by Lisa Worrall
Harry curled himself around Micah’s body from behind and pushed Micah’s right knee up to his chest, allowing him to slide inside Micah effortlessly. Micah moaned low in his throat. He was still wet from last night’s heated session and the angle Harry employed had him nudging at that sweet spot in the dark that left Micah incoherent, and agreeing to anything.
Micah rode the crest of sensational overload as wave after wave of nerve-sparking pleasure lit up his every nerve and fibre of his being. Harry grunted against Micah’s skin with every thrust and Micah answered it with a whimper of his own. He could never have imagined how being connected to Harry in this way, how feeling Harry move inside him made Micah forget where he ended and Harry began. It was as though they were one person, moving in total rhythmic syncopation, movements mirroring each other's, hearts beating out the other’s name. A connection he never wanted to lose.
A few more thrusts and Harry stiffened, filling the condom. The warmth of his seed pumping into Micah’s channel sent him over the edge and Micah cried out his release into the pillow.
“Jesus,” Harry mumbled, collapsing on his back. “You are fucking amazing.”
Micah rolled over to face Harry, shuffling across the bed to avoid the mess he’d just made on the sheet. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he said, smothering an exhausted yawn. “Best wake-up call ever. You can do that every morning from now on.”
“Ha, no thanks,” Harry said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’d be dead in six months.”
“True,” Micah replied and rubbed his face against Harry’s shoulder. “But what a way to go.” He sighed happily. “God, I love you.”
“I don’t think God had anything to do with it.”
“Shut up, you know what I mean.”
“Mmm.”
Micah dug his fingers into Harry’s side, drawing a yelp from him. “Stay awake. It’s match day… remember?”
“How could I forget?” Harry drawled. “The entire village has been banging on about it all week.”
“Where’s your community spirit?” Micah teased. “You’ll not become a ‘local’ with that attitude.”
“I thought I didn’t become a local until thirty years after I was dead?”
“Only if you’re lucky.” Micah sat up and stretched languidly. “Thankfully they’ve got enough players this year, but next year,” he shook his head ruefully. “You’ll be heading off to training with the rest of ‘em in their attempt to steal back the cup from Ellendale.”
“How long has Ellendale had the cup?” Harry asked as he threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Twenty-seven years.” Micah laughed loudly at the expression on Harry’s face. “What can I say? Mowbury’s got all the enthusiasm in the world, but we’re just not that good.”
“And where are your whites, Mr Lewis?” Harry asked.
“Designated first aider,” Micah replied. “Equipped to deal with all manner of bug bites, grazed knees, heatstroke and cricket balls to the head. Not to mention after match injuries caused by playing Stumps.”
“Stumps?”
“You know, when the players get pissed after the game and then put their forehead on a single stump and run around it, then get up and try and walk in a straight line.”
“Can’t say I do,” Harry said, scratching his bare midriff. “I quite like cricket actually. I played a bit at school. Never got pissed and played Stumps though. But then I was twelve at the time.” Micah snorted when Harry blew on his knuckles and rubbed them on his chest in a display of cockiness. “I’ve scored a few cracking sixes, if I do say myself.”
“Ssh!” Micah grabbed Harry from behind and pinned him to the bed, placing his palm against Harry’s mouth to stem the flow of words.
“What are—?”
“Have you learned nothing, Grasshopper?” Micah said, making a show of looking over each shoulder to confirm they were alone. “These walls are paper thin. If,” he nodded in the direction of the far wall that separated his cottage from his mother’s, “she hears you, she’ll get out her jungle drum and Doris Abernathay will be knocking down the door with Reverend Edwards at her heels, measuring you up for a set of whites! You cannot drop your guard for a single second! Once they find your weaknesses, you’re completely buggered.” He grinned and leaned in to kiss a trail across the jut of Harry’s collar bone.
“I think you’re the one I need protection from, not the Reverend and Doris.” Harry slid his hands up Micah’s flanks. “I thought we had to get up,” he said on a breathy moan.
“I am up,” Micah replied, a roll of his hips into Harry’s indicating exactly how up he was. “If you think I’m the only one who’s going to be sitting on a cushion in front of our mothers, my best friend and the entire village, you are very much mistaken.” Harry gasped as Micah pushed his thighs apart and slid down the bed. God, how Micah loved the sounds Harry made. “Now,” he said, in a poor excuse for a Chinese accent, “brace yourself, Grasshopper.”
“Yes, Master.”
*
“Boys, put this down while I get Selena out of the car. Tom, you put up the deck chairs.”
Micah passed one end of the picnic blanket Jenny had thrown at him to Harry and grinned at the salute Tom shot Jenny. After her back was turned, of course. His grin widened when she tossed over her shoulder, “I saw that!” as she headed back to where she’d parked the car. He shook his head and coughed the word amateur into his fist before returning to the task he’d been given, earning himself the finger from Tom.
“Micah,” Harry admonished. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.” Once the blanket was on the ground, Micah stretched out on it, crossing his arms beneath his head. The perfect blue sky was cloudless, apart from floating wisps of candyfloss, the sun already warm on his upturned face.
Tom and Harry had met when he and Selena had attended the birthing centre to have a look around. Micah had half been expecting Tom to be cold towards Harry, considering his confession of how he’d felt when he and Micah were in a relationship. But the two men had hit it off right away and, within half an hour, were swapping stories—about him! Tom had attended last year’s cricket match when they were together and he got on well with Jenny and Sarah and knew the other villagers, so when Harry suggested he join them, Micah had no objections.
The other thing that had surprised him when they’d toured the centre, thankfully, was the fact that there was no protein in Selena’s urine, which was a big relief. The swelling was merely a disadvantage of nearing the end of her pregnancy. She’d brought with her the notes from the hospital she had attended in Cornwall, who had carried out all the necessary checks and scans. She told him they’d been amazed the two miscarriages she’d had hadn’t caused more damage and that she was very fit for her age.
Micah had instructed her to stay off her feet for at least half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the afternoon, and although she’d grumbled that she had things to do, Harry had silenced her with a look that implied he would pin her to the chair if she didn’t.
“Micah!” Jenny yelled across the green as she walked from the car, her hand firmly on Selena’s elbow. “Make yourself useful and get the supplies.”
Micah scrambled to his feet, ignoring the “whipped” mumbled under Tom’s breath, and jogged across the grass, stopping when he drew level with the two women. He dropped a kiss on Selena’s cheek and asked the same question he’d been asking for the last week. “Any sign of junior?”
Selena patted his cheek softly. “I keep telling you, she’ll be here when she gets here.”
“She? Huh?” Micah smiled. The sex of the baby was a subject of debate in the Boyd household. Harry was convinced it was a boy, and Selena just smiled that beatific smile and advised him not to count his chickens.
“As long as she doesn’t decide today’s the day,” Micah said with a smile. “The beer’s only a pound a pint in the beer tent.”
“I’ll try a
nd bear that in mind,” Selena drawled. “Now go and get the boxes out of the car. I’m eating for two and have to keep my strength up, so my midwife says.”
Micah laughed and caught the keys his mother tossed him before they continued across the green, arm in arm. He opened the boot and shook his head in disbelief. Is she feeding the whole bloody village?
“Mornin’ Micah.”
Micah turned at the sound of Maggie’s, voice. “Hey, Mags.” He bussed her cheek with a quick kiss and then turned his attention to her very good-looking companion. “And who’s this?”
“This is Jason Havers,” Maggie replied. “He’s starting on Monday as our new chef.”
“Nice to meet you, Jason.” Micah stuck out his hand and Jason shook it. Firm grip, a good sign. “I’m Micah Lewis.”
“Ah,” Jason said, drawing out the sound. “The famous Micah. I’ve heard all about you.”
Micah narrowed his gaze. “Don’t listen to a word of what she says—it’s all lies.”
“I’m sure,” Jason said solemnly. They both ignored Maggie’s snort of derision. He nodded towards the laden boot. “Need a hand?”
“That would be great,” Micah said, relieved. “It’s a good job my mother wasn’t at the feeding of the five thousand. There’d have been a damn sight more than some fish and bread on the menu.” After taking out the four baskets with Jason’s help, Micah locked the car and picked up two, leaving the other two to Jason.
“So, Mags,” Micah said as the three of them walked across the green to the others. “I didn’t even know you were looking for a new chef. What happened to Rich?”
“Met a girl, of course,” Maggie said, her voice holding a note of annoyance. Then she patted Jason’s shoulder. “Not that I have to worry about that with Jase. He’s one of your lot.”
“One of my lot?” Micah laughed and shook his head. “I didn’t invent homos you know, Mags.” He winked at Jase. “Besides… how do you know you haven’t got to worry about it with Jase? He’s gay, not a monk.”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s scared of me already,” Maggie shot back.
“She’s right,” Jason added.
“Pfft.” Micah grinned. “Don’t be fooled, Jase. She’s a big ole pussycat under that Mother Superior front.”
“I know,” Jason replied in a stage-whisper. “But don’t tell her.”
“Shut up, the pair of you,” Maggie scoffed as they came to a stop at the picnic blanket. “Blue deck chair’s mine, stupid boy,” she said gruffly and settled herself into the canvas chair Tom had quickly vacated.
“You insisted on the red one last year,” Tom smiled, bending down to drop a kiss on Maggie’s weathered cheek. She blushed and wiped off all remnants of his kiss, much to Micah’s amusement, although she couldn’t hide the stain of colour on her cheeks.
“I changed my mind.”
Micah and Jason put the baskets where Jenny instructed and Micah stretched his arms over his head, feeling his shoulders crack in complaint. “Jesus, Mum. What have you got in there?”
“Shut up,” Jenny ordered. “You won’t be complaining when you’re stuffin’ your face.”
Micah flopped down onto the blanket beside Harry. “Pick a perch while you can, Jase,” he said, nodding at the blanket. “When Sarah and Gary get here they’ll spread themselves across it like ants.” He stared pointedly at Maggie who looked back at him blankly. He sighed derisively. “Everybody, this is Jason Havers. He’s the new chef at the pub. Apparently,” he patted Harry’s knee, “he’s one of our lot.”
“Micah!” Jenny admonished.
“What? Don’t look at me,” Micah complained and pointed at Maggie. “She said it.” He settled against Harry and ignored the glare Maggie shot him.
“Behave yourselves,” Jenny said, turning her attention to the pavilion. “The boys are coming out.”
Micah narrowed his gaze against the sun and began to clap politely with everyone else. From beneath lowered lashes he watched Tom cast a sidelong glance at Jason, and didn’t miss the twitch of Jason’s lips as Tom was caught out. Micah chuckled softly. Interesting.
“What are you up to?” Harry whispered, his breath warm on Micah’s ear.
Micah turned his head and lifted his chin, kissing Harry hard and swift. “Me? Nothing. Now shush, match’s starting.”
Chapter 9
Micah checked his watch again. According to the oversized dial, Harry was still late. He'd promised Micah he'd pick him up after his shift and they could try that new Italian on the way home. Micah smiled to himself. Home. The word suddenly had a snazzy little ring to it, and conjured up images of Harry slouched on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, and Micah in the other corner with his feet in Harry's lap. Not that Harry had moved in per se, there were probably a couple of pairs of underpants left at Lilac Cottage, but it wouldn't be much longer before they joined the rest of their brethren in Micah's top drawer. In fact, Micah's smile widened, broaching the actual subject seemed a little redundant given the circumstances. His phone vibrated in his back pocket and he fished it out, opened the message from Harry.
Sorry babe. Boss sent big job. Will take all night. Make it up 2moro. Love you.
Micah sighed. Damn, he'd been looking forward to trying out that restaurant. A rumbling growl reminded him his stomach had, too. The scrabbling fingers of guilt nudged his subconscious. Okay, so he was disappointed, but he didn't exactly have room to talk. How many times had he dashed out on Harry, or cancelled at the last minute because baby Smith or baby Jones had decided they were ready to make their grand entrance. He could hardly complain the first time Harry had to work late. Micah quickly typed out his response and chuckled softly as he pressed send, imagining the blush that would undoubtedly fill Harry's cheeks when he read it.
You'd better make it up to me. And I know just how you can do it. Love you, too.
Harry's short and sweet response was a blushing smiley face and Micah laughed out loud. He knew Harry Boyd IV far too well.
"What's so funny?" Myrna asked, a tray of mugs balanced on the tray she carried into the staff room. She rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me. I can guess. Harry taking you somewhere nice for dinner?"
"He was," Micah said, pulling his jacket out of his locker and then shrugging it on. "But he's got a job come in and is going to be huddled over the computer all night." He mock-gasped and slapped a hand dramatically to his cheek. "Who knew the world of web design could be fraught with such excitement?"
"Why does that gorgeous boy put up with you?" Myrna filled the small washing-up bowl with water and immersed the mugs in the soapy water.
"Because I give good head," Micah countered with barely a pause, side-stepping Myrna's well-aimed smack and laughing at the disapproving expression on her face. Myrna's prudishness was well known at the clinic and often utilised to amuse the rest of the staff. Luckily she accepted she was a prude and took their good-natured ribbing with a pinch of salt.
"Get out," Myrna said with an admonishing glare. "Go on, before I wash your mouth out with this Fairy Liquid."
"That'll only increase my secret fairy powers." Micah couldn't resist having the last word as he blew her a kiss and ducked out of the room before she could respond.
Outside in the car park, he fished around in his pocket for his car keys, a fond smile curving his lips as it always did when he saw Fiona waiting for him patiently under the big oak tree in the corner. Although his smile slipped a little as he neared her and noted the splodges of white on her roof. He growled up at the gently swaying branches and wondered, not for the first time, why he still parked her under the bloody thing!
Micah unlocked the driver's door and slid behind the wheel, breathing the familiar smell of old leather and vanilla air freshener. He sighed contentedly. No matter what jibe his mother, Sarah or even Harry threw at her, Fiona was still the only girl for him and he wouldn't part with her for all the tea in China. He started the engine and pointed Fiona in the direction of home. If Harry wa
s working, what was he going to do with himself? He didn’t really fancy cooking for one. A smile curved his lips. Oh yes—he knew exactly where he was going.
The journey passed quickly enough, especially with the CD player pumping out old eighties tunes, and Micah parked the car in its usual spot. He climbed out and slammed the driver’s door, then locked it behind him. Of course, he couldn’t resist a quick glance across the road at Lilac Cottage as he walked up the path—he was only human—but dragged his gaze away to open the front door.
He stepped into the hall and nudged the door closed before trudging towards the kitchen. “Mum?” he called, pausing to peek around the open living-room door as he walked past. “Mum?”
“I’m in here!”
Micah strode purposefully into the kitchen and administered a smacking kiss to his mother’s cheek where she sat at the kitchen table, poring over her newspaper's crossword puzzle. “Thirteen down is occupational,” he said, pinching a biscuit from the half-empty open packet on the table and flopped down onto the chair opposite her.
“I knew that,” Jenny said, shooting him a disgruntled glare. “What are you doing here?”
“Charmin’,” Micah replied as he leaned back in his seat. “You wander in and out of my house as you please and I’m not allowed to say a word, but I walk into yours and I get ‘what are you doing here?’ I’m your baby boy, do I need a reason?”
Jenny’s gaze narrowed as she stared at him. “Harry working late?”
“Maybe.”
“Thought so.” Jenny folded her newspaper and tossed it across the table to him. “Ham, egg and chips?” She didn’t even wait for an answer, simply pushed back her chair and walked to the fridge to begin dinner.