The world expects me to be the perfect son. The perfect boyfriend. The perfect student. I've always been the boy who smiles, shakes the right hands, and gets invited to all the family dinners. The boy everyone's mother wants their daughter to marry. But for the first time in my life, I wanted something that wasn't on the list, something that wasn't a girl.
It was a feeling I didn't recognize, a heat that started low in my gut and worked its way down, a jolt of pure, carnal hunger that made my blood sing. I was at the Hayes' annual summer gala, a sea of suits and cocktail dresses, and I was doing my part, mingling and making small talk. My girlfriend, Maya, was by my side, her hand tucked comfortably in mine. She was beautiful and sweet and everything a man like me was supposed to want. But my gaze was somewhere else. It was on him.
He stood by the bar, a man in his late 40s, but he wore it like a badge of honor, not a sentence. His suit was a dark, tailored masterpiece that fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist like a second skin. He had a glass of whiskey in one hand, the ice clinking softly as he gestured with the other while talking to a business partner.
He had a laugh that was low and rough, and it sent a shiver down my spine. The light from the chandelier caught the silver in his dark hair, a difference to his youthful, charismatic face.
I'd seen photos of him before, plastered all over the internet and in magazines. The King of New York City's real estate, the Billionaire who built an empire from the ground up. He was a myth, a legend, and he was standing just a few feet away from me. David Petrov. Maya's father.
My dick stood at just the sight of him. The full, hard kind of erection that was almost painful. It was the first time that had ever happened just from looking at someone, and it was a man. Not just any man, but my girlfriend's father.
The realization was a punch to the gut. I felt a wave of shame so strong it almost made me double over. I was a fraud. A liar. A cheat. I wasn't the man everyone thought I was. I was a monster, a deviant, and my father would kill me if he ever found out.
"Leo, honey, are you okay? You're a little pale," Maya's voice cut through my thoughts. She was looking at me with concern, her brow furrowed. I forced a smile and squeezed her hand.
"I'm fine, May. Just a little warm," I said, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.
"You're not coming down with something, are you? It's so important that you make a good impression on my dad tonight. He's going to love you, I know it. You're everything he's ever said he wanted for me," she said, her smile genuine and full of hope. The words felt like a knife twisting in my stomach. Everything he wanted for her.The irony of it was suffocating.
"I'm just a little overwhelmed, I guess," I confessed, the lie feeling heavy on my tongue. "I'll be right back. I just need to splash some water on my face."
I pulled my hand from hers, the heat of my palm replaced by the sudden cold of the air, and moved through the crowded ballroom, my steps feeling clumsy and uncertain. I finally reached the doors of the men's restroom, pushing them open and leaning against the cool marble of the sink.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes wide and wild. I looked like a stranger. Who are you? I wondered. This wasn't me. The good son, the respectful boyfriend, that person didn't feel a tremor of desire for his girlfriend's father. He didn't feel a thrum of power and obsession building in his veins.
I splashed cold water on my face, the icy shock a temporary relief. I took a few deep, shuddering breaths, trying to get my racing heart under control. The image of David Petrov's face flashed in my mind, the sharp angles of his jaw, the depth of his eyes, the casual confidence in his stance.
The shame came rushing back, but this time it was mixed with a new, dangerous kind of thrill. A feeling of freedom. A freedom that came from acknowledging a part of myself I hadn't known existed. I was a liar, yes, but for the first time, I felt something real, something honest.
I dried my face and walked back out into the noise and the light, feeling more composed but no less conflicted. Maya was standing with a small group, laughing. When she saw me, her face lit up. She gestured me over, her eyes sparkling.
"Leo, this is my dad," she said again, her voice filled with a mixture of pride and love.
He turned to face me, and a smile, a real one that reached his eyes, graced his lips. "Leo, glad you could make it back. Maya talks about you all the time. She thinks the world of you."
I mumbled something about the feeling being mutual, but my mind was elsewhere. It was on his mouth, the way his lips curved just so when he smiled, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. It was on the scent of his cologne, a musky, rich scent that smelled of money and power and sex. I wanted to know what he smelled like when he was in bed, when he was vulnerable, when he wasn't a billionaire but just a man.
"I'm glad to finally meet you, sir," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. I reached out a hand, and he took it in his. His grip was firm, his skin warm and calloused, and a jolt of electricity shot up my arm.
I wanted to pull him closer, to feel his body against mine, to bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in. The thought was so powerful and so wrong that it made me want to vomit.
"Please, call me David," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Maya tells me you're studying business at NYU. A smart young man."
We fell into a conversation, and to my surprise, David seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. He asked about my classes, my plans after graduation, and the dreams I was too scared to admit out loud. He listened intently, his head cocked to the side, and I found myself opening up to him in a way I hadn't with anyone else, not even Maya.
I'd never felt this way before. I'd dated girls, had sex with them, but it had always been a performance, a role I was playing. I was a good actor, a convincing one, but I'd never felt a genuine connection.
I'd never felt my heart race, my breath catch in my throat. I'd never felt a desire so strong it bordered on a sickness. It was a sickness, a poison that was seeping into every part of my life, every thought, every waking moment.
I spent the rest of the night watching him from a distance, my gaze tracking his every move. I watched him talk to his business partners, his security guards, and his employees. I watched him laugh at a joke from a woman in a red dress, and I felt a pang of jealousy so sharp it took my breath away. He was a universe unto himself, a sun around which everyone else orbited, and I wanted to be pulled into his gravity.
When he finally left, I felt a sense of relief and loss. The air seemed to get thinner, the music a little louder, the people a little more annoying. I wanted to follow him, to see where he was heading to, to see him in his natural habitat. The thought was insane, dangerous even, but I couldn't shake it. It was a compulsion, a need, a sickness.
I pulled out my phone and found his company's website. I scrolled through photos of him at charity events, at press conferences, at galas like this one. I knew his address, his phone number, his private email. The information was all there, just a few clicks away. I felt a thrill of a hunter, the predator, a feeling that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
I went to bed that night with David Petrov on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his laugh, his scent. I couldn't stop thinking about the feeling of his hand in mine. I'd never felt so alive, so real, so terrifyingly, shamefully, and disgustingly honest. This was me, the real me, the one no one knew, the one I had been hiding even from myself. And for the first time in my life, I felt a flicker of something real. A flicker of something that could burn me to the ground.