Page 11 of Good Boy

Darius sprawled across the leather sofa, boots on the glass table. “Don’t mind if I do.” He folded his arms behind his head, his gaze trailing over my body in a slow perusal that set fire to my skin.

I hated him.

I wanted to smash that smirk off his face. “Your guest room’s at the other end of the condo." I looked toward the hall in the farthest left corner. "Try not to wake Cynthia on your way there.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” Darius rose in a fluid motion, grabbing his bag. He stopped in front of me, smirk widening. “Sweet dreams.”

He brushed past, arm grazing mine. I shuddered as heat flared under my skin. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Darius disappeared down the hall, boots thumping against the hardwood. I waited until the door opened, and then closed shut.

Silence.

I dragged myself down the hall, pausing outside the guest room. No sounds came from within. At least the little shit knew when to keep his mouth shut.

I had work to do, and here I was wasting it on Darius Asshole Ashbourne. I walked back to my office, passing the living room and the leather sofa that mocked me, the imprint of Darius’ body still visible against the cushions. I cleared my throat and let my mind get back to the task at hand.

An hour came and went, and I was still shit deep in the weeds of this divorce case I didn't even want. A part of me wanted to call Cole and have him hash out all the details for me, but I couldn't take my chances. Nothing got past the old bastard, and Cole was the family snitch. Always on the hunt to run his fucking mouth, thinking it would get him further ahead.

The tranquility I once had in silence was now filled with the seemingly endless sound of Darius’ late-night shower. I leaned back, relaxed into the chair, and got comfortable. Only for an unmistakable sound to get me out just as quickly, and walking down the hall toward Darius' room. I knew what those moans were; I’d made them before. They were the sounds I made at night, when the beads of cum building at the base of my shaft begged to be released.

As I approached, the moans got louder, deeper. I'd never been more grateful for Cynthia's sleeping ritual, which firmly barred her from hearing a damn thing. She always popped two sleeping pills with a glass of wine and plugged her ears. I stepped lightly, my bare feet hardly making a sound against the wooden floors.

The temptation grew inside me, like a sickness. The outside of the door was smooth to the touch, but I knew what I would find inside. The voice in my head told me that this was wrong, so fucking wrong and sick. But the aches started. One of them came from my palm where it pressed against the wall, and the other came from my cock. This was not right; this could never be right, but that didn't matter when the ache forced my hand to the door handle.Would it be so bad if I did? Just a look?

I turned the handle, the door opening without a sound. Darius’ moans were like a sonnet, varying in pitch as he chased the inevitable high. I walked in and my limbs came to a fast halt. My eyes latched on to his lean body, sprawled out on the cloud-like duvet, his legs spread, hand on his cock with edging fingers pinching his glans.Fuck me.His eyes were closed, a pair of large Bose headphones covering his ears, and whatever he was listening to was causing him to teeter at the edge of climax. His left fist punched into the bedsheets, his veins running like a never-ending highway up his arm.

Jesus, I couldn't look away if I wanted. The way his tongue slipped between his lips after each moan had me palming at my own strained erection.

I had easy access, since the only thing standing in the way of my throbbing cock was a pair of thin pajama pants. A pool of wetness soaked through the tent my cock made, and my mouth watered.

His head tipped farther back into the pillows as a thick, steady stream of cum covered his pulsating cock. I felt myself retreating, fear that he would open his eyes and find me staring at him seeping into my bones like rot, despite my undeniable hunger. Then he stilled and moaned on, gasping for air, spasms wracking his muscles as he finished himself off.

I closed the door behind me, my hand trembling against the knob. I was close to giving in to the heat of it, but I had to go back to my office and try to collect myself. I walked away, my body reacting in ways that scared me. This wasn't natural; this couldn't be right. But how could something so wrong feel so good? I barely made it to my office before I ripped my cock out and started masturbating, desperate to find some relief from the tension that had built up in my body. I replayed the scene over and over again in my mind as my hands moved faster along my shaft, not stopping until I trapped my breath in my lungs. All too soon it was over, leaving me sweaty, panting and feeling more guilt than ever before.

I eyed the clock on the corner of my desk. 1:15 a.m. I sat in my office, my mind running rampant as I tried to push down thoughts of Darius, but they kept coming back like a bad dream, refusing to be forgotten. I took a deep breath and closed my laptop, the guilt still weighing heavy on my shoulders.

I finally managed to push the thoughts out of my head and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Sleep wasn't even an option tonight, but staying up in my office looking at a screen wasn't in the cards either. As I grabbed a glass from the cupboard, the chime of the doorbell to our condo interrupted my movements. Before I could rage hell, Darius appeared from around the corner, his lean body on full display as he headed toward the door.

I rolled my eyes. Fucking food delivery.

Turning on my heel back to the kitchen to make it look like I didn't give a fuck about what he was doing, I pressed the glass against the water dispenser and filled my cup. He came strolling into the kitchen, a brown bag in his hand and a bottle of milk in the other.

"Who the fuck orders food this late at night?" I deadpanned.

He gave me a look, that same fucking look that made me want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. I studied his movements, the pair of sweatpants set low on his hips. The earthy scent of his previous shower still lingered on his skin, wrapping around my lungs with each inhale.

"Someone who needs a little snack." He wiggled his brows and twisted open the bottle of milk.

I swallowed my sip of water. "What are you, twelve?" I asked, crossing one ankle over the other and leaning against the kitchen counter.

He didn't move a muscle, the oppressive silence swirling around us like a tornado. My body tensed and I pressed the glass hard against my lips as he opened the brown bag with calculated precision. He pulled out a small purple box which read Insomnia Cookies and retrieved one, the circular cookie almost crumbling in his hands as he took a bite. His eyes never left mine as he turned, his gaze now focused in my direction. He took a slow bite, and then another, each one causing a surge of electricity straight to my flesh.

He licked the corner of his lips and raised the cookie. "Didn't know you could age out of cookies and milk. News to me."

I gulped my water, squelching the thirst on my tongue before placing the glass in the sink and closing in on the cookie-eating smart-ass.

"I bet a lot of things are news to you, since you only care about spending money and finding fresh fucks."