Limerence (Famous Young Things): Chapter 17

There’s an immediate rush of alarm the moment I wake up. I’m not in my bed. I’m not even in Christian’s bed. I’m in Nico fucking Savini’s bed. Savini. I lift my head and look down at him fast asleep and entirely naked. Not some wild sex dream then; it actually happened.

It’s still dark outside but the high, un-curtained windows mean the streetlight spills in and over him. Hair the colour of wet sand is scattered over his thighs and calves. His head is turned away slightly, showing me the perfect line of a sharp jaw and a full lower lip. A thick row of dark eyelashes rests on high cheekbones. I stare at him far longer than I’ll ever admit to.

Climbing carefully out of bed, I locate my clothes and mobile so I can check the time. 4:46am. I’ve four missed calls: two from Ava, one from Christian, and a fourth from Charlie.

Shit.

I’d left Christian panicking. I’d told him not to worry about Savini and that I’d talk to him, make sure he keeps to himself what he walked in on. Well, that had been the plan. The plan certainly had not been to have him fuck my brains out.

SCD:

Did you speak with him? Call me tomorrow and let me know if there is going to be a problem.

I look over at Nico again. I’m pretty certain he isn’t going to tell anyone what he saw in the conference room; he doesn’t seem the type to spread gossip. I debate texting Christian back now, but I need time to concoct something to explain my disappearance last night. I certainly won’t be telling him about this little sexcapade.

I tell myself it’s because I can’t handle the look on his face when he finds out he was right about my attraction to Nico, but deep down, I suspect it’s for another reason altogether.

There’s a voice note from Ava from just after midnight that I can’t bring myself to listen to right now. I’m not prepared to hear her voice yet. Not while I can still feel the afterburn of Nico’s cock inside me. I go to pee, and I read her messages instead:

Bestie:

where the fuck are you? We’re going dancing.

Did you go home with C?

We’re going to Flo’s – meet us there if you fancy it later.

Charlie has also sent me one.

Chaz:

Sorry about earlier. I’m a fucking idiot. X There’s a moment of confusion before I remember. Charlie kissed me. Before the show, he kissed me.

Christ, what a fucking mess.

I drag a hand over my face and then through my hair as I stare into the mirror. The urge to put my clothes on and sneak out before he wakes up is strong. But there’s another, stronger urge. Maybe it makes me a piece of shit. Maybe it makes me a terrible friend too. Or maybe it’s not that deep, maybe it’s just that there’s a guy in the next room who made me come harder than I can remember ever coming, and I really want him to do it again.

It doesn’t matter that it’s Nico Savini. Or rather, it doesn’t matter right now. It can be tomorrow’s problem. Or Monday’s problem. Or maybe I just don’t make it a problem at all.

If Ava never finds out, then she can never get hurt. No problem.

Fuck, that’s it.

No one will ever find out. I mean, no one even knows Savini likes men—I didn’t even know, and I knew the circumference of his fucking thigh, for Christ’s sake. This isn’t something anyone will guess. It might make things a little weird between us, sure, but they always are. Now there will just be weird sexual tension between us on top of everything else—shit, has it always been sexual tension between us? No, I hate him.

But since we’ve already done the deed, it hardly matters how many more times he makes me come, does it? It’s not like anyone will be asking for specifics. Once is just as bad (or as good) as ten times.

I wander back into the bedroom to find him in the same position I left him. How the hell did I miss the fact that he likes men? Was I too caught up in animosity and resentment to notice it? My gaydar never misses. I can smell a bi-curious guy from a fucking distance, usually. So what happened here? What’s his story?

It’s complicated.

Maybe it is.

It isn’t my business anyway; I just sort of hate that he surprised me. That he pleasantly surprised me. It makes me wonder what other secrets he’s keeping and whether I’ve even scratched the surface of Nicoló Savini.

Glancing down at his cock, soft under the pale grey bedsheet, I’m struck with a sudden, shocking need to have it in my mouth. I kneel on the bed between his legs and peel the sheet back gently. He doesn’t flinch, still deeply asleep. The sight of it there, soft and thick against his hairy thigh, makes my mouth water, and I lean in and lick across the head. He doesn’t wake. He’s salty against my tongue, that very particular taste which I never get tired of. His balls are large and hot against my face, and I drag my tongue over these too. The moment I suck him into my mouth he shifts, letting out a soft groan from somewhere in his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes.

Christ, he looks good from this angle. All legs and defined abs and acres of lightly tanned skin. I take hold of my own cock as I switch from sucking to suckling and back again. He begins to grow inside my mouth, filling out against my lips, and the sweet tang of precum bursts across my tongue. He groans again and then his eyes are open and he’s looking down at me like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

“Is this okay?” I ask, letting him slip from my mouth.

“Waking up to you doing that is several leagues above ‘okay.’”

With a smile, I suck him back in, jerking myself off a little harder.

“Let me watch you,” he says, gesturing toward my hand. I’m still kneeling between his legs, so I stop sucking to reposition myself so that I’m sprawled out at a right angle from his body. This gives him a perfect view of my cock and my hand, fisting it.

I go back to sucking again and Nico lifts one hand to rest it behind his head, using the other to stroke my hair. It’s a gentle caress, tender almost. There’d been a moment earlier, too, when he was fucking me missionary, where there’d been this soft look in his eyes, all deep and intense. I couldn’t stand it. I guess he’s one of those people who likes eye contact when he’s fucking—which I suppose I could have guessed at since he’s an intense sort of guy. It’s just not really my cup of tea, personally.

His fingers continue to sift through my hair, grazing my ear, flicking over the earring. This makes me tremble because my ears and feet are the most sensitive parts of my body. I’m rock hard now, as is he, and part of me wants to stop sucking and climb onto his cock and ride him until I come, but I started this, and I really want to feel him come down my throat too.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly. I almost choke on his cock because it sounds sincere. Too sincere. I decide to just go with it.

“Yeah?” I give him my most charming smile. “Thank you.”

He smiles back and continues to stroke my ear.

“I really like seeing my cock in your mouth.”

“Mmm, well I really like having it in there.”

“Look at me, Felix,” he says, and I do. He grazes a thumb over my cheekbone in a feather-soft circle, and that, coupled with the look in his eye, makes my chest feel very strange. “Keep my cock in your mouth—don’t suck it—and make yourself come.”

Oh, shit.

I lift off so I can check. “You’re telling me not to suck your cock?”

“For right now, yeah. Just hold it in your mouth.”

It does something to me: the low-spoken command, the look in his eye—hungry and domineering—the quick way his breath is coming.

I do as I’m told and close my mouth around it, breathing through my nose as I start to twist my hand over my cock. The quiet intimacy of the moment is intense, and it’s hard to meet his eye, but again, in a low commanding voice, that fuck me is so hot, he says, “Eyes on mine, Felix.”

It’s hard to disobey him like this. It feels like I’m being peeled raw, goosebumps rising all over my body as his cock leaks and pulses in my mouth. It happens so quickly it steals my breath, my orgasm rushing through me, and I have to pull off so I can get air into my lungs. I spill over my hand and stomach, relief and pleasure shuddering through me in warm waves. The moment my thoughts clear enough to think, I take his cock back into my mouth and slurp at it ravenously. He’s still hard.

“Can I fuck you again?” he asks.

“Yes fucking please.”

“Now?”

“No, next week. Of course fucking now.” I clamber up and then over his legs. “But let me do the work.” There’s a condom and lube on the bedside he brought in earlier—the fact he keeps these in his bathroom not his bedroom says he doesn’t sleep around—and I hand him one as I reach for the lube.

“Use this,” he says and swipes his hand through the cum on my chest, sucking one finger into his mouth. I blink at him, stunned. How can Nico Savini be this hot and this filthy?

With a smirk, I scoop up the rest of my climax with my hand and smear it over his covered cock, then rise up on my knees, position him at my hole, and sink down.

“Christ,” I gasp. I’m still open from earlier, and his hot, thick cock slots far too nicely inside me. “How do you feel this good?”

He smiles, looking like he’s just been given a gold star, nodding in encouragement as I begin to move. When I lean back on his thighs and begin to really fuck him, I can see the struggle on his face. He wants to grab me and pound up, but he resists, resting his hands on my thighs instead. From here, the eye contact feels less intimate, less intense, but I have the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Unfortunately, I’d learned earlier that he’s an incredible kisser and it feels like years since I’ve felt his mouth on me. I fall forward and onto his mouth, licking and sucking and breathing into it as I continue to thrust.

“That’s it,” he says before reaching up to grip my chin and hold my head in place. “Open your mouth,” he says. I know what he’s going to do before he does it, and I almost groan. It’s one of my fiercest kinks; it always turns me on so fast and so hard. But the fact that it’s him, Nico fucking Savini, does something almost incendiary to my insides.

I open my mouth.

Savini spits directly into it and I close my eyes and groan, fucking down harder.

“Make me come with that perfect pussy,” he says. “Go on. You can do it.”

I can do it. I know I can. As he holds my throat gently, I lift and drop over and over until I hear the shift in his breathing. He wraps a hand around my neck and pulls my head down to kiss me again, deep long strokes of his tongue as I ride him out to his orgasm. When he comes it’s loud and forceful, and he bites down on my lip hard enough to tear flesh.

On his final thrust up, he hits my prostate, making me yelp out and fist his hair as I chase the sensation again. When I feel his body go soft under me, I fall onto him, panting. He strokes the nodes of my spine with the pads of his fingers.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he says after a moment. His voice is wrecked.

“I’m insulted you sound surprised about it.”

He’s quiet a moment. “Are you ever not confident about anything?”

This sounds very much like a conversation, and not one I particularly want to have with his cock inside me. So, I move back and he slips out. Then I settle beside him as he pulls off the condom and discards it by the bed.

“Lots of things,” I say when it’s clear he’s waiting for an answer.

“For example…”

“I can’t cook very well. Or, at all really. I mean, I burn baked beans. Ava does most of the cooking at home.” Then I feel like shit because I don’t feel as guilty as I should about this if I can just bring her up in conversation.

“How long have you lived together?”

“Pretty much since I came back from St. Petersburg. So, like three and a half years.”

“You care about her a lot.” It’s not a question.

“I love her like a sister, yeah.”

He nods. “Which is why you warned me not to hurt her.”

That and some other reason I refuse to look directly at right now.

Instead, I say, “If it makes you feel better, I say it to every guy she brings home. To any guy. It’s probably why she’s so unflinchingly single.”

He nods again and goes very still and quiet beside me.

“If you’re confused about your sexuality or whatever, that’s cool. But keep Ava out of it.” I say it as threateningly as I can given I’m still coming down from two of the best orgasms of my life and I’m already thinking about a third.

He says, “I’m not confused about it.”

“Okay, well, whatever this is. You leading her on and then taking me home; it’s a mess is what it is.”

“I didn’t force you to be here, Felix.”

“No, you didn’t. And I’ll feel shit about it tomorrow, but if you’re not interested in her then tell her that. Or, if you are, then I guess there’s a decision to be made. Whether we tell her about this or not.” My preference is for not. My preference is that Ava never finds out about this. Ever.

It’s quiet for a long time until he says, very seriously, “What if I’m interested in you?”

I laugh. “Yeah, ha, okay. Very funny.”

“What’s funny about that?”

I gawp at him. “Because you fucking hate me. Because I hate you. That’s not interest, Savini, that’s something else. Some wires have gotten crossed in your brain somewhere.”

“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I’ve never hated you.” Then, he draws a long look down my body and smiles wolfishly. “And I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t hate me either.”

“Oh, no, I definitely do. That’s not even up for debate. I hate you.”

The fucker laughs at this, finds it hilarious. Still laughing, he slides out of bed and wanders, naked and glorious, to his en suite. His arse is sinful, and I wonder if he’s ever let anyone inside it. He pisses, irritatingly loudly, and then comes back with a damp cloth and hands it to me, watching avidly as I wipe my hands and stomach and between my legs.

“You danced incredibly tonight by the way,” he says, caramel eyes glittering with sincerity.

I give him a suspicious look. “You don’t need to compliment me now you’ve had your dick in me. That’s not something I need you to do.”

“Oh, I know.” He shrugs. “But I thought you should know.”

I fold the cloth and set it on the floor by my side of the bed. “Yeah, well, I already knew that.”

He shakes his head. “You’re something else.”

“I know that too.”

He contemplates me a moment, expression inscrutable. “You hungry?”

“It’s like 5am.”

“And?”

Then, like a paid actor, my stomach growls, giving him the answer he needs. He goes to his wardrobe and throws me a pair of grey sweatpants before pulling on a pair of black shorts. Not the ones he wears in rehearsal, these are looser and hang dangerously low on his hips.

“Come on, I’ll do the cooking.” He leaves me sitting on his bed as he goes to the kitchen.