Chapter Three

Lucas

T he waiter was the high point of the night. Maybe the high point of my whole fucking year. Some smooth talking bastard on Grindr had left me here high and dry when I’d rather be at home in my PJs. And instead of creeping away with my tail between my legs like the sad bastard I was, I was enjoying a slap up meal for one in one of the most exclusive restaurants in London. Being waited on by the most attractive waiter I had ever seen in my life.

He’s too young for you.

Yeah, and I’m just looking, aren’t I? I’ve still got a pulse, thanks very much. I didn’t ask him to sit on my cock.

Not yet, you didn’t. But you will.

Shut up.

I scowled at the mental dialogue that never went away. Always that fucking voice on my shoulder telling me I was waste of time, a failure, an imposter, that everyone thought I was a dick. I was here alone, like I always was, so it had to be right, didn’t it?

In the early days, my vice president, Adam, had encouraged me to be seen at photo shoots with models. He thought photos of me and them would look good, that me being visible was all for the benefit of the company. He wanted me to trade on my face. That was until I realised what some of the models were like. I was horrified at some of the propositions. Men offering me a blow job as soon as I’d shaken their hand. Pouting when I declined as though I was being rude.

Then the incident had happened. The one that still haunted my nightmares, still made me feel powerless and impotent, like a little boy again, not a grown man.

Adam didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go on a shoot again after that. I told him it just took one model to make up some tale about me and plaster it over social media and I could be up on sexual assault charges. Ruined. I had seen it happen many times and I had seen CEOs take advantage of their position to get all the arse they wanted. I’ve never taken advantage of anyone and never would. He didn’t understand. He thought I should take what was being offered on a plate as a perk of the job. I’ve never told him the real reason.

I started to hide away at home even more after that. When the business got really big, the invitations to this dinner and that opening flooded in and I nearly always issued a polite no unless it was for charity. It left me with no social life, not that I’ve ever had one, but I’m most happy alone. Still, a man has needs, so I turned to Grindr. What a mistake that was. I had a couple of mutual wanking sessions on the phone, then one of them asked to take me out. I said no, but he insisted. And here I was. Obviously he must have been at home laughing to himself right about now over the gullible bastard who thought he was getting a Christmas Eve date.

I finished my meal and laid down my cutlery. It was really good but so it should have been for the price. I drank some water and dabbed my mouth. Alex materialised at my table out of nowhere.

“Have you finished?”

“Yes, thanks.” I looked up at him as he took the plate. He really was astonishing to look at. Shorter than me, maybe five eleven, with a lean, toned body, very smart in black trousers and white shirt with bow tie. His hair was dark brown, thick and tousled, held in check from his face by styling product. His face was pale, freckled over the bridge of his upturned nose and very, very beautiful. His eyes were the colour of sherry. I wondered if he had ever thought about modelling. He was hands down better looking than any one of those guys modelling my underwear on billboards.

“Can I get you a dessert menu?”

I wavered. I had a sweet tooth that I tried to keep in check. He was smiling like he knew. “There’s a vegan chocolate soufflé that’s to die for,” he said. “And it is Christmas.”

I pulled my face. “Stop reminding me.” I didn’t need to think about tomorrow.

“Sorry.” He hovered. I looked at him. Our gazes held for the longest time and I drowned in his eyes. Like amber with sparks of gold. “So,” he said, “shall I bring you the menu?”

“Yes.” I was going to get fat, but if it meant staying here longer with him, I’d have a dessert. Then maybe coffee. And a liqueur. Until I was pissed as a fart and they got sick of me and threw me out.

He grinned and my heart clenched. “Coming right up.” I watched him retreat and tried not to look at his pert little arse. It was Christmas Eve, I was on my own, and it was the best night of my life.

He returned in two ticks with the menu. Then he hovered again. “Shall I wait or…” I wondered if he was so ill at ease with other customers. Was he like this because he fancied me maybe? I glanced at the desserts but they were all a blur because my cock was stirring like a long dormant beast and it gave me a sweet little ache.

“I’ll take that one that you said.”

“The soufflé?”

“Yes, that one.” I didn’t care. I watched him tap his iPad. His fingers were long and slender. I imagined them wrapped around my cock. Fuck. I wondered what he was like when he was coming. What sounds would he make? I had an image of him on his back, his legs around me, me driving into him and watching the fireworks as he spilt cum over his belly. I shifted in my chair as my dick pressed against my zip.

He looked at me for another moment. “Coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like some coffee after that?”

“Yes, er…” I looked at the menu again but it seemed to be written in a foreign language. My cock was throbbing. I wanted to pull him onto my lap. “Do you have oat milk?”

“Of course.”

“Then a latte with oat milk. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” He tapped again and inclined his head like I was the king before he walked away.

I followed his progress across the room. I saw the bar man wink at him as he walked past and my stomach plummeted instantly with mortification. They were laughing at me. The lecherous middle-aged businessman perving over the young waiters. He had chatted me up to get a good tip. My heart sank into the ground and I was consumed with misery.