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Silence slammed into us, heavy as the air in that godforsaken hallway. Weston parted his lips, intent on speaking, but the shrill vibration of a phone call sliced through the moment. Yanking out his device, he pressed it to his ear, his attention swiveling away just long enough. Hatred boiled within me, my gaze scorching him while my hands balled into fists inside my suit pants. The club’s cacophony faded, my focus narrowing on the man who made my blood seethe.
The call ended, his face a mask of interruption, lips parting for words unsaid. Before he could recover, Kent’s voice thundered down the dim hallway, “What the hell are you doing here?” Eyes skewering me, searching for an answer I wouldn’t give. I sidestepped Weston without a word, leaving questions and bullshit hanging thick in the air.
Concrete underfoot, we moved toward the exit, a trio bound by fucked-up circumstance. The afternoon air slapped my face as we stepped out of the club’s muggy embrace. Fingers fumbled for the shades in my pocket, slipping them on to block out the blinding light of the sun above me.
“Need a ride to the office?” Kent’s voice cut through the stillness, his eyes trailing me from head to toe.
“No.” The word a blade, severing any pretense of closeness. I strode, purposeful, towards the cobalt-blue Porsche, its sleek curves like a siren call. Left Kent and Weston behind, their questions dangling like deadweight. Ignored, unanswered.
Chapter8
Weston
The blue Porsche roared off like a wild beast under Darius’s control, and I found myself clambering into Kent’s car. My heart was hammering against my chest, adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
“Hurry and drive,” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than intended.
He raised an eyebrow at me, his lips curling into a smirk. “Damn, Wes, what’s the rush?” he asked, obviously amused.
I shot him a glare but didn’t respond, my mind racing with the image of what I’d just seen. The way Darius had looked, the intensity in his eyes, and the heat between the two men… It was all too much. I didn’t want to admit that I’d given in to the temptation when there were countless women around who would have been more than willing.
“Did you blow a hot load or swallow one?” he prodded, his tone teasing but also bordering on intrusive.
I ignored him, staring out the window as the city blurred by. “Fuck off, Kent,” I muttered under my breath. I could feel his gaze on me, but I refused to acknowledge it, not wanting to reveal even the slightest hint of my thoughts. My body burned with shame and desire, a volatile mix that threatened to bubble over.
“Hey, man, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. But you know I can sniff out when something’s bothering you,” he said, his voice softer now.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t shake the image from my mind—Darius pinned to the wall, my cock pressing into his ass, my breath hot on his ear as I witnessed him struggle against me, just making me harder and needier for his fucking touch. And worst of all, I wanted it.
“Kent, I said fuck off,” I snarled, no longer able to contain my frustration.
His laughter filled the car, but I refused to let it get to me. Right now, all I could focus on was suppressing my desires and figuring out how the hell I’d ended up in this position.
“Alright, alright, just trying to lighten the mood,” he chuckled, finally giving up his pursuit. He turned his attention back to the road, leaving me to stew in my thoughts, haunted by the memory of Darius and the dangerous longing that consumed me.
The Chicago city skyline loomed before me, a forest of tall glass buildings reflecting the fading light of day. The car rumbled beneath us, the steady hum doing little to calm my frazzled nerves as I stared out at the urban landscape. My phone rang, shattering the silence. A quick glance at the screen revealed Cynthia’s name, and I felt a spike of irritation. I ignored the call, but she was persistent— the phone rang again almost instantly. With a resigned sigh, I answered. “What?”
“Sweetheart, you won’t believe what happened!” she blabbered, her voice high-pitched and grating. “The sliding door in my walk-in closet is completely stuck! Can you imagine? I can’t even get to my clothes!”
“Fine,” I snapped, cutting her off. “I’ll get it fixed.” Hanging up, I shoved the phone back into my pocket, my mood darkening further.
Kent glanced over, giving me a shit-eating side eye.
“What!” I barked, unable to keep the icy edge from my tone.
He shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “I thought you blew a load, bro, not swallowed one.”
My middle finger rose slowly, accompanied by a dead-eyed stare.
“Oh, channeling your inner Darius with the fuck-you symbol?” His eyes flicked back to the road, curiosity seeping into his voice. “Why was Darius there, anyway? He doesn’t seem like the type to pay for virgin pussy, or ass, for that matter.”
My jaw clenched, irritation flaring anew. I didn’t have an answer for him, but it wasn’t for lack of wondering. All I could think about was Darius, his presence at that exclusive club, and what exactly he’d been doing there. A beat of silence hung between us, my heart pounding with unanswered questions. “Fuck if I know,” I finally said, keeping my eyes on the cityscape whizzing past.
What the fuck was Darius doing in one of the world’s most prestigious and secret sex clubs? Who gave him an invitation? And who the fuck was he screwing while there? Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as my thoughts raced, desperate for answers.
Kent pulled into the underground garage, parking next to the blue Porsche Darius had been driving. I slammed the car door shut, cursing under my breath as I noticed Darius had taken my assigned parking spot.
“Damn,” Kent laughed, clearly enjoying my irritation. “You’d think he’s fucking you in the ass the way he’s running through you, man.”
