. “What?No.”
The bastard just smirks, and when I defiantly reach for the front of his jeans, he quickly moves away from me with the kind of agility that makes him such a talented striker.
Fucking hell.
“Urgh, fine. When I was fourteen, I took a cucumber from the fridge. I lubed it up and then used it to frot against my dick. I thought it might feel like a real dick, but it was too hard and cold. My parents walked in just as I was cleaning up the cum. So fucking embarrassing.”
Tom’s face is priceless. I love that I can shock him.“I thought you were going to say you fucked yourself with it.”
“I was too scared it would get lost in me,” I say with a shrug. I can’t believe I’m going to admit this next bit. “The next day my dad gave me a thirty quid Amazon gift card and said it was for any toys I might need. So, basically, my dad bought me my first dildo.”
“Wow.”
“Now can Ipleasesuck you off?” I beg, reaching for the front of Tom’s jeans again.
But before I can get to my prize, I hear Mum calling up the stairs.
“Archie! Tom! The crumble’s ready—did you boys want cream or ice cream?”
Chapter twenty-one
Tom
Islidethepancakesonto the plate just as Archie enters the kitchen, looking adorably sleepy—hair all mussed, and muscles flexing as he stretches his body out.
“Morning,” he says through a yawn.
I offer a wry smile. “Morning. Breakfast is ready.”
“Mmm…smells good.” He comes around the island and moves in close, brushing a kiss to my jaw. Then he reaches for the glass of orange juice sitting on the bench and takes a generous gulp before I have a chance to issue a warning. Unsurprisingly, he starts sputtering at the unexpected taste of alcohol. “Um…you know there’s champagne in this, right?”
I roll my eyes. “I do. And I’d planned to warn you before you started guzzling it down like you were dying of thirst.”
He lets out a wry chuckle, lifting the glass up to examine it. “I wasn’t really expecting a buck’s fizz to be hiding in aBuzz Lightyearglass.”
“Sorry. My glassware selection is pretty limited,” I tell him. “Definitely no champagne flutes.”
Archie just smiles and takes another sip, more conservative this time. “Still tastes the same. So…buck’s fizz and pancakes? And it’s not even Christmas—I feel special.”
I grin at him. “You should feel special, birthday boy.”
