Fuzzy (2 page)

"Umm... do it some more? Yeah, that's good." The wool was soft, warm and silky, and it felt like heaven wrapped round my dick.

Oh, Steve had such a smug grin on his face. I licked it off, then started to move myself. He was pretty much incapable of thrusting without horrific pain, so it was up to me to set the pace. Not that Steve didn't have something to say about that.

"Faster, Jez, faster. Yeah! Just like that!"

I kept pace with his hand, unravelling further and further until I felt Steve's lips clamp down around my nipple. I groaned, spurting all over him, but keeping going as he grabbed my hips and took control, pumping me up and down until he shouted my name and shuddered, and I felt him pulsing deep inside me.

It was a fucking mess. His dark ball of wool, all soggy and stained white, bits of the fibres sticking themselves to us as I pulled it away.

Steve chuckled. "Looks like I might have to start again."

"Yeah, I'm not wearing it like that." Even if it did bring back good memories. Which it would, anyway. That's the thing about being in love, I guess. Everything you look at reminds you of that person, and you walk around London with a huge soppy grin on your face because you've just spotted a stripy dress in a window display that's the exact same colour as Steve's favourite pair of socks.

"So what's your opinion of pom-poms?"

I stared at Steve. What on earth was he going on about now?

"Only, I was thinking it might look good with one in the middle," he said, holding up the "hat"
.

Oh God, I knew it was too much to expect Steve to turn me out something plain and boring. I mean, I love the guy, but I don't think I love him enough to walk around in a hat with a fucking pom-pom on the top. My horror at the idea must have been written all over my face.

"You're way too easy to wind up. Come here, Poppet."

He kissed me back into a smile, and I felt like my birthday had come early after all.

End

English through and through, Josephine Myles is addicted to tea and busy cultivating a reputation for eccentricity. She writes gay erotica and romance, but finds the erotica keeps cuddling up to the romance, and the romance keeps corrupting the erotica. She blames her rebellious muse but he never listens to her anyway, no matter how much she threatens him with a big stick. She's beginning to suspect he enjoys it.

Jo has been known to knit when the urge strikes her, and in her youth sported a full shock of dreads. Her resemblance to Jez and Steve ends there, however, and she'd never waste a good ball of yarn!

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