Limerence (Famous Young Things #2)

by Scarlett Drake

“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.”

“I’m asking you to think about all of us, and about the audience who’re going to come in droves and pay to see you both dance. Can you just… try not to kill him? Please?” I stare at him a few long moments.

That’s the problem with Benedict Wells, he is infuriatingly fucking likeable. And when he speaks, he is sincere about it. It almost makes everything worse. I’d been half in love with him once. The other half just wanted to impress him and not let him down. At some point, those two things had become muddled up in my head and now I just respect the bastard.

“I’m not making any promises where Savini is concerned.” I stand, still glaring at him. “But fine...

“Oh, happy birthday by the way,” Ben says, already picking up the phone again. “Yeah? Nice gift you got me, BeneDICK.” “No other director would put up with this shit, you know. That’s why you stay here.” “I’ll have you know, I’m the soul of this company.” I throw a smirk over my shoulder as I pull open his office door. “Oh, look, it does say director here—I thought you’d just made that up. Who knew?”

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.

“You’re doing incredibly well, Nico. I’m so proud of you. Your attempts to get to know this person who has been a fixture in your mind for so long, to push past this limerence you have when it relates to him and get to know him, honestly. It’s progress.”

Without another thought, I press my mouth hard against his. When he moans, delicious and submissive, I groan.

I grin and lower my head again. I’m not sure how long I eat him out for—hours, days—but he’s a wet panting mess on my bed when I come up for air. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me now. Please?” “Since you asked so nicely.”

“You might be as good at fucking as you are at dancing.” “You called me the best dancer in the world, so that’s quite the compliment.”

“I really like seeing my cock in your mouth.” “Mmm, well I really like having it in there.” “Look at me, Felix,” he says, and I do. He grazes a thumb over my cheekbone in a feather-soft circle, and that, coupled with the look in his eye, makes my chest feel very strange. “Keep my cock in your mouth—don’t suck it—and make yourself come.”

“You’re not in love with me, Felix,” says Christian confidently. “And you’ve never asked for anything more from me because it’s not what you want. I’m not what you want, not for the rest of your life. Now you’re frightened because you think I’m going to disappear, like other things have in the past, but I’m not. I promise you that I’m not. I’m right here, your biggest supporter, for as long as you want me to be. It’s why I want this for you. I want you to be happy, darling. To experience what it’s like to be fully and completely in love. To be with someone who cherishes you and treats you how you deserve. Someone who shares you with the world and shares the world with you. Not someone who keeps you a secret from it.”

“You look really good in the photos,” I tell him truthfully. “Canine vibes aside.” He snorts. “Yeah, I know. I always look good in photos.” “So humble.” “Humility is for ugly people.”

“Who do you think is the top?” Ava says, thoughtfully. “Huh?” “Raphael Scott is fucking a K-pop idol.” She flips her phone to show me. “It came out over Christmas. Seems obvious that he’d be the top, right? But there’s something in him that screams bottom.” Nico had actually mentioned this to me one morning in the kitchen. I hadn’t been paying much attention, though maybe I should have been. A straight rockstar had just come out, or been outed. Why hadn’t I asked him what he thought about that? Twit. “Wait, I thought he was married to what’s-her-face? That French actress,” I say, looking at the screen. K-pop is not in my wheelhouse, and though the guy in the photo is exceptionally pretty, he’s not my type. Raphael Scott though, very much is. The tattoos, the all-American smile, the sweating, screaming stage presence. Might even have had a wank over him in the past, straight men being a particular weakness of mine. Not-so-straight men, too, apparently. “They were engaged,” Charlie pipes in. “But there was a video of them in a bar, him and Lee Jaehyun, and they were basically fucking each other’s faces. Internet is going mental over it.” “No wonder,” says Ava. “Straight boy rockstar leaves Camille La Garde for a guy? Wild times.” I lift my water, and say as I scan the photo again, “A very pretty, feminine-looking guy.” “Still a guy,” she says. “I mean, Rapha Scott was notoriously straight.” I laugh at this. “What does that even mean?” “You know, he’s been around a lot of wom...

Sleeping alone the last few nights had been a nice rest—Felix was a sprawler. He also twitched while he slept, as though he were executing a series of cabrioles while out cold. It woke me up, and then, awake, I’d look at him and want him and it would take until my cock softened and my mind cleared until I’d be able to fall asleep again. Only to be woken again with another kick a short time later.

“I’m gonna bet you’re the one people come to for help. The solid one. The one who has all the answers. Who throws an arm around and promises everything’s gonna be alright. Who does that for you? Because I’m betting you don’t want them, the ones who come to you, to know you have blips, because that’s all this is Felix, a blip.

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.

“You went to London for him?” “Yeah, I did.” “Because you wanted to dance with him?” “Yes. But also because I’m in love with him.”

I’m not here to tell you what you want to hear—I never have been—I’m here to tell you it like it is, so why don’t you listen. I didn’t come to London for the weather or to ruin your life. I came to dance with possibly the greatest dancer there’s ever been. And since I got here, I’ve tried to be whatever the hell he needed me to be: a rival, a punching bag, a quick fuck, a friend, a sounding board. Whatever you needed, I’ve tried to be. You know, on Saturday when you accused me of betraying you like that, when you stood in front of me breaking down because you thought I’d done that, it hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker. You know why? Not because you were accusing me but because you were hurting. Someone had hurt you and I fucking hated it. I never want to see you hurt, ever. You asked me what I want? Honestly, I thought that was crystal clear, princess, but apparently not. I want you. Always have. And I’ll take you in whatever fucking capacity I’m allowed to have you. If only you would just… trust me.”

“I think it’s the Felix effect.”