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“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter with the magnificent arse asks with the sort of look I understand implicitly. I turn my most charming smile on him. “Oh, that really depends.” He smirks, dark eyes glinting in the low light. He’s got the body of a footballer, not a dancer, lean and tight. “On?” “On what time your shift ends. See, it’s my birthday and my father didn’t make it again, so now I sort of want to get roughly fucked by someone who’ll let me call them daddy.”
In fact, there was only one other dancer in the world who, in the safety of my own soul, I would call better than me. And he had gone on hiatus.
So that is how I keep up with Felix Taylor-Brooke’s exploits. Where he lives the life not of a hard-working young ballet dancer, but some kind of celebrity-come-influencer-come-porn star. I hate the Felix I see on this account. Vapid. Superficial. Vain.
It’s just that I don’t do well with sharing, and that applies to most things—I don’t do threesomes for exactly this reason. I’m the main event, the headline act. And I’m certainly not going to share the fucking spotlight with Nicoló Savini.
Because in all of the realities where I’m better and I’m healed and I’m allowed to have the life I want, it’s him who’s there next to me. It’s Felix Taylor-Brooke holding my fucking hand and looking into my fucking eyes and telling me how I’m his and he’s mine. He’s not getting cream-pied by twinks he meets in Ibiza. He’s mine. And I fucking hate him for it. I hate that I’ll never get to fucking have it. But mostly, I hate myself—for being infatuated with my biggest fucking rival since I was fifteen years old. For being so embarrassingly and stupidly in love with him all these years.
The boy is beautiful. I know that boys are not supposed to be beautiful. Or rather, I know that I’m not supposed to think they are – but he is.
“Your parents starve themselves to put you here; your brothers and your sister go hungry so you can dance. Do you want this to be for nothing?” “No, sir.”
“Shit, that’s my coach. Anyway, it’s good to meet you; keep up the good work. I’m Felix, by the way!”
“This must be a walk in the part for you,” he says. I blink, then raise an eyebrow speculatively. He goes on, “Posing, having people tell you how good you look, being stared at.” “A walk in the park,” I say. “It’s a walk in the park not a walk in the part.” I have to fight against some weird urge to find that cute. He looks faintly embarrassed. Which, to my absolute horror, is also sort of cute.
“Then I’d like a proper invite like everyone else.” He grips his handlebars and climbs onto his bike. “Yeah, and I’d like Paul Mescal to sit on my face for an entire weekend but we can’t always get what we want in this life, Savini.
This is, in fact, the truth. I do hate people. I hate Felix, too, it just so happens that I’m in love with him at the same time. Which isn’t something I’d recommend to anyone who likes being sane.
“Having fun, Savini?” Felix asks, running a hand through his hair. His lips are bright cherry red, and I feel a shock of white-hot envy burn its way through me. It’s one thing to imagine the man of your dreams fucking a handsome stranger at a party, and another altogether to see it.
I take one last look at him, eyes closed over in bliss and a radiant smile on his face as the new guy whispers something into his ear. What would it be like to be allowed to be that close to him? To feel the heat of his blood and skin that near to my own. The press of him against my body. Alive with lust.
From here, I can smell him, too, and I imagine it must be what he smells like after sex. It makes a deep primal urge rise up in me, violent and intense. Take him. Fuck him. Rough and raw. Make him yours.
Without another thought, I press my mouth hard against his. When he moans, delicious and submissive, I groan.
“You want me to go down on you?” I ask, as my fingers creep toward his dick—cut, well-proportioned, and still very hard. “Actually,” he says very seriously, “I’d really like you to get onto all fours and let me eat you out.”
groan. It’s one of my fiercest kinks; it always turns me on so fast and so hard. But the fact that it’s him, Nico fucking Savini, does something almost incendiary to my insides. I open my mouth. Savini spits directly into it and I close my eyes and groan, fucking down harder.
I showered at Savini’s place. Then I’m thinking about him in there, wet and hard, his fingers shoved into my ass as he fucked his tongue into my mouth. The way he dropped to his knees to eat me out like a man having his last bloody supper.
“Because it’s weird,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I thought you liked being complimented? You did on Friday when you were being,” I lower my voice, “such a good boy for me.”
She follows me over to the sofa. “So, what’s it like then? His cock.” “Excuse me?” “You’ve seen it in the showers, I presume? How is it? Disappointing? Please tell me it is.” Thick. Perfect. Tastes incredible. “Average.”
“This for me?” he whispers against my lips. “Yes. All for you.” I moan as he yanks open the button of my trousers and shoves his hand inside. He circles his thumb over the bare, hot, leaking head. “You’re soaked, princess.”
he drops low and attacks my hole with his mouth, licking and sucking at my taint and my balls before leaning back to spit on it. “Push it out, let me see that perfect pussy.”
I want you to want me the way I can’t seem to stop myself wanting you. I want you to want something real with me. I want whatever a real relationship looks like with you. I want to go to the ruins of Pompeii and take sickening couple photos with you and post them on Instagram.
He lied about meeting his father. He lied so he could meet his politician instead. I’m so stunned, so filled with rage and petty jealousy that I don’t trust myself to go toward him. I don’t trust myself not to lose it with him right here in this very busy street.
“Well, I’m rather used to highly embarrassing consequences: I’ve you for a son.”
Rude
“Ballet has never been something I’ve enjoyed myself, but people who do tell me you’re extremely gifted at it, so who am I to argue—but I think you might be even more gifted at making everyone’s life exponentially more difficult just by existing.
“You’re sorry, yeah, I heard that. Now I want you to get out. I’m going upstairs for a shower but when I come back down, I want you to be out of my fucking house.”
It had actually been her idea to give him the weekend to calm down, to give him some space to work it out by himself. “He’ll realise you’re not built that way; that this couldn’t have been you. And if he doesn’t, well he doesn’t deserve you.”
This makes no sense so Ava can’t tell Charlie, but he can tell Sophia????
but Felix isn’t listening, instead, he raises his arm and slams his fist into his face.
He’s the only thing I don’t think I could live without. Fuck. I love him. I love Nico Savini. Fuck.
Still, I won’t pretend it’s a difficult sacrifice to make. If it meant Felix got to have his dreams back, I’d dance another fucking decade. “Then I’d offer you another year, Ben.”
