Page 18 of Good Boy

I paced the room, trying to calm down. Despite my irritation, my mind kept drifting back to the image of Darius. His body, his cock, his moans. It was infuriating, knowing I couldn't have him, and yet, the desire consumed me.

Fuck it.

The more I thought about him, the angrier I became. This wasn't just about tonight; it was about everything. All those moments when he had pushed my buttons, taunted me, and awakened the demon I'd spent years trying to suppress. The bourbon burned my throat as I paced the length of my home office, my grip tightening around the crystal glass. Cynthia had joined me for a nightcap before retreating to our bedroom, leaving me all alone with my thoughts and letting me off the hook for our “us” time.

The clunking of dishes and chatter from the private chef died down, leaving the condo eerily silent. But my mind was anything but still.

I couldn't shake the image of Darius smirking at me across the dinner table, his words dripping with insinuation. And despite Brian's presence and memories of a hot little fuck I'd had four years ago, it was Darius who consumed my thoughts. Like a moth to the flame, I was drawn to him; it was fucked-up, dangerous, and utterly intoxicating.

I downed the last of my bourbon and slammed the glass onto the desk. It was time to confront Darius, put an end to this fucked-up game of cat and mouse. And if he thought he could toy with me, he had another thing coming. I'd show him just how dangerous it was to play with fire.

I stormed out of my office and made a beeline for his room. My hand gripped the doorknob, my blood hot as it ran through my veins as I swung the door open. But when I entered, the room was empty. The sight of his unoccupied bed only fueled my seething temper.

"Where the fuck is he?" I muttered under my breath.

I wondered if the little shit had snuck out to avoid facing me. But as I retreated toward my bedroom, the beat of a rap song echoed down the adjacent hall.

Following the sound, I found myself outside the workout room. Pushing the door open, my gaze locked onto Darius, kneeling near a row of free weights, a pair of headphones hanging loosely around his neck. Sweat glistened on his skin as he reached for another weight, completely unaware of my presence.

"Asshole," I barked, my voice cold and sharp.

He flinched, then slowly turned to face me, his hazel eyes challenging me with a mixture of rebellion and curiosity.

"Weston," he said, not bothering to hide the warp of his lips. "What the fuck do you want?"

"You think you can just embarrass me like that at dinner, and I won't do anything about it?"

He shrugged, tossing the weight back onto the rack with a loud clang. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't. You know what you did, and it's fucking unacceptable."

"Maybe I just wanted to get your attention," he taunted, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin burn before turning his attention back to the rack.

"Attention?" I mocked, trying to keep my composure despite the tidal wave of emotions crashing inside me. "Well, you’ve got it. Now tell me why you did it."

He hesitated, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker behind those defiant eyes—vulnerability, maybe even fear. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, replaced by that cocky smirk once more.

"Because I can." He lifted another weight and wiped it down with the Clorox wipe. "And because I knew it would get under your skin."

"Is that all you've got? Some fucked-up power play?"

"Maybe. Why? You want me to up my game?" he asked, jutting his chin to the side.

I couldn't take it anymore. The cocky grin, the way he was taunting me. In a flash of fury, I stormed over to him, my hand shooting out to grab a fistful of his dark-brown hair. I yanked his head back until our eyes met, revealing the fire sparking in his hazel eyes.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you. I swear to fucking God you’ll—”

He cut me off with an unexpected roll of his eyes, followed by mocking lip movements that seemed to jeer at my every word.

I seethed in the silence and stilled my movements. Like a hawk, my gaze tethered to his mouth and I waited until his smug lips parted just enough. When they finally did, I spat right into his mouth, watching with satisfaction as my saliva hit his tongue.

He coughed and sputtered, trying to shake off the shock of what I'd just done. But even as he wiped his mouth, that cocky grin returned, as if he knew he'd pushed me past my breaking point.

"Fuck hole," he muttered, staring up at me with those piercing eyes. "You really think that shit's going to put me in my place, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up," I growled, my nails digging into his scalp.

My heart raced, adrenaline pumping through my veins like wildfire. The anger was almost intoxicating, mixed with a sick sort of pleasure I didn't want to acknowledge.