Chapter Eighteen
I couldn’t have said where we went, how long the journey took, who saw us, or even how we got there. The world didn’t snap back into focus until Nico hauled me up three flights of stairs and through the door of an apartment.
“Home sweet home,” he said, closing the door behind us.
He didn’t even get the chance to turn around before I launched myself at him, clawing at his clothes like a wild animal.
Nico caught my wrists and effortlessly overpowered me. “Calm down, Lysander.”
“I can’t,” I panted. “You know that. You’re the one who told me about the tea.”
Only then did it occur to me that my sexual gratification wasn’t entirely dependent on him.
Yes, sex with two people was always better, but it wasn’t critical.
The important thing was that he’d gotten me away from prying eyes and into a place where we were alone.
If he decided he didn’t want what I’d practically thrown at him, then so be it.
With that in mind, I fumbled for the fastening of my borrowed jeans. Frustration and desire made my movements clumsy. So clumsy that I couldn’t even get the zipper down, let alone undo the button. Part of it was my cock being so damn hard that it caused an obstruction.
Then, suddenly, Nico was on his knees in front of me.
On his knees.
The mask was gone. When had he taken it off? Just now? Earlier? I had no idea. Nothing hid the dark-lashed blue eyes gazing up at me. I wanted to blame the drugs for how breathtakingly handsome he looked, but I wasn’t quite that delusional.
“Here,” he said, reaching for my zipper. “Let me.”
Let him? In my current state, I would have begged. I would have handed over every penny I owned for relief from the pressure building in my groin—a pressure that only seemed to worsen as whatever I’d ingested really dug its claws into me.
“Poor baby,” Nico said, sounding more amused than sympathetic. “You really are in a state, aren’t you?”
If he hadn’t already unzipped my jeans, undone the button, and dragged them down to mid-thigh, I might have found something clever to say about his obvious delight in my predicament. As it was, I wasn’t about to risk him changing his mind for the fleeting satisfaction of a sarcastic remark.
So I bit my tongue.
Together, we stared at my erect cock, redder and more swollen than I’d ever seen it.
“Please,” I pleaded. “It hurts. No more teasing.”
Nico sat back on his heels, his hands dropping to his sides. “No teasing. You just need to tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it.”
“Your mouth on my cock. I want you to suck me. I want you to make me come.”
His head tipped back slightly as he slid his hands slowly up my thighs, the glint in his eye betraying his claim that this wasn’t teasing. “Want me to swallow your cum?”
“Yes!” I lunged for him, but he easily evaded my grasp. “Please. I don’t know what else I can say.”
“Just trying to establish some rules.”
He had me so thoroughly under his spell that I’d forgotten—again―that there were other ways to get relief. I reached for my cock, my fingertips barely brushing it before Nico slapped my hands away.
“No.” The teasing vanished from his voice, replaced by something darker. “Hands behind your back.”
“What?”
“If you want me to blow you, put your hands behind your back and keep them there.”
Rules.
Why were there rules? It felt like torture.
Nico watched me wrestle with the idea, his expression unreadable. Eventually, I put my hands behind my back, gripping one wrist with the other.
Something stirred in the back of my mind.
Something about handcuffs.
The thought lasted less than a second before evaporating into the ether.
“Good boy.”
I should have hated hearing that, especially from someone not much older than I was. Instead, the words poured petrol onto an already raging fire.
Then he leaned forward, and coherent thought became impossible.
There was only Nico’s tongue on my cock.
The hot, wet warmth of his mouth. The way he took me deeper and deeper.
The hollowing of his cheeks accentuating already-perfect bone structure.
And the tight, incredible pressure of his throat as he deep-throated me.
God, the man knew how to suck cock.
It was almost tragic, then, that I lasted less than a minute.
The orgasm slammed into me, obliterating everything in a flash of white light. I left the stratosphere entirely. When I finally drifted back to earth, Nico was licking me clean.
My hands were still behind my back.
Apparently, I really was a good boy.
Who knew?
Nico gave me one last slow lick from base to tip before sitting back on his heels.
I’d expected to feel better. But while I couldn’t deny that he’d taken the edge off, my cock showed no signs whatsoever of softening.
As if reading my thoughts, Nico laughed and flicked the tip. “That beauty isn’t going down all night.”
“No?”
He rose to his feet, shaking his head. The prominent bulge straining his trousers suggested I wasn’t the only one who’d enjoyed the experience.
“Luckily,” he said, “I’m nowhere near done with you.” He headed down the corridor, glancing back over his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll show you my special room.”
“Special room?”
I didn’t bother fastening my jeans. I simply dragged them high enough to avoid tripping and followed him.
Rather than answer, he threw the door wide open and gestured me through. I steeled myself before stepping inside, my imagination conjuring up all kinds of possibilities involving whips, chains, and other intimidating equipment.
Instead, the room was almost empty, save for a large black couch at its center.
Then I noticed the walls.
Or rather, that the mirrors covered every surface, so they couldn’t be seen, leaving countless versions of myself staring back from every direction.
“What do you think?” Nico asked.
“I think…” I shook my head, trying unsuccessfully to clear the haze from my thoughts. “I think you must really enjoy looking at yourself.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“I guess.”
If Wonderland had taught me anything, it was that my sex life before arriving here had been remarkably vanilla.
No handcuffs. No blindfolds. No anonymous encounters in the pitch-black.
No sex tapes. No chemically enhanced hookups.
And definitely no mirrored rooms that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
“Take your clothes off while I get some stuff.”
“Stuff?”
But Nico was already gone.
That left me with something of a quandary: obey him or rebel purely for the sake of it. The insistent throbbing of my cock, already begging for another orgasm, made my decision easy.
I had a problem entirely of my own making, and Nico seemed more than willing to help solve it. Refusing out of stubbornness would be akin to cutting off my nose to spite my face.
Besides, mirrors I could handle. They were infinitely preferable to the things I’d imagined. Unless, of course, the mysterious “stuff” turned out to be something kinky. Like the ball gag Nico had mentioned earlier. Then I might be in trouble.
Unfortunately, I didn’t consider that possibility until after I’d stripped, my clothes left scattered where they’d fallen. Now, I stood naked, my toes sinking into the deep pile of the carpet.
Nico wasn’t gone long. When he returned, he was carrying a large bottle. “Lube,” he said, holding it up.
He was also naked. My gaze immediately dropped to his sizeable erection, the mirrors multiplying it into a dozen different versions.
“Are we going to…?”
“Fuck?”
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Unless you’d rather suffer?”
I wouldn’t. The heat was already building again, and my gaze remained fixed on Nico’s cock as though it held the answer to all my prayers. Which, admittedly, it kind of did.
I shook my head.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “You can do better than that. You’re making me feel like nothing more than a glorified dildo. Is that what I am to you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“He says to my cock.”
With considerable effort, I tore my attention away and focused on his face. “I’m just…”
“Suffering. I know.” He set the bottle down on the sofa. “You can’t blame a man for wanting a little romance.”
“Romance? What do you want me to do? Bring you flowers and buy you dinner.”
“No. But I wouldn’t say no to a kiss.”
“A kiss?”
I didn’t know what I’d expected him to ask for, but it certainly wasn’t that.
Nico sat on the arm of the sofa and waited. After a moment’s hesitation, I approached him. He spread his thighs, allowing me to step between them. I lifted a hand to his cheek, my palm resting against warm skin. The gesture felt strangely intimate.
“It’s just a kiss, Lysander,” he said. “I don’t think it warrants the frown.”
“I’m not frowning.”
Nico reached up, caught my chin, and turned my face toward the nearest mirror. “Mirrors,” he said. “There’s no hiding in here.”
“Is that why you have them?”
“I have them because it’s fucking hot. The no-hiding thing is just a bonus.” He released my chin. “Have you ever fucked in front of a mirror before?”
“No.”
“You’ve been missing out.”
The look on his face suggested he was about to launch into a detailed critique of how unexciting my sex life had been up to this point, so I kissed him before he could.
Nico immediately met my tongue with his own. His arms and legs tightened around me, holding me in place as though escape might be on my mind.
It wasn’t.
Somewhere deep down, I knew it probably should have been, but I ignored it.
Here, in this room, there was only him, me, and my stubbornly hard cock that already wanted another orgasm. The kissing went on for far longer than I expected. Every time I thought about pulling away for oxygen, Nico drew me right back in.
When he finally released my lips, he surged to his feet and wrapped his arms around me. Turning me toward the mirror, he left me with no choice but to look at my reflection.
My lips were swollen, and my pupils were blown wide.