Dearest Milton James

by N.R. Walker

He spoke with such authority and certainty, I was beginning to think he’d rattled some kink cage in my brain that found daddy-teachers hot.

A cardigan, Malachi. In no definition under any circumstances is that sexy. Except it kinda was . . .

“So what’s Mr Pollard’s story?” I asked, ever so smoothly. “Mr Pollard?” Mr Brown. Mr Sexy Beige. “Uh, Julian.”

Holy shit, was he gay? My internal-me was banging on the side of my gaydar because there seemed to have been a glitch.

He followed my line of sight, turning side-on, giving me a wonderful view of his neck and sexy ear. When the fuck had ears become sexy? Get a grip, Malachi.

“No. Unfortunately my standards exceed the availability pool. It’s been that way for a while now.”

but H&M sent a notification to my phone that said two tops for the price of one, and believe me, that was not the case.”

Dear brain, Please disengage all talking operations. Actually, just shut down all mouth functionality. Cease all operations. Error 404, file not found, something to make it stop. I’d even take a fatal error, blue screen of death right now . . .

Cherry was my favourite. Her introverted goth matched my extroverted rainbow like two sides of one coin.

“Hey. You wanted to see me?” Julian nodded, finishing his mouthful of cake. He pushed his plate away, licked his lips, and smiled. “Come in.” I was gonna need a minute to save that mental imagery masterpiece.

His smile produced a dimple. A fucking dimple. Okay then. Hang up my lilac boots and cover me in carnations. It’s all over for me. Then, because I wasn’t dead enough, the fucker took off his glasses. He just took them off and slid them onto his desk like he took out a machete and cut me in half. That’s how dead I was. He mowed me down in my fucking seat.

“How are you at keeping secrets?” I sat forward, eyes wide, excited. “Absolutely terrible. Do not tell me anything.”

“You can read them in here.” His tone was his boss voice, deeper and final. My inner twink-who-wants-a-daddy sat up and took notice.

I might look a little feisty on the outside, but I am complete marshmallow on the inside.” He seemed to find that amusing. “Feisty marshmallow. Got it.”

“I cherish every moment with you, though every touch is bittersweet knowing they are numbered.”

Actually, overthinking and making mountains out of molehills were the two things I did best.

Malachi, enjoy working on the letters with Julian, enjoy having fun and flirty conversations for the sake of being fun and flirty and nothing else. Easy peasy. And absolutely one hundred per cent go to bed and watch some porn while thinking of Julian and orgasm so hard you almost black out. That was the plan. And that was exactly what I did.

“So what happened between you and Julian last night?” I almost spat out my first sip. “What? Nothing. Why?” She took her cup from the cupboard, smiling like she knew some delicious secret. “Because he’s wearing blue.” I blinked. “What?” “Mr Brown, Mr Beige, Mr Every Shade of Taupe That Exists is wearing blue.” “Blue?”

“Your smile is a little frightening. Could you turn the wattage down a bit? I have sensitive retinas.”

“Sorry. You know, nervous rambling, grandmaster level. Seldom few achieve it.”

He looked two parts concerned, four parts amused, a billion parts sexy as fuck. I never was any good at maths.

“Nemo’s going to be so disappointed that it was never delivered,” I replied. I was about to suggest he check the address 42 Wallaby Way but thankfully my brain stopped me.

The only reason I didn’t have a hard-on right now was because my brain had short-circuited from the rest of my body. 404 Error. Erection Not Found.

he was coming to my place to . . . do the dishes and maybe some vacuuming. Which, if you haven’t caught up yet, was code for dinner and making out.

There was no doubt about it. He was one hundred per cent in charge and I fucking loved it.

“Can you see me without your glasses?” He smiled. “Yes. You’re the most beautiful blur I’ve ever seen.”

I gave him back his glasses and took his hand and kissed his palm. “But you’re incredibly good at kissing. If I could leave a Yelp review, it’d be five stars, would totally recommend, will hopefully be doing it again soon.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead against mine. “God, tell me to leave. I don’t want to go, but if I don’t go now, I will take you to bed.” “Well, that’s not a very good argument for me to tell you to leave.”

I wanted him to look after me. His strong arms, his gentle touch. To eat dinner with me, to watch TV with me, to laugh and talk with me, then to whisper in my ear all the filthy things he wanted to do to me. God, I wanted that. I wanted him to use my body like a sex toy. He was what I wanted.

Was he a teacher? No. Did he look like one? Yes. Did I want afternoon detention with him? Hell yes. I would even argue that maybe he could bring back the cane just so he’d spank me . . .

Stroke your cock for me.” My cock? God, I forgot I even had one . . .

“Forever, Malachi.” “Hmm, my second favourite F-word.” He laughed. “Get to work.” I grinned. “Yes, boss.”