Chapter 11 Nikolas
Nikolas
Tommy takes awfully long in the bathroom, so long in fact, my heart can’t stop hammering in my chest.
Did he slip and fall? What if he drifted off in the tub and drowned? What if his wound reopened and he couldn’t stop the bleeding, so he passed out?
Worrying my bottom lip, I pace from the window to the door. The soft carpet caresses my bare feet, its green strands like fresh spring grass. I’m not used to this. To having someone. It’s fucking scary.
Another five minutes pass, and I can’t take it anymore.
“Fuck this.”
Tossing the second towel over my shoulder, I march straight to the bathroom. My heart sinks. The fucking door is locked.
“Tommy? Are you there? Unlock the door!” I knock with bated breath.
There is no response. Anxiety knots my stomach.
“Tommy? Hello?”
No answer. My chest constricts. Damnit! Was I right? Did something really happen to him? I try the door handle again. It won’t budge. My heartbeat takes off, mad and loud. I press my ear to the door, but hear nothing.
That’s it. I can’t stew in this suspense anymore.
I take a few steps back and crash my shoulder into the door. The ornate wood holds its ground. I do it again. Then again, and then a couple more times until the hinges give and a loud thud announces my entrance. I finally burst inside, panting and spiraling down.
My eyes go wide and my tightly wound body sags. A giant wave of relief surges through me as those beautiful blue eyes cut to me, half-shocked and half-disbelieving. The door under my feet probably has something to do with that.
“What the fuck, Niko?” Tommy asks, bunching his cute eyebrows in confusion as he slides down the wireless headphones he’s donned.
Bubbly water covers his body, and despite my intrusion and evident distress, he looks awfully comfortable lying in the bathtub. The bandage is still in place too, and he’s also wrapped something around it, so it won’t get wet.
Okay, I think I might have overreacted.
I scratch my neck. “I, uh…”
The little devil smiles, but half-assedly tries to hide it. “You what, big guy? And close the door, will you? There’s a bit of a draft.” He snorts.
I glare at the mess of my own making like it’s its fault I acted without using my brain.
Much. I search in my head for what to say, picking up the unhinged door.
After a bit of fiddling, I manage to attach it back to the frame, then close it.
When I turn around, Tommy has gotten even more comfortable, his arms spread along the rim of the tub.
“Well?” he urges me, drumming his fingers against the white marble.
I fold my hands behind my back, square my shoulders and clear my throat. “I was worried.”
A smile flirts with one corner of his plush lips. “You were worried?”
“Well, yes. You were taking awfully long and didn’t answer when I called for you, so I thought maybe you fell asleep, or slipped, or bled out and lost consciousness…
or drowned.” I glower at the stupid headphones.
The volume is so loud, I can hear the gunshots and screams from the movie he’s got running on that giant TV.
God, I can’t believe this. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never been the type to overreact. I’m smart, calm, a critical thinker. I’m logical, I don’t jump the gun or let my emotions cloud my judgement. Typically.
The adrenaline slowly starts to leave my body, making this whole thing even worse. It feels like my legs have turned into noodles, shaky and bendy and not able to support me .
“Come here,” Tommy says, beckoning me with one finger.
I comply, crouching by the tub when I reach him.
“Is it bad of me to feel happy that you were worried about me?” he asks, sliding that finger up and down the side of my jaw.
My eyes flutter half-closed, the contact featherlight, yet hijacking all of my senses. I lean into it, chasing after the shivers, the electricity racing down my neck, my back, all the way to my balls.
“I’m not a good person, Tommy. I’ve got no right to judge you.”
He angles his body toward me, gazing into my soul with those sky-like eyes. I drown in them, I let them see every dark corner, unable to hide. He inhales sharply, then leans in. Every nerve ending in my body comes to life like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.
Our lips touch, tentatively and softly. He tastes like mango and temptation, so sweet and dark at the same time.
One of his hands strokes my cheek, the other one buries into my hair and pulls.
Fuck, this feels so good. The way his mouth kisses its way down my chin, my neck.
Pleasure shoots all across me, all-consuming and threatening to take control of me.
“You like that, don’t you?” Tommy purrs into my skin, pulling harder on my hair to expose my Adam’s apple. Then he sucks on it as his slim fingers wrap around the base of my neck.
My eyes roll back. A loud moan rips out of me, guttural and unhinged.
My scalp burns, but the pain mixes in with the pleasure that’s dominating my body, heightening the sensation to unbearable levels.
Shit, I might just explode, and he’s not even touched my dick.
If he does this one more time, I’m a goner.
“Fuck,” Tommy curses, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “Do that again. It’s so fucking hot,” he orders me, pulling on my hair even harder.
I comply—I have no other choice as the deep sound escapes me without my input. He’s taken possession of my every cell, his scent cocooning me as if to trap me.
“Fuuuck,” I groan, so so close to the edge.
His mouth slots against mine, dominant and possessive. I lose all my higher functions as his tongue forces its way inside. It maps every nook and cranny, laying claim as I try to keep up.
Who is this man? He’s smaller than me, more delicate, a fragile thing that I must protect. I can lift him with one arm, carry him like he weighs nothing. And yet, I’m at his mercy now, my body a slave to his touch, my mind craving him to do more.
We kiss until I can’t take it anymore. My hand plunges inside my pants and grasps my cock. It takes me only a couple of rough strokes before I’m coming. My orgasm barrels through me like a train out of control, violent and unstoppable.
Tommy owns my mouth as I spill, not letting off until I am a breathless, boneless mess hunched over the rim of the bathtub.
“Now I don’t owe you anymore,” he says, flashing me a shit-eating grin.
My heart tries to jump out. God, I love seeing him smile. “Wrong. You never owed me to begin with. So now I’ll have to make it up to you, because, Tommy…” I run my fingers up his arm, loving how it makes the hairs along it stand up. “You were amazing.”
“Oh, no! Nikolas Stavros wants a repeat… Whatever shall I do?” He gasps, tries to look serious too, but fails spectacularly because he can’t keep the smirk off his face.
“I’ve heard he’s a very scary guy.” With a groan, I get up, my legs cramping from the position. “You should do as he says, probably.”
He contemplates that, perching his chin on his palm and tapping one finger against it. “He is a scary guy, sure, on the outside. But he’s also kind and thoughtful. He helps those in need.”
I shake my head as I clean the mess from my pants and take a quick shower in the glassed-off cabin while he finishes his movie. With just a towel wrapped around my waist, I return to Tommy, who’s blowing bubbles out of his hands.
“I think you’ve been in here long enough,” I point out, gathering some of the bubbly water and doing the same.
“I guess.” He inspects his wrinkly fingers.
The sigh he lets out tells me all I need to know. I shoo his hands away from his head, get comfortable behind him, and lather his hair with shampoo. “I’ll do it. You just relax.”
“Mm, okay.” He hangs his head back a little and closes his eyes. “Feels good.”
I massage his scalp, his neck, his temples.
His body relaxes further, expelling whatever leftover tension remains.
Once I am done with his hair, I wash off the shampoo.
It takes me a bit of negotiating to get him to stand so I can rinse his body, and then he’s in my arms, letting me wrap him in the fluffy bathrobe I grabbed from the door hanger.
“I could go for a nap,” he says over a yawn.
“Let me check your wound first,” I demand, grabbing the first-aid kit I found in the undersink drawer.
Tommy tucks his arm out of the robe’s sleeve. I remove the bandage. As I thought, something has aggravated his injury. After I disinfect it, which causes him to hiss and curse my entire bloodline, I apply antibiotic ointment. Then I rebandage it.
“It kills me that you got hurt, Tommy.” I kiss the spot just above the area I treated. “I promise I’ll never let this happen again.”
“It’s not a big deal, honestly. I could’ve died that day, but thanks to you, I’m here today,” he counters, winking at me.
I shake my head, not even daring to entertain such a thought. “Let’s get you dried.”
He pads out the bathroom while I drain the tub.
When I join him in the bedroom, he’s tossed the bathrobe aside and put on a pair of boxer briefs.
I sit on the bed and pat it. He’s next to me in a flash, so I guide him to settle between my legs.
With his height, he doesn’t even need to be on the floor so I can dry his hair.
“I believe there is enough time for that nap before we need to head over for dinner with Isidoro,” I comment, sliding the towel’s fluffy fabric over his head.
He tosses me a quick smile and slouches forward a bit, accommodating me so I can dry him more comfortably. I rake my fingers through his wet strands, then follow up with the towel all the while massaging his scalp. He goes boneless in my arms.
“God, this feels amazing.”
His praise sends a warm wave through my body. I savor the moment, imprinting into memory how it feels to have somebody so completely defenseless in my presence. I’ve never had someone trust me to this extent.
Tommy sighs in content, his fingers running up and down my thigh in a mindless pattern. I prepared the hair dryer, but I don’t reach for it.
“I’m falling asleep, I think,” he says, slurring his words a little.
After a dangerous day like the one we had, a hot shower or bath can do wonders for one’s exhaustion. “Just a bit more and I’ll let you rest.”
“Okay…”
By the time I’m done with his head, his body has fully relaxed. He’s also snoring lightly, and it’s the cutest thing ever.
Smiling to myself, I slide him under the feathery bed cover in just his underwear.
I had a pajama prepared, but I suppose this will do.
I’m still in my bathrobe, so I take that off, put on some underwear and lie down next to him.
We’ve got just about two hours until dinner, so I decide to hold off on my own nap and just watch over him as he sleeps.
He looks like an angel, beautiful and ethereal with his long lashes fanned over his cheeks, with his lush lips pressed lightly together and his blond mop surrounding his face like a golden halo.
But I know better. Oh, I do. Tommy is no angel, even if he looks like one. He’s the little devil who stole my heart.