12. Nikos

12

NIKOS

If I could prove to Honey that I trusted him, giving him my credit card and sending him into Harrods was certainly one way. I told him to buy himself a new outfit - something that was smart but casual, essentially reading off the dress code for the private dinner I had quickly booked from the back of the car for later that evening.

Honey refused me at first, as I knew he would. His hesitation was cute. Endearing. But what wasn't cute was the obscene amount of money sitting in my current account. Money that deserved to be spent by someone good.

If I could've gone in with him, I would've. I hardly imagine a baseball hat and sunglasses would be a sufficient disguise in a place like Harrods. And as I'd put it earlier - in bad taste - Oli is my dirty little secret. So I wait for him in the car, my driver taking the opportunity for a quick nap in the front. The main streets are packed, so I keep the blacked-out window rolled all the way up.

If anyone was to notice Nikos Ridge waiting outside of Harrods in a parked car, it would elicit questions.

For the next forty-five minutes, I scroll social media, learning more about the man I've put all my trust into. It isn't hard to find him. After searching Sky High Press's about me page, I find out Oli's surname. Oliver Cane. I can't help but chuckle. Cane, like the sugar variety. He really was as sweet as Honey.

Sweet enough to rot my teeth and make me thank him for it.

Typing his name into Instagram doesn't pull him up. Instead, I resort to searching Sky High Press's followers, putting together different combinations of his name until, ding ding, I find him.

@Oli.Loves.Books.4.Life.

My chuckle becomes a full-blown laugh that spreads a warmth across my chest and down my limbs. I open up his page to find a handful of pictures, all mainly - as I could've guessed - about books. Reviews, recommendations, and aesthetic mood-boards of his current reads.

His page gives nothing else away about him. Carefully curated, I get the impression that he cares about his appearance both online and off. But as I'm about to close the app, I click on his tagged photos.

I've struck gold the moment the screen changes. Instead of pictures of books, these photos are more real-life action shots of Oli with friends. I recognise Megan instantly, her bright smile and glittering eyes the very same as what she used on Selina today. I quickly check her page, see she's posted a story, and view it.

There she is, my Selina, smiling into a camera. I pocket the knowledge that Selina and Megan are out tonight, knowing I'll ask my manager more about it tomorrow.

Going back to the tagged photos, I scroll, drinking in the photos of Oli. He's attractive in every single one, no matter the angle or filter. There's even a photo of him with what must be cream on his nose. He's holding two strawberries up on either side of his cheeks and pulling a ridiculous face.

My first thought is how I want to lick the cream off him and make him feed me those very strawberries. My second thought is who posts such an intimate photo? I click on the name of the account - @GeoffBigRacks, and it takes me to a private account. No information to glean. I go back again to the tagged photos and notice lots of images further down of this Geoff and Oli.

Something uncomfortable stirs in my gut, like jealousy maybe? No doubt this is some old boyfriend, although the most recent photo of them is only three months ago, and the oldest goes back almost six years.

A boyfriend. Or an ex.

I'm highlighting Geoff's name, ready to stalk the internet for more information, when my driver straightens and the door to my side clicks open.

‘Miss me?' Honey says, breathless and straining against two large orange bags he's hoisting into the middle seat.

‘I did,' I reply, pocketing the phone with a half-typed-out name in my search bar. ‘How did you get on?'

‘Hell on earth.' Oli practically flops onto the seat, quickly closing the door behind him. He brings a waft of perfume with him. It is not as sweet as he usually smells, but still alluring. Although I realise then that I prefer the Oli before he is spoiled by vendors selling rich scents to rich people. ‘Never ask me to do something like that again.'

He hands me back my card, which I hardly care for. ‘Well, next time don't forget your keys.'

‘Are you suggesting there will be a next time, Adonis?'

Back to the nicknames then. I see.

‘As I said, that depends on if you forget your keys again.'

Honey pulls a contemplative face. ‘I really don't forget things though. I'm sure I had them in my bag pocket. I'm usually fastidious about putting things into the same places every time. I've never done this before. It's all the excitement of the…situation, I think.' He bites his lip.

I lay a hand on his knee because he's clearly distressed, and I hate to see him like that. ‘No worries. That's an issue for tomorrow. Tonight, we have fun.'

‘If what you have planned is anything like what I've just been through, I think I won't make it through the night.'

I squeeze his knee, wanting to do more than that but hyper-aware of the driver waiting for my signal to drive to the next stop. Luckily, the car is soundproof. All my driver knows is I'm taking out a long-distance friend out for dinner. Unless I fuck Honey in the back of the car - which is certainly something I want to do, but won't - the driver won't know any different.

‘Do you trust me, Honey?' I ask.

‘Do I have a choice, Adonis?'

I shake my head, eyeing the bags of clothing he'd just brought. ‘Traffic depending, we have twenty minutes until we reach the next stop. I'd start getting changed if I was you.'

‘Here?' he squeaks.

I gesture to the door. ‘If you'd like, you can step outside and strip off. Although, I'd prefer if you do it for me and me alone to see.'

Honey narrows his eyes on me as his lips quirk into a smirk. ‘Are you going to be a respectful man and turn away?'

‘Sure,' I say, turning my back on him, but catching the near perfect reflection in the blacked-out window. I catch eyes with Oli, whose smirk is so delicious I want to clean it off with my tongue. ‘Better?'

‘You're a fucking nightmare, Adonis.'

‘You have no idea.'

The waitress guides us through the kitchens to a small room at the back of one of London's most prestigious restaurants. Under the guise of a ‘meeting with my publicist', she doesn't question why Nikos Ridge is out having a meal with another man. Nor do I sense any second thoughts in her eyes. Clearly, she's far too enamoured with me to even contemplate the possibility that I would fancy a man.

Plus, the light dose of flirting certainly throws her off the scent. Flirting that doesn't go unnoticed by my date.

‘She was so red I thought she was going to explode,' Honey says as I pull back his chair and beckon for him to sit.

‘What can I say? I have that effect on people.'

Honey scoffs to himself, making the chair creak against the floor as he tucks himself in. ‘I hate to pop that arrogant bubble of yours, Adonis, but you don't have that effect on me.'

‘Are you jealous?'

‘No,' he says too quickly.

‘Then you're a liar,' I reply, taking me seat opposite him. ‘Because your cheeks are practically on fire right now.'

Honey lifts a hand to his cheeks, fumbling for an excuse as to why he's now the red-faced one. ‘I'm warm, that's all.'

He isn't wrong. The small room we're sitting in only has enough room for the both of us. The round table is set in the heart, surrounded by walls covered in Italian memorabilia. I imagine this is some museum showcasing the owner's love for their Nona. Portraits of a stout looking woman with white hair and a toothless smile are waiting beside fake lemon trees in pots and bags of pasta.

Selina is the one who spoke favourably about this restaurant, saying the food was as authentic as you'd get if you ate in Sicily itself. With two Michelin stars, the family who runs the restaurant has kept the love and pride in what they do for over twenty years. It only took five minutes to call in a favour and get a private table for the night.

‘I hope you don't mind, but I've pre-ordered the food.'

Honey's brows raise into his hairline. ‘Arrogant, and a control freak, that's what that says about you.'

‘Careful,' I say, leaning over the table as if I could make it vanish and kiss him. ‘If you continue stroking my ego, I might be forced to stroke something of yours.'

‘Are you trying to make me forget about your comments earlier?' Honey asks. ‘Because it's going to take more than meatballs, limoncello, and tiramisu to make it up to me.'

‘We have all night,' I reply. ‘I think I'll be successful come morning.'

Oli takes a moment to silently study me, drinking me in just as I am with him. He bought a black velvet blazer, a loose white shirt, and fitted jeans with my credit card. He looks handsome, yes. But not like Oli - nothing like the man I find endearing in his knitted jumpers and faded Doc Martins. I'm not sure I like this dressed-up version of him - he doesn't seem like himself.

The first course hasn't been brought out yet, and I'm already contemplating taking the clothes off him, burning them, and forcing him back into the clothes he actually wanted to wear, not what he thought I'd like him in.

Truth is, I'd prefer him with nothing on.

‘What are we doing, Nikos?' Oli's question comes out of almost nowhere.

‘Having fun,' I reply as if that's good enough of an answer. ‘Enjoying each other's company.'

There's a faint hint of sadness in his tone as he asks the next question. ‘Whilst we can?'

‘I'm in London until the end of the week. I thought we could…get to know each other. Make some memories, before I go back to reality and you…'

‘Stay behind in my reality.' Oli shuffles in his seat. ‘So this thing between us is simply to pass the time.'

There's a sinking feeling in my stomach that I don't quite understand. ‘Why, did you expect something more?'

He shakes his head, hair falling over his eye. I long to reach over and brush it back, not wanting anything obscuring his beautiful heart-shaped face. ‘No. No I didn't. I guess it's just good to set some boundaries, right? To… protect ourselves.'

‘Protect ourselves from what?'

‘Feelings.'

A shiver passes over my skin. ‘Yes, ok. I think that's smart.'

‘I'm not saying you're even capable of catching feelings, and I know I'm not ready to either. But if we just lay out the groundwork, set the parameters of what this is, then it will make things clear cut. Black and white. No risks.'

I lean back in my seat, already hating where this conversation is going, but knowing it's necessary. ‘I've never been one to follow rules, so please, take the lead.'

I swear I can hear Honey swallow. ‘Ok. So, tonight is an exception, but no more dates. No more doing nice things together that might jeopardise our feelings.'

‘Are you feeling… jeopardised now?'

I hope you are.

‘No. This meal… is a business meeting, right? I mean, that's what you told the waitress.'

‘It can be whatever you want.'

‘No, it can't.'

I stop for a moment, noticing the clear hurt in Oli's eyes. I want to ask why he's hurt, but he diverts his gaze away to the knife and fork in front of him and starts to fiddle with them.

‘I have an idea,' I start, which makes Oli look back at me. ‘Why don't we fuck the rules. We don't need them. We're two men enjoying each other's company for a few days. If you don't want to see me again after tonight, you simply need to say the word. I'll respect that. We both know nothing will work between us anyway, and I don't want you to feel used.'

He looks at me through those devilishly long lashes and I swear his next words make me instantly hard. ‘What if I want to be used? If only for a few days?'

‘Why?'

‘A way to take my mind of my reality, whilst you are clearly escaping the responsibilities of yours.'

‘Touché,' I reply, spreading my knees out beneath the table to allow for more room between my thighs for my very hard dick.

‘So we have a plan?' Oli asks.

‘Sounds like we do.'

In what I swear is an attempt to prove that he isn't overthinking something, Oli looks me dead in the eye, picks up his fork, and drops it on the ground.

‘Oops,' he whispers.

The fork clatters to the floor and slides to a stop beneath my boot. His chair screeches as he pushes back and crawls under the table to retrieve it.

I don't even have it in me to stop him.

Because as he disappears beneath the white cloth draped over the table, he sees my hand, grasping my cock, trying to ease the blood out of it.

‘Are you…hard?' Oli's muffled voice comes from beneath the table.

‘You caught me,' I admit. ‘Whatever you're doing, I'm here for it. Go on."

I can't see him, which only entices the excitement to burn hotter. I half-expect Oli to pick up his fork and climb back onto his seat despite my entreaty, but what happens next makes me call out.

Oli replaces my hand with his. In seconds, the button of my trousers is undone, and the zip pulled down. With the ease of a trained professional, he pulls out my throbbing member and places his wet lips around the tip.

‘Fuck me,' I groan as the sudden pleasure overwhelms me. I lean back in the chair, head falling back so I'm looking at the ceiling.

I feel his lips pull off my cock. ‘Is this the type of fun you were expecting?' Oli asks.

I can't see him, but I can already tell his eyes are glittering with mischief. His cool breath works against the moisture on my cock, his tongue likely half an inch away from it.

‘Yes,' I mumble, threading my fingers in his hair. I pull enough that he must feel the tension across his scalp whilst I blindly guide him back to my cock. It's in his mouth in moments, his tongue swirling circles around my length, his hand cupping both my balls.

I haven't cum in days, and I swear I'm seconds from bursting. It isn't going to take much for me to finish if Oli continues like this.

His spare hand wraps around my cock, moving up and down as he follows the rhythm of his mouth. His breathy moan tell me that he's enjoying the dribble of pre-cum that seeps out of my tip.

So much for an appetiser.

In the spirit of appetisers, the door swings open and in walks the waitress. She pauses at the door for a moment, noticing the empty chair Oli had sat in. She's carrying two bowls of the lemon-infused consommé I ordered.

‘Oh, sorry, Mr. Ridge. Would you prefer I come back when your friend returns to the table?'

My ‘friend' is currently under the table, sucking my cock. The little devil doesn't even pause his sucking at the waitress's entry. He continues to ravish me whilst she stands before me, completely ignorant of what's going on two feet away from her.

‘You can - leave them here.' I say, gasping as Oli grazes his teeth down my shaft. ‘I'll be - he'll be finished in a moment.'

She smiles, clearly assuming Oli's stepped out to take a call or something of the like, and quickly deposits the bowls on the table and leaves. By the time the door closes, I burst in Oli's mouth, depositing days' worth of cum into his cheeks. This time I'm confident I hear him swallow, but for a completely different reason.

By the time he takes his seat, hair dishevelled from my grip on him, lips pink and cheeks flushed, I swear I could go again.

‘That was… you are… Honey I'm - '

‘I'd say spit it out,' Oli interrupts, laying the dropped fork on the table and picking up a spoon for the consommé. ‘But I think the comment would be in bad taste, considering…' He widens his eyes at me as I'm sat, utterly immobilised, my cock still left out of my trousers like some forgotten toy.

‘Hmmm,' Oli moans. ‘This is delicious.'

I stare at him, utterly dumfounded. ‘Yes, yes you are.'

We stay in the restaurant for hours, laughing and eating, stealing kisses between courses. It becomes a game, playing and then pretending, whenever the waitress comes in to check on us, that we're nothing more than business associates. By the time we leave, Oli is yawning. It's no surprise he's asleep with his head on my shoulder as my driver takes us back to my hotel.

I truly believe nothing can ruin the night, until my phone vibrates in my pocket. I draw it out quickly, not wanting the noise to wake him. He's so peaceful when he sleeps, with the light smile that's plastered across his face.

I cancel the incoming call before checking the number. A few moments later another buzz warns me that I've received a voicemail. It isn't until then that I noticed the withheld number and know exactly who's just tried to call me.

My father. Haunting me in the moments of my life when I've found the most peace. The shadow that never leaves me alone.

Dread slips down my spine at what his voicemail could say. I wish I was strong enough to ignore it, pretend he never just tried to call, put this off until tomorrow. But I'm weak. I can't ignore it.

I click on the icon for the voicemail, lift the phone to my ear, and listen.

‘Hello, son.' His voice is deep and gravelly, a result of years of smoking. For as long as I can remember, he's sounded like this. It's a voice that should make me calm and happy, and yet it only creates dread in me.

‘I'm disappointed you have not reached out to me yet, after seeing each other all those nights ago. I've been patiently waiting for you to get in touch regarding what it was I need, but I can't say I'm surprised that you are choosing this moment to ignore me. You are on a high in life right now, and as your father I'm so very proud to see. But more so than ever, you have a lot to lose, which is why I'm so surprised you've not called or texted. So, since I've been the one to reach out, I think it's safe to say that you know exactly what I need. I'll give you a couple of weeks to arrange the necessary details, but if you want me to keep quiet about what you did, another hundred thousand is going to need to hit my bank account. Otherwise, I'll talk. And with so much on the line for you, I imagine you really don't want the truth getting out. Just think about what it would do to you. I'd really hate to see all your hard work… jeopardised.'

I feel the sudden urge to vomit. I can't breathe. With the phone held to my ear, my father's breathing sounding through the voicemail, I long to open the car door and throw myself out.

It takes a few seconds for my father to speak again.

‘Two weeks, son. I'll give you time. I still love you, even after what you did. Remember that.'

The message ends with a beep.

I lower the phone, my body and mind numb to the world. Oli stirs on my shoulder, his breathing pattern shifting. I'm desperate for him to wake up so I can take my mind off my father's threat.

That was what it was. A threat and a promise.

All my career he's held my secret over me, like the blade of a guillotine. I'm completely powerless to fight against him. But I knew this was going to happen eventually. Deep down, I knew he would never be satisfied.

That was why I took on this film. To get the money to pay him off, and hope he's satisfied enough that he stops asking for more. Because when I return to New York, I have no desire to ever work again. No need to work for more money that my father could chase after me for.

I pocket my phone, knowing this isn't a game I'm going to play for much longer.

He can tell the world my secret for all I care. By the time they find out, I'll be long gone. With no career to speak of, I won't have anything for him to threaten.

Two weeks. Two weeks to pretend. To play this game I've fallen into. Then it will all be over. For Oli, for me, for my father - for everyone.

If I had the ability to call my father back, tell him to fuck himself and fuck his threats, I would. But that isn't how this works. The only means I have to contact him is putting a message in the transaction notes from the bank when I wire money to him. Shame, then, that in two weeks, he won't be getting what he wants. He'll never be hearing from me again.