Page 17 of Good Boy

He met my eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. But then my gaze drifted toward Darius, and that asshole look plastered on his face had my cock pulsing.

I looked away and took a large swallow of wine.

The first course arrived. A complicated dish of expensive seafood that cost an arm and leg to get on everyone’s' plate. Our regular dinner chef had the month off, and the temporary one didn’t get the memo that we preferred our food shelled. Cynthia eyed me from across the table. A silent plea for me not to say anything. I looked around and found Darius slouched in his seat, glaring at his plate like it had personally offended him. Fuck sake.

A cloak of silence fell over the room as everyone took their first bite, then like clockwork, my wife launched into a lengthy spiel about the fundraising campaigns she's been working on. Brian took an interest. His eyes focused on her, he listened to every word that vomited off her lips. I turned my attention back to my food in the hopes I’d get to enjoy it, but that was wishful thinking? The little shit stared at the utensils like they were some sort of foreign objects he had never seen before. Irritated, I stood and walked to the end of the table.

"What is this? Fish penis?" He held it up before letting it drop back onto his plate.

I rolled the sleeves of my dress shirt. "No. It’s percebes. It’s fresh, piquant, and cost $300 a pound." I reached over him, grabbed the seafood cracker with my left hand and lowered my lips to the shell of his ear. "So shut the fuck up and eat it."

I cracked one after the other until all the meat was exposed. The conversation between my wife and Brian died once they got wind of what I was doing. I slammed the utensil down on Darius’ plate, eager to wipe the residue from my hands.

Darius exposed his throat to look up at me. "Are you going to feed me too?"

A wolf's grin spread from ear to ear. I wanted to punch him in the mouth and then slam my cock between his lips. I placed the fork on his plate and returned to my seat. Cynthia let her icy laugh fill the space, anything to distract our guess from the shit show at the end of the table that had my cock pulsating. Even with Brian next to me, and the memory of our night playing in my head like a broken record, I glued my eyes to Darius. It was like I was living a wet dream with two dark secrets in my presence, taunting me.

Darius pushed his plate away and raised his vape to his lips. The tension in the room thickened like fog, choking my ability to keep up appearances.

"How long are you staying in Weston's condo?" Brian asked, offering him a friendly smile.

"I'm only here—"

"Only for a short time," I lied smoothly. "His penthouse is undergoing renovations."

Brian nodded, content with my lie. He wouldn't have given a rat’s ass about the truth anyway, but I preferred to keep the conversation cordial tonight. The private chef reentered the room, carrying plates piled high with exquisite meats and sautéed vegetables. I raised my empty lowball glass, eager to taste a bourbon I had forgotten all about.

Brian's wife perked up when she saw the bottle. "Oh, I remember that bourbon. From that one night. I didn't know that was the one you choose," she said, nudging Brian.

"What night?" Darius asked between drags from his vape, curiosity piqued.

I clenched my jaw, praying they'd gloss over the details.

"An old memory," I deflected, forcing a chuckle. "A night of celebration and poor decisions." I locked eyes with Brian momentarily, our shared secret burning between us.

The moment I looked back in Darius’ direction, he had both elbows on the table, his gaze tethered with mine and a glass of wine between his lips. He guzzled the entire thing before placing it back on the table.

"Well, sounds like one hell of a story." He winked and rose from his chair. "I think I'm done here."

He took another drag and gripped the neck of the wine bottle between his fingers.

"Are you sure? We can have the chef make—"

"No need. Sometimes these things are too much for him."

Cynthia clutched her diamond necklace, concern lacing the creases between her eyes. "Well, if you need anything, let me know, sweetheart."

The left side of his lips lifted, and he raised the wine bottle to his mouth and stole a sip. "No need. Weston usually comes into my room in the middle of the night anyway, to check up on me."

I’m going to fucking kill him.

* * *

Dinner had ended, and I was fucking furious at Darius for what he'd done before leaving the dinner table early. That smug little shit embarrassed me in front of everyone, putting my secret sexual identity on the spot. My blood boiled as I recalled the way he'd smirked and thrown around those loaded comments. The tension inside me threatened to explode.

I remembered the night when I sneaked into Darius' room, watching him as he rubbed one out. It was wrong, fucked-up even, for me to secretly watch my nephew like that, stroking his cock as I stood in the darkness, observing every detail. I vowed never to do it again, reminding myself that I was a married man.

Cynthia urged me to let Darius’ bad behavior at dinner go, claiming he was still in a dark place. Dark place, my ass. He found joy in pissing me off every second of the day, and sadly, I couldn't deny the way it made me feel. If it were anyone else, I would have made their existence a living hell, but not him. But he still needed to be taught a lesson.