by Tatum West
“Oh, God,” he moans, his head rolling back on the comforter, covering his eyes with his forearm. “Don’t look at me. I’m not…”
I press my fingers to his lips before he can say another word.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, climbing over him, letting my hands explore every nubile turn of flesh, sinew and bone. “You’re fucking gorgeous. You’re my fucking dream come true, a beau idéal of perfection, so shut the fuck up. Even your imperfections are perfect. You don’t have a single flaw.”
He doesn’t. His skin is downy soft, slightly salty to the taste, perfumed, and pale white; untouched by the ravages of sun, age, or flaw. He’s got tiny little moles, and pale freckles as numerous as the stars in the heavens, and I’m determined to count every single one with my lips and tongue.
“Oh Jesus…” Nikki cries when my explorations reach his right nipple. I kick his knees apart with my legs, reaching up and grasping his wrists, pulling them high over his head, pinning them down. I use my teeth and tongue to bite and pull his nipple tight, then stretch it, before sucking and kissing until his back arches beneath me, his cock pressed hard against my thigh.
I yearn to show him how much exquisite attention his gorgeous body deserves.
I gently turn Nikki onto his stomach, pressing my weight on top of him. I kiss and bite his nape, tracing his slight, graceful shoulders with my lips and tongue. Then, my lips glide along the length of his spine, my hard-on seared tight between his ass cheeks, occasionally grinding in, pleasuring myself against him.
“There’s lube and condoms in the nightstand drawer,” Nikki says, his voice thin, stretched with tension.
He thinks I’m going to fuck him on our first ‘date.’ He’s got a lot to learn.
“Not interested,” I huff into his ear from behind. “If you wanna fuck me after I’m done with you, you’re welcome to. That is if you can still move.”
My hands move lower, my cock still resting against Nikki’s perfect ass. I roll his tight boxer briefs down over that perfect, round specimen. I take my time, paying proper tribute to the temple that is Nikki Rippon’s body. My hands massage his ass and shapely thighs, my thumbs coaxing the tension from the tight muscles in his lower back. Ever so slowly, my hands make my way between his ass cheeks, my fingers pressing against his tight, tiny hole. There’s a pearlescent bead of precum at the head of my cock, dripping onto Nikki’s thigh as I explore his little ring of muscle with my finger.
“Oh my god,” he whimpers. “That’s so… good…”
“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” I murmur, my fingers still doing their magic. I kneel behind him and spread his legs, diving into his ass and probing his earthy warmth with my tongue.
Nikki moans, his hips bucking against the covers, incoherent words falling from his sweet lips as my tongue explores his ass.
“Oh Fox… my God…”
Just as I sense Nikki’s body tightening, preparing for release, I flip him over and pull him down to the edge of the bed. He moans in pleasure, his hands playing over his nipples, one hand reaching for his cock.
“That’s my job,” I say. I place my tongue at the very base of his cock and work my way up to the tip, licking away the tiny bit of essence that I find there. His skin is sweet and delicious, and his cock is just begging for attention.
I take his long, thick, painfully hard, cock in my mouth, laying down stroke after mouth-watering stroke, swallowing him deep. Nikki’s gone to another place, far out of this world of petty concerns and idle diversions. He’s lost – and focused – his fingers digging hard, gripping my scalp. His hips thrusting into my mouth.
I roll his balls over careful fingertips, drawing his climax out while I lap and suck, making Nikki cry, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes, his mouth forming a perfect “o.” He’s in oblivion.
He cries, “fuuuuuuck!”, just as I feel his balls draw up, snatching tight against his body. A moment later he releases a flood of gushing cum into my mouth, his body shaking. I swallow twice, then three times, milking the last drops of his load.
His body shudders, trembling slightly under careful hands raised to caress him. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown.. He gazes up at the ceiling in a haze.
I climb into bed, stretching my length alongside Nikki. I wrap my arms and legs around his limp body, pulling him close under my arm. I tenderly kiss the top of his head. He breathes hard and deep, his heartbeat gradually slowing, recovering from the ecstatic trauma of what I hope is the best, most attentive sex he’s ever experienced.
“What the fuck was that?” he mumbles against my skin, still twitching, sweat glistening on his skin.
“That was a fraction of what you deserve,” I whisper.. “And a fraction of what’s still ahead.”
He lifts his head, peering up at me through blurry, questioning eyes. “More than that may kill me,” he says, his tone almost severe.
“Then you’ll die happy,” I joke, enjoying his earnestness, enjoying the fact that I’ve set the bar higher than anyone else who came before me.
“True,” he agrees, slumping down into my embrace, fully relaxing into it.
A few moments later, Nikki snores softly against me, sleeping deeply. I lift my drink from the nightstand and finish it off, pleased with myself and satisfied that I made a solid start on something I wanted to see through. I reach up and turn the nightstand lamp off, letting darkness fall over us, letting Nikki sleep undisturbed.
In just a few minutes I join him, slipping into a peaceful, dreamless sleep; more restful than any I’ve enjoyed in a long time.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NIKKI
When my eyes open, it’s to the early dawn colors of the rising sun, filtering through the blinds. Last night comes flooding back to me, briefly overwhelming me. I sit up on an elbow to get my bearings, clearing my head.
When I turn, peering over my shoulder, I see a vision.
Fox still sleeps soundly, spooned against the indented place where I had laid moments before. His hand still rests on my hip.
He’s so beautiful, his well-formed muscles rounded even at rest. His skin is cool and soft. I watch him, distracted by the turn of his sharply chiseled jaw, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the thick overnight growth of beard covering his chin and cheeks. In the morning light, in the depth of his slumber, he appears younger than his forty-odd years. He’s almost boyish when I look past the salty gray hairs accenting his razor-sharp haircut. He is gorgeous, but that’s nothing when compared to his generosity, his kind disposition, his apparent integrity, and the fact that he showed me something last night I never knew was possible.
I need to make this man breakfast. I need to feed him, so he’ll hang around. I don’t want to send this one home. I want to keep him. That’s a brand-new thing for me. I’ve never met a keeper before.
* * *
I’M DONE with frying bacon, and have moved on to waffles and over-easy eggs, when Fox finally wakes. He pads into the kitchen in his boxers and bare feet, his hair tousled with sleep.
“What’s this?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.
I peer over my shoulder at him, flipping a massive pancake.
“Pull up a stool,” I say. “I’m making breakfast.”
When the pancakes and eggs are done, I watch Fox eat and gulp strong coffee with a sense of personal accomplishment. I even join him, devouring bacon, eggs, buttery pancakes, and syrup without guilt or even a second thought. Instead, I revel in the idea of waking up with this man in my bed, making him breakfast, making him late for work.
“I need to call the office,” he says, forking a mouthful of pancakes between his slightly bruised, blissfully red lips. “Let them know I’m going to be late.”
“You should be very late,” I suggest, grinning slyly. “I think we have more work to do here.”
Fox smiles. “That’s tempting,” he says, then dials his administrative assistant, making excuses.
We enjoy breakfast together, smirking
and laughing.
“I really do have to go to work,” Fox says, pushing his plate away. “But we’ll pick this up where we left off.”
Just then my phone rings, which is odd, because I’m not expecting any calls.
It’s Sal.
I debate whether to answer it, but if I don’t, he’ll keep calling and Fox will worry I’m hiding something, which I’m not interested in doing.
I show Fox the caller ID, then swipe to answer.
“Hey kiddo,” Sal says, answering with his sweetest, most motherly tone. “You okay? TMZ said some guy showed up at your place. What’s going on?”
“I’m okay,” I reassure him. “Security was all over it. I was never in any danger.”
“That’s not how I heard it,” Sal says. “I heard shots were fired. This new team you’ve got, are they any good? Nothing like that ever happened when Derek was managing your security.”
No, nothing like that. Just someone inside my freaking house, leaving notes on my bathroom mirror.
“Hey, I’ve been doing some investigative work on this lawyer, Fox Lee,” Sal says. “I’m not impressed. He’s wrapped up in some bigtime shit. I don’t think he’s working in your best interest so much as he’s looking for his next big-time client. The guy collects superstars. You’re just one among many in his catalogue of high-profile celebrity lawsuits. You need to ask yourself what his cut of all of this is. How’s he getting paid?”
I turn, looking at Fox saddled up to my kitchen bar-top, shirtless. Beautiful.
“You know I never did anything except promote you and protect you. We go way back, Nikki. Back to when nobody knew your name.”
“Yeah, I know. I just need some time, Sal. Just some time to myself to figure everything out.”
“That’s cool,” Sal says. “Just don’t take too long. You’ve got a lot of friends out here depending on you to do the right thing. I was there for you when everybody else thought you were a no-talent freak. I made you a star, Nikki. Keep that in mind. You know who loves you. You know who your real friends are.”
I want to ask Sal about the money. I want to ask him about Derek, and the drugs, and the people he brought into my house, and then about the way Derek spoke to me, bullying me. I don’t ask about any of those things though, because I know Sal, and I know what he does when I challenge him. I already feel guilty even thinking the questions. He’ll lose his shit and cuss me out. He will remind me about the time he mortgaged his house to pay for our first professional recording session and to bribe deejays to play my songs.
He’ll remind me that even with hundreds of thousands of online followers, I still had a hard time making ends meet until he got a record label, and the marketing machine behind the label, to promote my music. After all that, I did win a fuckton of Grammys, and that was all on my own. It’s hard to sort all of it out. Sal helped me. I wouldn’t be where I am without him. But I’m also missing a whole lot of money, and that’s all thanks to him, too.
I’m able to get Sal off the phone by promising to call him in a couple of days. When I end the call, Fox peers at me with a curious, almost sad, expression.
“He’s guilting you, isn’t he?” Fox asks.
I shrug. “I guess,” I admit. “The thing is, he has been with me since the very beginning. What if it’s a misunderstanding, or if he does have my best interests at heart...”
Fox raises his hand, putting a stop to my meandering thoughts.
“Hang on just a second,” he says, getting up. “I’ve got something you need to hear. My original plan was to call you with it today, but things went kind of sideways last night.”
Fox pulls his laptop out of his bag, flipping it open and turning it toward me.
He’s pulled up an audio file.
“Listen to it,” he urges me. “It’s a recording of a phone call I received two days ago.”
I reluctantly draw the cursor over the “play” button and click. An instant later, I hear Sal’s voice on the recording, captured mid-sentence.
“…thinking, we should collaborate. I know Nikki’s routines and most of his friends better than I know my own kids, and with your legal talents and Rolodex, it could be a lucrative relationship for both of us.”
I am both ashamed and angry. To Sal, I am an asset and, he had intended to use me as currency, a means to fund his lifestyle. It is jarring to hear him say such things. While Fox and my parents had warned me, it’s disturbing to hear Sal confirm it, in his very own words.
My outrage peaks, and then reaches new heights.. “Yeah,” Sal continues, “he can be a brat sometimes. You’ll learn that too. The best way to handle him is remind him who’s older, smarter, and the only one taking care of him. When that doesn’t work, I just yell at him. That gets him right in line every time.”
That’s exactly the tactic he used with me, every time I questioned anything or raised an objection. It’s nothing but a game to him, a game he’s playing while robbing me blind!
“Does that help you feel any better about cutting Sal loose?” Fox asks, sitting across from me, his folded hands resting on the counter.
My blood boils under my skin. I clench my fists until it hurts. I’m so pissed I don’t even have words, but worse than all that, I’m going to cry, and I can’t help it. When I get mad, I cry. Most guys hit something, or scream, but I cry, and right now the stinging tears of my rage spring forth like a dam has broken.
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” Fox says, getting up. He takes me in his arms, drawing my face close to his bare chest. “Shhh,” he says. “It’ll be alright. It hurts, but it’s better to know the truth.”
I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. The only thing that makes it hurt less is Fox’s strong, tender arms wrapped around me, holding me, letting me cry out my rage and shame at having trusted Sal in the first place.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FOX
When Nikki’s tears finally stop, I get a glimpse at his rage and frustration. He’s so angry he’s trembling, prowling in circles between the kitchen and the living room. He snarls, largely at himself.
He needs to vent. I don’t interrupt him nor try to minimize the situation. He needs to feel it and get it out, or it’ll eat him alive. Watching him, listening to him abuse Sal and Derek and everyone who came into his life through them, I hear one statement that sticks in my gut. He says, “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I trust anyone again!”
He doesn’t mean to direct the statement toward me, but I can’t help but hear it that way. I feel the implication keenly because I overheard most of what Sal said to Nikki about me on that phone call earlier. He said, I ‘collect celebrities.’ He warned Nikki, ‘You need to ask yourself what his cut of all of this is? How’s he getting paid?’
Nikki’s my client. I get paid a great deal of money for managing his legal affairs, which are more complicated than he realizes. As much as I hate to admit it, Nikki should be wary of me. Lawyers are predators by nature, and I’m no different. The thing is, I wanted Nikki before I wanted him as a client. I didn’t think I’d actually get Nikki, so I settled for taking on his legal troubles.
I’ve got a serious conflict of interest that could derail Nikki and me before we even get started. Sal planted that poison seed and, with Nikki in this frame of mind, it won’t take long for the seed to sprout and set down toxic roots. I know what I need to do.
IT’S ALMOST noon before I make it to work. As I’m going in, I meet staff coming out, headed to lunch. When I step into the open elevator, Stephan steps out. He gives me an odd look before asking, “Already on vacation?”
I shake my head. “Nope,” I say. “I need to talk with you when you have time. It’s important.”
“Okay, he replies. “I was just going to grab a bite. You want to go with me?”
“Sure,” I say. “My treat.”
I suggest the Soho House, because I’m a member and it’s been a few weeks since I stopped in. That, and I’m certain I’ll run
into a lot of people I know – probably some clients – and I want Stephan to view the request I’m going to make in the context of my reputation. I’m not doing this lightly, and I wouldn’t trust just anyone with the work.
I call the restaurant on the way over to ensure we get seated quickly. As I anticipated, the stars are out today. Bradley Cooper and his agent jump into our elevator just as we’re going up to the rooftop garden restaurant. Bradley’s been a client of mine for several years, and his agent and I go back almost fifteen. I introduce Stephan to Bradley, and we make small talk about his last film on the ride up. It was a blockbuster hit and both he and his co-star are up for Academy Awards.
The restaurant is packed with West Hollywood’s best and brightest. Stephan and I know them all, but I’ve known them all far longer. I pat backs and shake hands with actors, directors, agents, lawyers, and producers. This club is one of the few places celebrities can go and not worry about being hounded by the paparazzi or overzealous fans. Plus, a lot of important business gets done here.
I should bring Nikki here.
“You usually only bring clients here,” Stephan observes, with interest, as soon as our waiter has taken our order and departed to fetch our drinks. “What gives?”
I smile, unfolding my linen napkin in anticipation of the plate full of shrimp tacos I had just ordered.
“Nikki Rippon,” I reply directly.
“What about him?” Stephan asks.
“I need to hand him off to you,” I say, skipping the awkward excuses. “I can hover indiscreetly as an unpaid consult, but I can’t bill hours on him, and I can’t represent him in legal proceedings.”
Stephan regards me with caution. “Did you just realize you have a conflicting prior association with someone he’s at odds with?”
