Page 51 of Not Your Golden Boy

“God, yes!” Nikky sighed, then helped Harry along by grabbing his legs under his knees and pulling himself up and out, offering his hole like a feast.

There was no way Harry could say no to a sight like that. He hurried with the condom and lube, opening Nikky up with the eagerness of someone who didn’t want to hold back and wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

When he lined up and pushed in, Nikky cried out with abandon. It was so fucking sexy to watch him losing himself entirely as Harry worked himself home, slowly and carefully at first, then with unfettered need once he was in. The two of them matched each other so perfectly that they were both lost to pleasure in no time and making noises that Maggie and Laura would probably tease him about later.

The sight of Nikky touching himself as Harry thrust and coming within seconds of that touch had Harry bursting before he could stop himself. “Nikky,” he grunted, the name feeling like a confession pouring from him.

If the moment had gone on forever, Harry wouldn’t have complained. But he had to admit that the aftermath, once the two of them were separated, the condom was dealt with, and the two of them lay entwined on the messy, disheveled sheets, was almost better than the intensity of pleasure.

“I love this,” he whispered against Nikky’s ear, then smiled when he realized his sweet lover had fallen asleep.

It was beautiful and perfect in so many ways. Nikky was so peaceful in sleep. It boggled Harry’s mind how anyone at any point in the man’s life could think he wasn’t worthy of holding and keeping forever.

Harry nearly drifted off to sleep himself, but the faint sound of his phone ringing in the other room stopped him from falling away completely. He ignored it and closed his eyes, but within seconds, the phone rang again.

By the third time, he knew whoever was calling wouldn’t give up. With an annoyed sigh, he extricated himself from Nikky, being careful not to wake him, and tiptoed out of the room. He really needed a shower, but whoever was trying to call him was on their fourth try, and he didn’t want the ringing to wake Nikky.

His phone was hot to the touch when he picked it up, which was weird, and the battery was almost dead again. There was enough charge to take the call from the unknown number, though.

He knew it was a bad idea as soon as he said hello and the deep, American voice on the other end of the call said, “Harry Bayonne. Good for you for answering me at last.”

Harry frowned. “Who is this?” The voice was very vaguely familiar.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” the man said. “I’ve got something of yours, and if you want it to stay private, I’d like five hundred thousand dollars wired to an account that I’ll give you.”

“What? Is this some sort of a joke? No,” Harry snapped, though a creeping feeling of doom slipped down his spine, banishing all the good feelings that being with Nikky had given him.

“Come on. That’s no way to talk to someone like me,” the American said.

“I still don’t know who you are,” Harry growled.

“I’m the man who is about to ruin your life,” he said. “Or rather, I’m about to ruin the life of your sweet little piece of ass, Nikky Smith.”

Rage welled up in Harry. “Listen, you—” he started.

He was cut off by the thin sounds of heavy breathing and moans that clearly came from a recording. Familiar sounds. Sounds accompanied by his own voice crying out, “God, Nikky!”

Harry leaned heavily against the wall to stay upright. “I don’t know who you are—” he began, seething.

He was cut off again as the American said, “I’m the man who is in possession of a wicked little video that you and Nikky made the other night.” Harry started to shake. “And if you don’t do exactly what I say, the whole world will see your little plaything with his ass in the air, being fucked by a has-been like you.”

sixteen

​. . .​

An acid chill filled Harry’s stomach. “How the hell do you⁠—”

He stopped and pulled his phone away from his face the second it dawned on him how whoever the American was had gotten his hands on the video. His phone. It had been running hot for nearly twenty-four hours. The charge kept running out, even though he plugged it in. Those were all signs that malware had hacked into his phone. He’d considered the idea the day before but dismissed it.

He should have known.

“Shit,” he hissed as he paced around the main room of his flat, rubbing the back of his neck to ward off the prickles forming there. He’d had that text from Albion with a link that hadn’t led anywhere. Only, it hadn’t been from Albion. The American must have been clever enough to make a dummy account with Albion’s name attached because he knew Harry would click a link from him. It was the oldest trick in the book, and he’d fallen for it and been hacked like a kid with his first mobile phone.

“I see you grasp the seriousness of the situation,” the American said. “Why don’t I just text that account number over and you can transfer the money at your earliest convenience.” The man was so smug Harry wanted to either vomit or somehow reach through the phone and punch him hard enough to rearrange his face. “We can get this over with nice and easy, and our little Nikky can go back to riding high on his unlikely success like nothing happened.”

“Bullshit,” Harry growled. “I want proof that you’ve deleted that video and any possible copy of it, otherwise you’ll just keep coming back for more.”

The American chuckled. “That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”