Chapter Twenty-eight
It turned out that being exhausted wasn’t enough. Every time I closed my eyes, Warren was there.
Not Warren.
Victor.
The distinction mattered now.
Unfortunately, my subconscious seemed determined to torment me by replaying our interactions in search of something I’d missed: a micro-expression that should have revealed he was stringing me along; an obvious lie; some detail in his apartment that suggested he hadn’t lived there long.
But there was nothing.
No cracks. No mistakes. No evidence that I’d been fooled by anything less than a professional. Which didn’t make me feel any better about having fallen for it.
Nico hadn’t followed me into the bedroom.
Not long after I’d left, the muted hum of the television drifted in from the living room, suggesting he was watching TV.
Or at least pretending to. Maybe he’d fallen asleep out there.
Was he planning on coming to bed? He didn’t strike me as chivalrous enough—or at all—to give up his bed for me.
Minutes crawled by.
Then an hour.
I changed position so many times that the sheets looked like I’d wrestled them into submission. Whatever I did, sleep remained stubbornly out of reach. I needed something to stop me from thinking.
Something loud enough to drown out Victor’s face.
Victor’s voice.
Victor laughing at me.
I got out of bed without conscious thought. One moment I was lying there staring into the darkness, the next I was standing beside the bed, my pulse racing.
There was an inevitability to my actions as I helped myself to a pair of Nico’s briefs rather than strolling into the living room naked.
My footsteps were silent as I made my way there.
He’d switched off all the lights, so the only illumination came from the flicker of the television and a small lamp that cast barely any glow.
It was enough to see him stretched out on the sofa.
The jacket was gone, and his shirt hung open to reveal the sculpted planes of his chest.
For a moment, I simply stood there watching him.
Then I crossed the room before I talked myself out of it, climbed onto the sofa, and straddled him.
His eyes opened immediately. Not asleep then, just dozing.
“Can’t sleep?” Nico asked.
I shook my head, my hands already tracing the masculine contours I’d been admiring from afar. His nipples hardened beneath my touch, and the sight stirred something primal inside me.
“I need a distraction,” I admitted, my voice rough.
“Distraction.“ Amusement threaded through the single word. “You want to use me for sex.” He shifted slightly, linking his hands behind his head as though presenting himself for inspection. “Go on, then.“
It felt like a challenge. I let my fingers wander lower, over the hard ridges of his abdomen until they reached the waistband of his trousers. Then lower still, following the outline of a cock that was still soft.
For now. I could fix that. The only question was how long it would take.
“How far do we get before you tell me you have a boyfriend?“ Nico drawled. “Oh, wait...“
I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was provocation or a test. Whatever his intention, he seemed surprised when I offered no response.
“Are you over him already?” he asked. “Poor Victor. I fear that might put quite the dent in his ego.”
I kissed him partly because I wanted to and partly because it prevented him from making any more smart remarks.
Nico didn’t make it easy. His lack of enthusiasm felt deliberate, forcing me to work twice as hard for every reaction.
Revenge maybe for when he’d kissed me earlier in the day and I hadn’t reciprocated.
I stayed with it, and when he finally kissed me back, the sense of victory was embarrassingly satisfying.
Shuffling backward, I set about undoing his trousers.
“I don’t know a Victor,” I said. “I knew a man called Warren who never existed.”
“True,” Nico said thoughtfully, as he lifted his hips high enough for me to drag both trousers and underwear down in one go. “I just didn’t expect you to come to terms with it so quickly.”
I wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. He was already half-hard from nothing more than anticipation.
“If I’d come to terms with it, I wouldn’t need a distraction. I’d be asleep.”
“Maybe I’m not prepared to be used as a sleep aid.”
“Shut up.” I slid my lips over his cock before he could continue. I didn’t bother checking his expression, him not stopping me encouragement enough. I didn’t have to suck him for long before he was fully erect. Nico’s cock really was a work of art in that state.
The thought reminded me of something.
“What’s the gallery about?“ I asked, pulling back long enough to give my jaw a rest.
“Punishment.”
I frowned. “What?” Keeping one hand stroking his cock, I watched the subtle signs of pleasure play across his body: the tightening of his stomach, the slight hitch in his breathing.
“Wonderland doesn’t have a prison,” Nico explained. “Instead, it has the gallery. They sentence people to serve a specific amount of time there. Could be weeks. Could be years.”
A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip of his cock. I leaned down and licked it off. “Why don’t they just leave?”
“Because the consequences would be worse.”
“Consequences?”
At that point, Nico seemed to remember he had hands. Or perhaps he’d simply run out of patience. “Death,” he said as he helped me out of the borrowed briefs, my hard cock springing free. “Which would you choose?”
I hesitated.
My mind flashed back to the terrible stillness of the exhibits in the gallery. Be forced to live like a statue for years, or have no life? It wasn’t a simple choice.
“I don’t know.”
“You’d choose the gallery,“ Nico said with complete certainty. “Everyone does. Never underestimate the human instinct to survive.“
“Maybe.“
“Are you going to ride me?”
“Yeah.”
Reaching beneath one of the sofa cushions, Nico produced lube and held it out.
“Convenient.“
“Finger yourself,“ he demanded.
Under different circumstances, I might have told him exactly what he could do with that suggestion. Given the size of his cock, however, I’d only be punishing myself.
Holding his gaze, I slicked my fingers and slid one between my cheeks. Heat flared in Nico’s eyes the moment I pushed it inside.
He watched without blinking, his stare hungry.
I worked myself open beneath his scrutiny, his order of “two” arriving before I would have reached that point on my own. Nevertheless, I obeyed, ignoring the slight sting of the added stretch.
When he finally knocked my hand aside and his fingers replaced mine, I didn’t protest. They felt larger, deeper, more demanding.
My eyes drifted closed as he found my prostate with infuriating ease.
“I thought about doing this,” he said conversationally, “the first time we met.”
“When?”
“When we were in the cafe.”
I sucked in a breath as his fingers curled.
“I thought about bending you over the table, pulling down your trousers, and using butter as lube. Right there in front of everyone.”
The scenario should have sounded ridiculous. Instead, it made my pulse race even more than it already was. “I would have begged for your cock.”
“You would have,” Nico agreed smoothly as he introduced the tip of a third finger. “We would’ve put on quite the show.”
The third finger slid home.
I tried—and failed—not to squirm. “They would have thrown us out.”
“After.” He managed to make the word sound like both a promise and a threat. “No one would’ve stopped me before I got what I wanted.”
There was a lot to unpack in that statement, and I knew I’d end up thinking about it later. Right now, I didn’t want explanations.
I wanted his cock.
And release.
Nico offered no resistance when I removed his fingers and positioned myself above him. And he certainly didn’t complain when I lowered myself onto his cock. Despite the preparation, it took time to adjust.
His smug smile suggested he was enjoying every second.
“You’re arrogant,” I muttered as I began to move.
“Yes.”
“You’re used to getting whatever you want.“
His hands settled on my hips, encouraging a faster pace.
“Yes and no.”
“What don’t you get?”
Something flickered across his face. For a moment, he looked as though he was on the verge of saying something important.
An admission, perhaps.
Then he shook his head.
“What?” I pressed.
Instead of answering, he surged upward and captured my mouth in a heated kiss that rendered conversation impossible.
I rode him for several minutes, putting everything I had into it and taking satisfaction in every gasp and groan I drew from him.
Eventually, it stopped being enough for either of us. Luckily, Nico had a plan. He flipped us over, pushed my knees up around my neck, and drove back into me. “Yes,” I panted repeatedly.
From that point on, there was only sensation. And pleasure. So much pleasure. I was a slave to the relentless rhythm of his body moving against mine. In mine.
Whenever I drifted too close to the edge, he’d slow down and pull me back from the brink, only to build me up all over again. By the time he finally allowed me to come, I was almost sobbing with frustration and need. The orgasm wrung every ounce of strength from me.
Nico followed shortly afterward, his groan loud and unmistakable.
I vaguely remembered him cleaning me up, although not the completion of it, because I was already asleep.