Page 82 of The Actor and His Secret

‘I thought I was free and could make my own decisions,’ I retort with a chuckle, planting my lips on his cheek whilst drawing him back down atop me.

‘I mean, you are,’ Oli says. ‘But you are literally the man of my literature dreams. An honest-to-God book boyfriend, come to life.’

‘You just want me to do it so you can tell all your friends you’re fucking Armin.’

Oli’s tired eyes flick to my turned-down phone. ‘Oh, they already know. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting you to fuck me in costume.’

‘The world knows.’ I grin. ‘And if you want me to fuck you in costume? I will. Every damn day, if you’d like.’

‘So, the world is ours,’ Oli says. ‘But the world doesn’t stop just because this has all happened. I have bills to pay, a job that I love - and now, a man who can come and stay with me during his long filming sessions.’

I close my eyes, my smile growing wider. ‘I like the idea of coming home to you every night.’

‘Home,’ Oli repeats.

‘Us,’ I answer. ‘But first, I need breakfast, ‘and then we can discuss all our grand plans.’

‘Built up an appetite, have you,’ Oli says, finger tracing patterns over my chest.

‘I have.’

‘And what do you fancy to eat?’

In one swift motion, I draw him up and lay him flat over me. My mouth nuzzles in his neck, my hands grasping his bare arse, massaging the smooth skin that I love so much. ‘Something sweet enough to rot my teeth. I fancy eating you, Honey.’

‘Mmhm,’ Oli groans, leaning down over me. ‘I like the sound of that.’

With a swift motion, the man of my dreams spins around and offers his arse to me. Mouth dripping wet, cock already hard, I drag his arse to my outstretched tongue and devour him.

I pause long enough to whisper two words. ‘Agape mou.’

Oli mumbles something back, but his face is buried into the bedding so I can barely make it out. But I know, as I return my tongue to his arse, his answer was the same.

‘Agape mou.’

My love.

PART 3

THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER

33

OLI

-One Year Later-

I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been, and happier than I ever thought possible.

‘You really need to stop looking at those, or you’re going to strain your eyes.’

Nikos prods me in the back with a finger. I’m hunched over the desk in our office, sitting on a pile of Nikos’ scripts because I couldn’t be bothered to move them off the chair where he’d left them. He has so many offers coming in these days for movies he actually cares about that I keep finding scripts everywhere - including once, memorably, in the shower, propped up on the shelf with the soap.

‘I’m not done yet,’ I mumble, my tongue between my teeth. ‘I want to look at them all.’

Twice. Maybe three times. I’m type-A, what can I say. And this day? It’s got to be utter perfection. I’m not going to settle for anything less.

When Nikos proposed six months ago, lying on our little private beach behind his childhood home in Greece, I spent an hour crying my eyes out from happiness until I got so thoroughly dehydrated and dizzy that he had to carry me back up the path and force me to lie down. We’d gone out to dinner in town that night with Selina and Megan - who’d very conveniently managed to buy a small, abandoned vacation home down the road from us and were currently renovating it - and they’d both screamed loud enough when I waved my hand with a ring in their faces that half the population came running.

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