Chapter 2 Oliver #2
He tried to kiss me that night, and said we should fuck. I shoved him away, because I wasn’t going to take advantage of a drugged person.
And I wasn’t going to let my first kiss be with someone who wouldn’t do it sober.
That night was the first and only time that a person had asked to fuck me. I’d wanted to hear those words so badly, for so long, yet the first time it happened it was all artificial.
No thank you.
I want my first time to be real.
Raw.
“Whatever,” I finally tell him, massaging my wrist where he held me down.
“I’m sorry for the… outburst,” he finally says, and something has shifted in his eyes. “But I don’t trust you.”
“Makes two of us.”
There’s a potent mix of guilt and bone-deep pleasure knowing that I get to look in his eyes after watching so many videos of him where he had a mask over them.
The truth is that I’m not just aware of his CamboyChaos account. I’m full-blown addicted to Niko’s cock, and I’ve never even seen it in person.
I watch every single one of his videos.
Look at his endless explicit photos.
I found his account a couple of months ago, completely by accident.
Because I always.
Know.
Too. Fucking. Much.
I recognized that it was him from one of his tattoos, and now I’ve seen him naked more times than I can count. I’ve watched him come. I’ve listened to him talk into the camera, saying how badly he needs to fill someone up, all behind the iridescent mask he wears in those videos.
And when I heard him saying he wanted to hate-fuck his former hockey rival…
I knew he was talking about me. When he said it, it was almost like he was reaching out through the screen and saying it directly to me. It made me come way too fucking hard, and afterward I was flooded with that familiar mix of deep shame and secret pleasure.
If I think too much about it I’m going to be hard for the rest of the party.
I look around, trying to focus on the carved wood above the fireplace, staring at anything other than Niko’s eyes.
A voice comes from beside us and relief floods me when I see that Noah is walking back over toward us. I feel like I’m a kid in high school again, rescued at the end of class by a dinging bell.
Noah strides over, nodding at me.
“Fuck machine. Let’s get this night back on track. I’ve got a snifter for you,” Noah says, approaching again.
Seeing Noah next to Niko is a contrast.
Noah’s style is full-blown Abercrombie, and he’s in a preppy jacket like mine. He’s clearly very drunk, and he’s going into friendly mode with Niko to try to soften the situation.
“What is a snifter?” I ask him.
Noah gestures over toward a nearby table where there’s a tray full of small glasses, all full of brown liquor. They’re a little bigger than shot glasses, but curved.
“Apple brandy. It’s aged. Rare. Hundred bucks a bottle. Take a glass.”
I down the rest of my whiskey and grab a glass of the brandy.
“Noah, I’d like to properly introduce you to Niko, our newest member,” I tell him.
Noah finally turns to Niko, holding out his hand and giving him a lopsided grin. “Was glad to hear you and your brothers found each other. Shit, you really are like Wes and Hunter, but with black hair.”
“Did you call Ollie fuck machine?” Niko asks.
Noah and all the other guys think I sleep around a lot, and no one knows the opposite is true.
I may have started the rumor myself.
In a moment of desperation, I was on a mission to begin college with something I’d never had: a reputation.
Guys like Niko and Noah are fuckboys, and being a fuckboy always means you get more action. People seem to flock to them, once they’re known for good sex.
When I secretly started the rumor about myself, the rumor was successful.
But it still hasn’t led to any actual sex.
Yet.
Noah nods at Niko. “Because Ollie is a fuck machine. He’s lucky we’re just friends, or I’d fuck him myself.”
Noah pinches my cheek like he’s some doting grandmother.
I watch Niko’s eyes follow, like he’s almost angry that someone else is touching me.
You jealous?
You want to hurt me so bad that you’re even envious of someone else pinching my cheek?
I give Noah a little shove. “Fuck machine is just a nickname that he can’t stop calling me.”
Noah laughs, squeezing his arm tighter around me. “Because nobody in the three societies can shut up about you. Was Ollie like this in high school, Niko? Rumor last week was that he fucked one guy three times in a row—”
“Noah,” I interject.
I can feel heat creeping onto my cheeks and I sip more apple brandy.
“Yo. Where’s my planner?” Noah asks, his eyes scanning the room.
“You need your planner in the middle of a party?”
“Roman just reminded me that we have to do a game of strip poker next week,” Noah says. “I need to write it down or I’ll—wait. I see it.”
Noah finally stops touching me as he points over at a table with a leather-bound planner on it.
“Grab a glass of water while you’re at it, Noah,” I call after him.
Once Niko and I are alone again in the crowd, I don’t bother to hide that I’m staring. I look him up and down, taking in his body, his tattoos, the silver necklace hanging around his neck.
He talks first.
“If you’re in Onyx Society, and I’m forced to be here too, there are only two options. We fight, or you leave me alone.”
“I think there are a few other options.”
His eyes are colder than ever.
He runs his fingers through his hair and as he moves, the bottom hem of his T-shirt pulls up a little, revealing a strip of skin on his lower abs.
I catch a glimpse of the tattoo he has there.
One I’ve seen in his videos.
And something pulses in my veins like I’m looking at forbidden fruit.
What’s it like to touch someone there?
What would it be like to put my tongue on his skin? Following the lines of that looping tattoo?
He puts his arm back down and the material of the shirt covers him again. He saw me staring.
“If you wanted me, you didn’t have to drug me, Ollie.”
“Didn’t drug you. Is that the only way you could stomach living with that silver-haired guy? Were you on drugs while you lived with him, too?”
Something different flashes through Niko’s eyes when I mention his ex with silver hair.
Like he’s spooked.
Almost like I hurt him.
For the last few months, Niko posted tons of pictures with that guy, a man who’s clearly only in his twenties but bleaches his hair into a silver-grey.
“Don’t talk about Callum.”
“You posted photos in his house. His pool. His bed.”
“Whatever you saw on Instagram, you don’t know what it was like with my ex.”
I frown. “Were you living with him?”
“I was. And I’m not anymore. And I said don’t talk about him.”
“Why not? Maybe I’ll send him a private message.”
Niko takes a step closer.
For a moment I wonder if he’s going to come at me again, but he doesn’t.
“Callum is dangerous. I’m not with him anymore. I’m here. This fucking jail cell of a house is better than the last place I was in, unfortunately. Understand?”
He stares at me for another moment and then seems to decide it’s no longer worth his time.
He shoves past me, and after disappearing into the crowd, I see him heading up the staircase.
I head up the stairs and realize that I’ve made the cardinal mistake I always make, leaving my bedroom door wide open. I can see the light coming out into the hallway from inside my room.
And Niko would know it’s my room, because on the mini whiteboard I keep on my door, Noah recently wrote “fuck machine palace” surrounded by little smiley faces.
Of course.
When I walk in it’s even worse than I thought.
He’s standing over my desk, looking down. And he has my journal in his hands.