AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Like hell,” I admitted, the raw honesty scraping against my throat, “but the medicine helps. Why?”
Silence fell, heavy and expectant. He didn’t answer, but in that quiet, in the way his gaze didn’t waver from the bruises that painted my skin, I found solace. How fucking cute he looked at that moment. Vulnerability had never been a color I thought would suit Darius Ashbourne, yet there it was, painting him in shades I knew all too well.
I stretched my arms wide, muscles protesting, and smirked at the brat in front of me. “Come here, crybaby.” The nickname rolled off my tongue, a taunt wrapped in fondness.
Darius didn’t hesitate, climbing onto my lap like he owned it. His weight settled, conforming to the hard lines of my body, heat seeping through the thin fabric of my sweats.
I winced as his back pressed right where the bruises sang their violent chorus. “Can’t even heal in peace,” I grumbled, the jolt of pain sharp enough to bite.
“You’ll live,” Darius shot back.
My fingers found the button hidden on the armrest, and with a press, the couch shifted beneath us, extending into a makeshift recliner. My legs lifted, back easing into a slant—some semblance of comfort. It was a luxury I hadn’t indulged in for too long, lost in the grind of courtrooms and corporate bullshit.
The remote felt foreign in my hand, but I flicked it on anyway, thumbing through the endless options on the screen. New releases blinked back at me, a parade of titles and cover art I couldn’t give two fucks about. When was the last time I’d actually watched TV? Weeks? Months? Years?
“Pick something good,” I said, not caring what played out before us, as long as it kept him close, kept him here.
“I just watch Netflix.”
“Typical,” I joked as I placed my chin on his head.
The channel flipped, and an empty field sprawled across the screen, goalposts standing like silent sentinels under the stadium lights. “Oh fuck, I missed the game.” Football was one of the few escapes that didn’t demand a suit or a facade, just raw, unadulterated adrenaline.
“Wait, you watch sports?” Darius’s voice had that skeptical lilt to it as he twisted around to face me, his body shifting on mine, sending another spike of pain through my torso.
I shot him a sidelong glance, the hint of amusement tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Do you think I was born with that stick up my ass?”
He paused, a wry smile playing on his lips as he raised a brow in mock disbelief. “Yes.”
I couldn’t help but burst out in laughter, a deep, genuine sound that felt foreign in my own ears. “Nope. It grew over time.” The words hung between us, coated in layers of truth I rarely allowed myself to acknowledge.
Darius leaned back against me, head tilted to the side. “I’m starting to think you’re cool.”
“I am cool,” I retorted, my voice smooth as aged whiskey, confidence threading through each syllable.
A smirk curled his mouth, and he dipped into a passable impression of me, complete with a stiff upper lip and an air of indifference. “I beg to differ.”
His mockery stung less than it should have, maybe because it stripped away the layers of bullshit I’d spent years piling on. Maybe because his presence carved out a space where pretense fell away, leaving something raw and real. Yeah, something fucked-up nonetheless.
The remote felt cold in my hand, a stark contrast to the heat of Darius’s body pressed against mine. “Really, though, what do you want to watch?” I asked, ignoring the spike of pain from my healing torso. The question was a formality; I already knew his answer.
“Horror,” he said without hesitation, that devil-may-care grin on his face.
“Fuckin’ fantastic,” I mumbled under my breath, not sharing his enthusiasm for the genre. But it wasn’t about the movie—it never was.
Darius snatched the beer bottle from my grip and took a swig. His eyes locked on the screen as he browsed through titles. “I kinda like it here. Being with you and shit.”
The words were casual, almost throwaway, but they struck a chord deep within me. I pressed my nose into the nape of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—vanilla and something earthy, uniquely Darius. It was intoxicating, grounding, reminding me why I was risking everything.
Without a word, I picked a random horror flick; the title blurring before my eyes. Who gave a damn about the movie? My thumb jabbed the play button, the screen flickering as the opening credits rolled out. Silence enveloped us, punctuated only by the distant sounds of terror from the TV speakers, but it was the quiet tension between us, the unspoken words, that held me captive. Fuck, this was more than fucked—it was a goddamn inferno threatening to consume everything I’d ever built up around me. And yet, here I was, playing with fire because it was the only thing that felt real.
The movie’s eerie soundtrack bled into the room, but it was Darius’s restless shifting atop me that snagged my focus. He was a live wire of tension, his lean body an unspoken question pressing down on my thighs.
“Spit it out,” I growled, the rasp of my voice cutting through the cinematic screams.
He exhaled sharply, the breath hot against my ear. “This is so fucked, but be honest with me.” A pause, heavy as lead. “Do I fuck better than my dad?”
“Out of all the fucking things you could—” My protest died in his insistent gaze.
