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The man had always been a main character in my life. From the age of eight, I’d been fascinated by the quiet, charismatic boy I would occasionally see whenever I went to visit Lavena. He’d be just out of the way, never really getting involved in his sister’s business unless she made him. The first time Lavena made him sit with us during a tea party, I couldn’t speak. I sat frozen in the tiny chair next to his, staring aggressively at the tiny, ceramic teacup I was handed, willing my hands not to tremble.
I got better as time passed. I had the girls and Darius was rarely at the apartment anymore. He spent most of his time working with his father or with his own friends. He didn’t have time for a gangly, shy bookworm. So, I moved on. I dated. I lived a pretty average childhood. Then he waltzed back into my life, a fully grown man with a gorgeous girlfriend and zero interest in an eighteen-year-old.
I never liked Liya.
It wasn’t because she had the one man I wanted or that she was stunningly gorgeous, intelligent, or well connected. I hatedthat she was from Darius’s world. She understood him on a level I never would. She was accepted in a way I, as an outsider, never could be, and she never let me forget it. Then she broke his heart, and I hated her for a whole other reason. I was livid and furious, and if I knew how, I would have fought her, but I wasn’t a fighter. I could maybe hold out for a bit, but I never stood a chance in a fight, especially against Liya; she had that street edge I could never master, but for Darius, I would have done my best, because even during that time, Darius was a friend and I protected my friends, especially from viperous bitches climbing a ladder.
Then it all changed.
I wanted to blame Marcella for tearing down whatever wall had been standing between me and Darius since Halloween. I couldn’t imagine how much longer we were going to keep up that dance, but it all came to a head that glittery, festive afternoon.
We’d been talking about turkeys, minding our business in the doorway leading to the sitting room. His family and my dad sat ripping through shiny paper, laughing, and enjoying the giant tree Marcella always had to have. We stepped away to talk without the noise and commotion. Our debate between turkey or ham for holidays needed privacy and a modicum of quiet.
“Turkey is too dry,” I pointed out.
“Ham is too salty.”
“You can’t glaze turkey,” I reminded him.
“You can’t make soup from leftover ham,” he said, standing too close.
He was always too close and never close enough. My back was molded into the doorframe with him tilted into my space, his eyes pools of molten heat pulling me under.
“You could,” I protested, then added in a mumbled, “it just wouldn’t taste very good.”
Darius laughed and my stomach pitched. My core pulsed with the desperate need to feel him against me, in me.
Since Halloween, all I wanted was to have him. I just wanted his weight pinning me down. I wanted him to stretch me open inch by inch on his cock while I begged him for all of it.
“Kami.” It wasn’t the first time he’d had to pull me back to the present and the room full of people a stone’s throws away.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I think I’m—”
“I’m not complaining.” Had his voice always been so thick and deep?
Fuck.
I squished my thighs together, shifting awkwardly as I tried to ease the thrumming. A hot gush of liquid drenched my pants, and I swore out loud under my breath.
“Kitten.”
I didn’t know what kind of power that single word possessed, but I nearly came just standing there. My body wrapped around the raw authority in his vibration and bulked. I felt the tickle of arousal coat my lips and stain my already ruined panties.
I saw his hand lift from his side, fingers extended as if to touch me. My eyes shot to his face, begging him to do it while warning him not to. The decision was made for me.
“Oh my God!” Marcella gasped loudly from her place on the sofa next to Alexander.
The others around the room stopped opening presents the same time Darius and I froze in the doorway, startled by the excitement radiating off the woman. Her enormous brown eyes were on me and Darius, glittering with laughter and too much excitement.
“Look who’s under the mistletoe!” she crowed, clapping her hands once. “You know what that means.”
Both Darius and I glanced up simultaneously, bemused by the tiny bushel of weeds bunched together above our heads.In all the years I’d shared the holiday with the Medlocks, that was the first-time mistletoe was added to the decoration, or I’d somehow missed it, but based on the surprised stares from the others, I didn’t think so.
Darius and I exchanged awkward glances, his expression both amused and annoyed.
He turned to his mother. “Mom, I don’t think—”
“It’s tradition!” she scolded. “Go on.”
