Page 26

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bradley

T he cab pulled up to Nico’s building, and even though I’d been here before—walked these steps, seen this front door, slept in his arms—it still felt different tonight.

Bigger. Heavier. Like the air was charged with something I couldn’t name yet.

Nico got out first and glanced back at me, his expression unreadable in the hazy glow of the streetlight. I followed him up the stairs, my heart thudding harder with every step, my nerves spiking like I was about to perform on camera. Which, technically, I’d done. But this? This felt scarier.

No one had said anything about sex. But the air between us had thickened—warm, anticipatory. Like both of us were waiting for a cue that hadn’t been called yet.

He unlocked the door, and we slipped inside.

Nico said nothing as he moved across the room.

He pulled out his phone and clicked on a playlist, something soft and ambient that I didn’t recognize, and started lighting a cluster of candles.

The warm flicker made the entire space feel hazy and gentle, like we’d stepped inside a snow globe made of light.

And then I noticed his hands.

They were shaking.

Not a lot. Just a tremble in his fingers as he lit each wick, one after another. Like nerves were buzzing through him the same way they were through me.

He caught me watching and gave a tiny shrug, like, yeah, okay, I’m feeling it too.

My chest tightened. I didn’t know whether to exhale or grab him.

Instead, I sat down on the couch. He joined me a moment later, sliding close, his thigh pressed against mine.

We didn’t speak right away. He rested his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the back of my neck with slow, absent-minded strokes.

I leaned into it, closing my eyes for a second.

Letting myself feel held. Like maybe I could help Nico let go of the weight he’d been dragging around since the moment his mother showed up.

“I hate how my mother makes me feel,” Nico murmured.

I opened my eyes.

He was staring ahead, not at me. His voice was quiet, stripped of its usual bravado.

“She just… cuts right through me. Like she has this magic scalpel that slices through every inch of armor I’ve ever built. She doesn’t even try. She doesn’t have to.” His throat bobbed. “She’s never really seen me. Not me-me. Only the version she wants. The version that works in her story.”

I nodded slowly. “That sounds really lonely.”

He smiled at that—but it was the sad kind. “It is.”

He looked at me, then, eyes soft in the candlelight. “But you see me.”

That was it. That was the moment.

Something in me cracked open. I couldn’t have stopped what happened next, even if I wanted to.

I leaned in at the same time he did, and we kissed.

Gently.

Softly.

Like we were afraid the whole moment would disappear if we pressed too hard.

His lips were warm. Familiar, but not casual. This wasn’t a goodnight kiss or a thanks-for-being-there kiss. This was something else entirely. It landed straight in my chest like a flare gun, lighting up everything inside me.

When he pulled back, I was breathless.

But then—just as quickly—a wave of insecurity hit.

Nico was a porn star. He had sex like other people made omelets. He was good at it. Relaxed. Experienced. And I… was not.

“I’m not like you,” I blurted.

He blinked. “What?”

I sat back a little, running a hand through my hair. “I mean, I’ve had sex, but not with someone who makes it look like performance art. Not where it actually… matters. Not with someone I…” I stopped myself. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

His gaze softened, and he took my hand without hesitation. “You won’t.”

I tried to look away, but he tugged gently, guiding me up from the couch. “Come here.”

He led me down the short hallway to his bedroom.

I’d been here before too. I’d seen the messy dresser, the crumpled hoodie on the floor, the mismatched pillowcases. But it felt different now. Like stepping onto holy ground.

He turned to me and kissed me again, this time slower. Deeper. Like he was anchoring me to the moment.

We moved toward the bed together, and I collapsed onto it with him, tangled and half-laughing through the nerves.

When we paused, he looked me straight in the eye.

“The sex I have on camera?” he said. “That’s not real, or intimate.

It’s not even me, most of the time. That’s Nico Steele, porn star.

I’m… Nicholas.” He brushed my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“This is different. This is us. I want to make love to you, Bradley. Not fuck, or some silly roleplaying. Not act out some kink-of-the-day. I want to… show you how I feel. With my body.”

I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.

Nico moved closer, close enough that I could feel the heat from his skin before he even touched me. His hand came up and cupped the side of my face. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching mine—asking one more time without words. My breath hitched.

Then he kissed me.

Not a repeat of the couch kiss. This one had weight.

Depth. It started softly but grew fuller, like a rising tide, like he’d been holding something back and couldn’t anymore.

His lips parted mine gently, his tongue just barely grazing mine, and I let out a tiny, involuntary sound—half gasp, half whimper.

His hands moved down, trailing from my jaw to my neck to my shoulders, fingers splaying across my chest like he wanted to memorize every inch.

I kissed him back, harder now, my hands finding his hips and pulling him closer until our bodies touched, bare stomach to stomach, through our shirts. I felt the tension in him, like a string pulled too tight, humming.

He moved on top of me, braced on his elbows, his body pressed against mine with nothing but a few layers of fabric between us.

His breath was hot against my cheek. His eyes were so close I could see little flecks of green in the blue.

He searched my face like he was afraid he might miss something. Like I was a map he needed to memorize.

My hands slid up under Nico’s shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin, and he let out a breath that sounded like a thank you. He sat up and I pushed it higher, higher, until he lifted his arms, pulled it over his head, and tossed it aside without looking.

I’d seen his chest before. Hell, I’d seen all of him before. But not like this. Not from this angle. Not with my heartbeat going a hundred miles an hour and his body sinking into mine like he belonged there.

I sat up just enough to let him peel off my shirt too, and then we were chest to chest, skin to skin. My breath caught. His fingers combed through my hair, sending shivers down my spine.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I know,” I whispered. “So are you.”

That made him smile. Just barely.

He leaned down again, this time slower, and kissed my collarbone. Then my shoulder. Then the center of my chest. He wasn’t rushing. He was feeling. His lips left a trail of warmth in their wake, and I curled my fingers in his hair, holding on like I was afraid I might float away.

Then his hips shifted, and I felt the hard press of his cock through his jeans. My breath hitched, and he froze.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

His hands found the button on my pants, and I felt his fingers fumble slightly, trembling like mine had earlier in the cab. He got them undone and slid them down my legs, trailing kisses across my hip as he went. I gasped and let my head fall back against the pillow.

He sat up just long enough to shove his own jeans off, then settled between my legs again, both of us stripped down to nothing but underwear now, fabric damp and clinging, bodies aching to touch more, be more.

His lips found mine again, hungry and urgent.

I arched up against him, my body craving more contact, more of his warmth, more of his touch.

He understood, his hands roaming over me, tracing the lines of my waist, my hips, sending jolts of electricity through my nerves.

I felt his heart pounding against my chest, matching my own frantic rhythm. His breath was ragged, mixing with mine, as our kisses grew deeper, more desperate. I tugged at his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating against my lips.

His hand slid down, fingers tracing the waistband of my briefs, asking permission without words.

I nodded, breathless, and he slipped his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around my cock, which was aching.

I gasped into his mouth, my body tensing and arching into his touch.

He stroked slowly, his thumb circling the tip, sending waves of pleasure through me.

I fumbled with his underwear, mirroring his actions, my hands shaking as I touched him. He was hard and hot in my hand, and he let out a low moan, breaking our kiss to bury his face in my neck. As I stroked Nico, matching his rhythm, his breath hitched, and his body trembled.

“Nico,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. He looked up, his eyes dark with desire, but soft, so soft.

“Yeah?” he breathed, his hand stilling.

“I want... I want to taste you,” I managed to say, my cheeks flushing.

Nico nodded, got on his back and opened his legs as I moved down his torso.

When my mouth was over his cock, I took it in my hand and I looked up at him, waiting for a sign that he was sure.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine, and I lowered my mouth onto him.

He was warm and smooth, and I felt his pulse throbbing under my tongue.

I took him in slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of my throat.

He groaned, his hips lifting slightly off the bed.