Limerence (Famous Young Things): Chapter 23

He’s fucking impossible. It’s like he knows the way to disarm and unsettle me, and it’s all things that I didn’t even know I felt some way about.

First: the way he looks at me. He stares at every part of my face at once, like he’s memorising it or seeing it for the first time. I feel too big for my skin around him when he does that, and I hate it.

Second: Princess? Like excuse me, what? It’s ridiculous. And why do my insides go all soft and buttery when he calls me that? I don’t know what his game is, but I expect it’s self-serving, which is honestly too bad because I’m the most self-serving person he’s ever met. It’s exactly why I’m here: to serve myself. To serve myself his cock.

Not to talk about his therapy sessions or my father or Christian.

I set my fork down in my bowl—I cleared it entirely—push my plate aside, and fix him with a determined look.

“So, about us fucking again.”

He sits up, making a show of looking serious and businesslike. “I’m listening.”

“Obviously no one can know. No one at the company, and certainly not Ava.”

“You’re assuming that I want to,” he says. “Fuck you again.”

Truthfully, I hadn’t even considered the possibility. He wanted to the other night, and well, no one has ever not wanted to fuck me before. I give him a look that suggests he’s lost his mind.

“Don’t look so worried, I’m kidding. Of course I do. Go on.”

I narrow my eyes at him before continuing. “Obviously no one can know. I was thinking once more would be enough, just like to fuck each other out of our systems, but I honestly don’t know because when we start rehearsing together it’ll be… intense, so we should be prepared for that. We should also have some ground rules.”

He has this faint smirk on his face that’s hot but also makes me want to punch him. “You really have given this a lot of thought, haven’t you.”

“I think someone should.”

“So, let me get this straight, you think we won’t be able to resist each other once rehearsal starts, is that what you’re saying?”

“I think the rehearsal room is a different beast, yes. Emotions are heightened in there, it’s a pressure cooker, you know that. It’s why you ended up fucking every ballerina you partnered with at Romasco.”

He frowns. “Did I?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Good to know, thanks.”

I’m not sure what game he’s playing at here, but I’m not going to let him distract me.

“So, yeah, I think it will be harder to control whatever…” I motion between us. “…this is once we’re in the studio 14 hours a day together. Therefore, I think ground rules are a smart idea.”

“Sounds very smart to me, yes.”

“Are you going to contribute anything here or just nod along and do as I say.”

“Hey, this is your thing. You’ve clearly given it a great deal of thought, I’m just along for the ride.” He smirks, sexily.

“Right. Well, ground rule one: no one finds out. Ground rule two: never on LBC premises. I mean, that’s just common sense.”

“Very sensible,” Nico says. “Is there a third?”

I have a whole list of them in my Notes app, but they’re more like reasons why I absolutely shouldn’t be doing this and they don’t seem very important now that he’s sitting there. Smirking. Hot and casually dressed. Tight grey T-shirt pulled over his pecs and strong veined arms on show. I’m semi-hard and dying to taste his cock again.

I clear my throat. “Right, well, do you have any?”

“Me? You’re asking if I have ground rules for this… situation… you’ve decided that we’re going to be in?”

“Yeah. I mean, you are involved. So yeah, if there’s any you can think of, then I’ll consider them.”

He thinks about this, biting his lip as he does.

“What if I asked you not to fuck anyone else while we’re in the… situation. Would that be something you’d consider?”

What? “No. Of course, I wouldn’t consider that. This isn’t… No.” The fuck?

He nods, a little dejected. “Okay. Well then, no. I don’t have any more ground rules.”

I stand and brush a hand over my head. “Right, well. Now that we’ve got that out the way, can we fuck?”

Nico’s eyes go wide. “Now?”

“Yeah, now. It’s why I came over. I told you, I’ve not stopped thinking about your dick, and it’s become inconvenient.” I pull my T-shirt over my head and walk toward his bedroom. Before I disappear inside, I see him stand and follow.

“I stretched myself out before I came over, so you can just slide that baby right in,” I tell him. There’s an odd look on his face as he starts to undress, like he’s turned on but is confused or angry about it.

“Aren’t you a good little Boy Scout…” he says.

“How do you want me?”

“You’re here because you wanted it; you must have thought about it a lot.” He kicks off his sweatpants and begins stroking himself. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

I’m not about to argue with him, since he’s right. I came here uninvited with a single goal in mind. Climbing onto the bed, I crawl across it until I’m faced with his cock and then I turn onto my back with my head angled off.

“Fuck my throat,” I say, opening my mouth as wide as I can. He stares down at me for a few long moments, indecisive, before he moves around the bed and climbs on. Reaching out for my hand, he pulls me up towards the top of the bed and into his arms. Then he’s kissing me. Deep, hungry kisses which steal the breath out of my lungs. Like every time he does this, I melt, I melt right into his arms like some swooning princess in a Disney film.

His arms tighten around me as I settle along his body, both of us stretched out and loose with our legs tangled. My dick is hard and pressed against him, and I begin to move, seeking the friction of his body against it. He holds my head and fucks his tongue into my mouth, licking and tasting and kissing me until my head spins. I can’t breathe, and he seems to notice, because his kisses slow and he pulls back to press his lips to the side of my mouth, my chin, my cheek, but then finds his way back to my mouth and the ravaging begins all over again.

I’ve never been kissed like this.

This isn’t kissing with the intent to go somewhere else, though I fucking hope it does, this is kissing for the sole purpose of kissing. It’s intense and purposeful and it’s slowly turning me inside out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says then. His voice sounds raw from kissing, and when he pulls back to look me in the eye, they’re almost black from desire. “I love this mouth.”

I can only blink in shock before diving back in to kiss him again. Now not kissing him feels weird, like I’m untethered and floating. Yeah, I need to get fucked and get out of here.

“Put on the condom,” I order as I wrap my hand around his dick, stroking. “I need this inside me right now.”

In a lust-filled haze, he obeys, fishing one out of his bedside drawer and rolling it on, barely looking away from me as he does. I’m sitting up so that I can ride him, but he seems to have other ideas, reaching out and flipping me over so I’m on my front with my legs together. He climbs on, sits on my thighs, and pushes my ass cheeks apart. I hear the squeeze of a bottle and something wet drops onto my hole. He pushes it inside and I gasp. Then he repeats the action. I’m wet and squelching and desperate by the time he pushes the head of his dick inside me.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks as he slides all the way in. “My dick inside you?”

“Yes, fuck. Yes. Nico, fuck.”

The angle is intense, the space too small for him, but he doesn’t seem to care, fucking into me all the same. Pushing through the tight muscle of my ass and into my body over and over again while I lie there beneath him, helpless. It borders on painful, but it’s always been the sort of pain I like, in the very place I like it. I look back over my shoulder to find him watching the space where our bodies meet, eyes half-lidded from desire and a look of fierce purpose on his face.

“How do I feel?” I ask him for some stupid reason.

“Perfect.” He meets my eye when he says this. “You’re fucking perfect, Felix.”

The way he says my name makes me tremble, and I tighten my ass around him and bury my face in the duvet. Nico fucks me harder.

Desperate to ride him, I instigate the switch up of position a short time later, and this time he lets me. Once I’m slotted back onto his dick, I lean back on his thighs and give it everything I have. It takes me no time at all to realise I need him even deeper inside me, and I shift again so that I’m squatting over his dick.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says, eyes wide as he watches me.

It’s that intense look of his, like he can’t quite believe we’re doing this. I can’t either, if I’m honest. But more than that, I can’t believe how good it feels, how good he feels; I’ve never had sex like this, and I’ve had a lot of sex. I’m scared to even consider what it is that makes it feel this good because I suspect it’s something to do with Nico, and I’m not ready to go there yet.

He grabs my dick and strokes it intently while I continue to move, thighs pushing up and core tight.

“Fuck, I’m close,” I tell him.

He nods. “Yeah, me too. On my face,” he says.

“Your face?” I check.

“Yeah, I want to taste you.”

He watches me in awe and anticipation for a few more moments as I bring myself to the brink, then I pull off his dick, grab my own, and angle the head at his mouth.

“Put your fingers in me,” I gasp, and he does, fucking them up into me until I feel my orgasm rush at me in a breathless white wave. I bite so hard on my lip to stop myself screaming his name that I taste blood. As I spill, he sucks the head of my dick into his mouth and keeps it there as he gets himself off with his free hand. It’s almost too sensitive to bear, but he’s tender with it, not sucking the head, just letting it rest there on his tongue. Similar to how I’d done with him the other night. He likes this cock warming thing.

He comes in intense body-shaking waves of his own, eyes squeezed closed as splashes of cum land on his abdomen. I swipe my fingers through it and suck it into my mouth.

When Nico’s eyes open again, he looks dazed and fucked out, and I feel this flurry of satisfaction in my gut because I did it, I made him look and come like that.

“You really are incredible,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but for some reason, everything feels a lot more intense this time around. And the first time was intense.

I go to move off the bed and him, but he captures my wrist and pulls me down onto him. He says, “Don’t. Not yet.”

I shouldn’t let him. I shouldn’t because… fuck, there’s a whole list in my phone with the reasons why. But my phone is next door, and I’ve just come my brains out and I’m exhausted. I let him pull me down and tuck me into his side. It’s almost too intimate and it makes me want to bolt and sink a little further into him, simultaneously.

I settle for somewhere in the middle. Lying pressed against him, my body taut and tense like I’m caught in a net. He’s silent for a long time before he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a single conversation with my father. Not of any substance anyway. We barely speak the same language.”

What? Where did this come from?

Regardless, my nature is screaming at me to say something flippant, but the other half, fuck me, is curious. Is this why he sees a therapist? Because of his daddy issues? Well now, this is something I could relate to. Maybe this is what they call common ground.

My mouth is moving before I can think better of it.

“My father doesn’t speak rampant homosexual, so it’s pretty much the same for me.”

Nico snorts. “He doesn’t approve of your”—he searches for the word and settles on—“lifestyle?”

It’s my turn to snort. “You mean did he want his only child, his son and heir, to be a gay ballet dancer? No, he absolutely did not.”

“Is that why you hate him?”

“No. Look, you’ve met him. I hate him because he’s an awful human being. He’s the most self-serving, most morally bankrupt person I’ve ever met. His entire party are an embarrassment to humanity.” I laugh, bitterly. “I find it amusing that he walks around calling me a huge disappointment to him when really, it’s been quite the fucking success story that I haven’t turned out to be any sort of version of him. I’m selfish to a degree, yes. We all are. But I see very little of myself in him, and when I’m having a shit day, I like to remind myself of that; it really helps cheer me up.”

I’ve said too much, I know I have. I can feel Nico staring at me. I turn my head.

“I don’t think you’re very much alike,” he says. “I mean, from that very brief and illuminating meeting we had in your kitchen.”

“That was him on a good day, too.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.” I sigh. After a moment, curiosity gets the better of me. “So, what’s the deal with you and yours?”

“How long have you got?”

I look at my watch. “I can give you twelve minutes.”

Nico laughs, turning fully onto his side to face me. “Abridged version then. So, it all started when I was five…”

I groan and roll my eyes.