Page 31 of The Actor and His Secret

‘Oops,’ he whispers.

The fork clatters to the floor and slides to a stop beneath my boot. His chair screeches as he pushes back and crawls under the table to retrieve it.

I don’t even have it in me to stop him.

Because as he disappears beneath the white cloth draped over the table, he sees my hand, grasping my cock, trying to ease the blood out of it.

‘Are you…hard?’ Oli’s muffled voice comes from beneath the table.

‘You caught me,’ I admit. ‘Whatever you’re doing, I'm here for it. Go on.”

I can’t see him, which only entices the excitement to burn hotter. I half-expect Oli to pick up his fork and climb back onto his seat despite my entreaty, but what happens next makes me call out.

Oli replaces my hand with his. In seconds, the button of my trousers is undone, and the zip pulled down. With the ease of a trained professional, he pulls out my throbbing member and places his wet lips around the tip.

‘Fuck me,’ I groan as the sudden pleasure overwhelms me. I lean back in the chair, head falling back so I’m looking at the ceiling.

I feel his lips pull off my cock. ‘Is this the type of fun you were expecting?’ Oli asks.

I can’t see him, but I can already tell his eyes are glittering with mischief. His cool breath works against the moisture on my cock, his tongue likely half an inch away from it.

‘Yes,’ I mumble, threading my fingers in his hair. I pull enough that he must feel the tension across his scalp whilst I blindly guide him back to my cock. It’s in his mouth in moments, his tongue swirling circles around my length, his hand cupping both my balls.

I haven’t cum in days, and I swear I’m seconds from bursting. It isn’t going to take much for me to finish if Oli continues like this.

His spare hand wraps around my cock, moving up and down as he follows the rhythm of his mouth. His breathy moan tell me that he’s enjoying the dribble of pre-cum that seeps out of my tip.

So much for an appetiser.

In the spirit of appetisers, the door swings open and in walks the waitress. She pauses at the door for a moment, noticing the empty chair Oli had sat in. She’s carrying two bowls of the lemon-infused consommé I ordered.

‘Oh, sorry, Mr. Ridge. Would you prefer I come back when your friend returns to the table?’

My ‘friend’ is currently under the table, sucking my cock. The little devil doesn’t even pause his sucking at the waitress’s entry. He continues to ravish me whilst she stands before me, completely ignorant of what’s going on two feet away from her.

‘You can - leave them here.’ I say, gasping as Oli grazes his teeth down my shaft. ‘I’ll be - he’ll be finished in a moment.’

She smiles, clearly assuming Oli’s stepped out to take a call or something of the like, and quickly deposits the bowls on the table and leaves. By the time the door closes, I burst in Oli’s mouth, depositing days’ worth of cum into his cheeks. This time I’m confident I hear him swallow, but for a completely different reason.

By the time he takes his seat, hair dishevelled from my grip on him, lips pink and cheeks flushed, I swear I could go again.

‘That was… you are… Honey I’m - ’

‘I’d say spit it out,’ Oli interrupts, laying the dropped fork on the table and picking up a spoon for the consommé. ‘But I think the comment would be in bad taste, considering…’ He widens his eyes at me as I’m sat, utterly immobilised, my cock still left out of my trousers like some forgotten toy.

‘Hmmm,’ Oli moans. ‘This is delicious.’

I stare at him, utterly dumfounded. ‘Yes, yes you are.’

We stay in the restaurant for hours, laughing and eating, stealing kisses between courses. It becomes a game, playing and then pretending, whenever the waitress comes in to check on us, that we’re nothing more than business associates. By the time we leave, Oli is yawning. It’s no surprise he’s asleep with his head on my shoulder as my driver takes us back to my hotel.

I truly believe nothing can ruin the night, until my phone vibrates in my pocket. I draw it out quickly, not wanting the noise to wake him. He’s so peaceful when he sleeps, with the light smile that’s plastered across his face.

I cancel the incoming call before checking the number. A few moments later another buzz warns me that I’ve received a voicemail. It isn’t until then that I noticed the withheld number and know exactly who’s just tried to call me.

My father. Haunting me in the moments of my life when I’ve found the most peace. The shadow that never leaves me alone.

Dread slips down my spine at what his voicemail could say. I wish I was strong enough to ignore it, pretend he never just tried to call, put this off until tomorrow. But I’m weak. I can’t ignore it.

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