Lucy
I t’s louder down on the street, cars rumbling past the sidewalk as drivers lean on their horns. It rained for an hour or so earlier, and the ground is black and shiny, reflecting their headlights. Tires swish through shallow puddles.
Huddled in the doorway out of the way of the pedestrians, I fumble with my phone, trying to keep it together long enough to order a ride home.
It’s ridiculous that Darius’s words should make me lose control like this—that every time I replay them, it feels like being stabbed.
Practice . That’s all he ever promised me from tonight.
And practice is what he gave me.
So why do I feel sick with betrayal? Why do I want to headbutt his stupid, handsome face? Why is my chest a smoking crater underneath my dress?
Finally, I find the app I need. Browsing for nearby drivers, I clench my jaw against the threat of tears.
I will not cry here.
I will not sob out my broken heart in the street below my office party.
I will make it home, change into flannel pajamas, and then fall apart like a grown up, damn it.
Ride confirmed. Tracking the little dot of my savior on the map, I stare dry-eyed as my driver inches through traffic.
That was my first kiss.
My only kiss.
Darius took that from me, and it didn’t even mean anything to him. Is that allowed? Is that what I agreed to with this fake date? Am I an idiot?
“.”
Normally, the deep, smooth sound of Darius Amin’s voice makes butterflies explode inside me. Right now, it makes my teeth grind.
“,” he says, coming to my side. Didn’t hear the front door open, or I would have made a run for it, even in these heels. “There you are. Please, don’t leave like this.”
The really messed up thing is that Darius sounds as wrecked as I feel. Like tonight is an emotional rollercoaster for him too, but that makes no sense.
He’s the heartthrob who sees me as a friend, nothing more. This is all a big joke to him.
I’m the dumbass on a fake date with her crush.
And when I put it like that, I can’t even be mad at him. Not really. Darius hasn’t done anything that I didn’t agree to—eagerly.
“Just a headache,” I mutter, tilting my phone so he can see my ride is nearly here. Darius snakes a hand out faster than I can react, canceling my ride with the tap of a button. “Hey!”
“Don’t lie to me, .” Great. Now he’s pissed off, too—and when I finally look up, Darius is rumpled and angry, his normally smooth appearance fraying. “You can feel however you need to feel, but don’t lie to me, damn it. Not me.”
But I do have a headache. It’s called Darius Amin.
And there’s a simple cure: a ride home, alone, and then a pint of butterscotch ice cream on my sofa. This treatment is tried and tested, okay? Because this is not my first rodeo. Not my first meltdown about loving the man in front of me—it’s just the first one that he’s seen.
“Come back upstairs,” he begs.
I snatch my phone back. “Hard pass.”
“Not to the party. I—there’s somewhere else we can go. Somewhere to talk this out. Then I swear, I will get you home safely and leave you be, just… please, .” Those mournful brown eyes bore into my soul. “Don’t leave things broken between us. I can’t bear it.”
And I can’t bear to see this man crumbling with despair. Because he’s not just my heart-stoppingly handsome crush, after all—he’s my friend.
My infuriating, charming, caring friend. The man who brings me coffee and pastries every morning. Crap. I owe him more than this, don’t I?
“Ten minutes.” That’s all I can handle. I shove my phone in my clutch, already counting down. “Then I’m gone. I really do have a headache.”
“Ten minutes,” Darius agrees quickly. “Deal.”
He leads me back into the building, across the fancy marble lobby, and into the elevator. The doorman waves us off as the doors close.
And we lift off, carried up to where another painful conversation awaits. I swear to god: this night is eternal.
* * *
The elevator stops just below the roof. “The penthouse?” I say stupidly, tripping out after Darius as he leads us to the only door in the short corridor. The floor tiles, the light fixtures, the sage-green walls—everything here seems fancy and expensive. It’s a far cry from my own sixth floor walk-up, with my threadbare curtains and constantly humming refrigerator. “Why are we here ?”
“Got a key.” Darius fishes a bunch from his pocket, jingling them at me with a brisk smile—but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He was silent in the elevator too, the air thick between us. “A spare. The boss won’t care if we borrow his place for ten minutes.”
The boss ?
Darius ignores my squeak of protest, tugging me inside the penthouse. My heels clack against oak floorboards, and my dress swishes around my legs.
“We can’t—we shouldn’t—”
“Oh, calm down. It’s just some light breaking and entering. Leo would never press charges, so don’t worry. He’s the one who cut me the key.”
Gaping at the back of Darius’s broad shoulders, the door swinging shut behind me, I trail him into an open plan kitchen and living area. Who is this man? He’s close with the boss? Why didn’t I know that?
When I voice the question, Darius shoots me a bitter smile from the open refrigerator. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Luce.”
Huh.
Okay, need a minute to process. I peer around the apartment— Leo Corbin’s apartment. It’s less of a cold bachelor pad than I expected, with vibrant art on the walls and a comfy-looking teal sofa. There’s one of those fancy fireplaces too, the ones with a remote control.
Meanwhile, Darius is rummaging for something, lit by the refrigerator’s glow. Bottles clink together, and the composer moves like he’s been here a million times before. Like this is a second home to him.
Shoot. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think.
Like—the flirting thing. I was so sure that when he winked at Hazel it was flirty, but… she didn’t blush. She didn’t seem to think so. So why leap to the worst conclusion?
And sure, there are countless rumors about Darius sleeping with women in the company, but have I ever actually heard of him going on a date? Have any of those rumors been confirmed? Not one. And I’d hate it if Darius believed a bunch of baseless rumors about me.
Chewing my bottom lip, I wander to a floor lamp and flick it on. No need to hash this out in half-darkness.
Over in the kitchen, Darius straightens with a bottle of white wine in his hand. It’s been opened and re-corked, and the label says it’s fancy stuff.
“We can’t drink the boss’s wine,” I hiss, already mortified but so, so tempted. The shame and heartbreak of earlier is receding, fading into the background, and now I’ve got that fizzy, excited feeling. The tingles that come with breaking the rules.
And Capable, Reliable never breaks the rules. She’s always punctual and hardworking, dressed in forgettable cardigans and glasses, blending in with the furniture. That’s how I’ve seen myself recently, anyway.
But when Darius strolls to meet me, two glasses of white wine in his hands, his heated gaze says he sees me very, very differently. His mouth crooks. “Go on. Live a little.”
Holding my breath, I take a glass.
It’s cool, the pale wine sparkling in the light when I swill it gently. My first sip is crisp and sweet. Darius switches the fireplace on with a beep, tossing the remote who knows where as flames leap to life in the grate.
And… is this a seduction? With the wine, the fire, and the glittering city-scape outside the window, it kinda feels like a seduction.
But that’s wishful thinking. Practice , he said.
And we’re here to finish our argument, not to extend our fake date. Still, the devil on my shoulder makes me blurt my next question.
“Is this the part where you whisper sweet nothings in my ear?” I’m aiming for jokey, but it’s coming out strained. “Where you kiss my neck and pull me down to the rug, and ravish me until I cry out your name?”
Darius frowns down at his own wine, refusing to meet my eye. “It depends. Would you let me?”
Yes.
Even if it meant nothing, yes. Even if it broke my heart, and ruined me for other men for the rest of my life, yes I would. What does that say about me? Does it make me passionate or stupid?
Capable, Reliable would never hook up in her boss’s penthouse. But then, that girl believed the rumors and thought the worst about her friend; she decided Darius Amin could never possibly want her without even asking him first.
Maybe I don’t want to be that girl anymore.
Maybe I want to be Brave . Reckless .
The who goes after what she wants. The who sips delicious stolen wine.
“Well, I’d prefer the sofa,” I say.
Darius huffs a laugh, and when he smiles up at me, his eyes crinkle. “We should talk first. You seemed upset.”
I was. I am.
But there is such a thing as multitasking. We can talk things through and despoil the boss’s apartment.
So with one final sip of wine, I wander to the mantelpiece and set my glass down. The fire blasts heat against my bare legs, and when I turn back to Darius, my spine is straight.
“I was hurt.” No more dancing around it; no more half-lies. No more hiding how I feel from the man I want most in the world, because all this secrecy is killing me. Better to be honest and rejected than to wonder what if. “You took my first kiss and it didn’t mean anything to you. That pissed me off. Especially because… well, it didn’t feel like practice.”
“It wasn’t.” Darius shakes his head, then strides to join me at the mantelpiece. His glass is placed beside mine with a click . And his back is straight too, like we’ve both been carrying these heavy loads and we’re finally setting them down. “I’ve been such an ass, , letting my fears get in the way. None of it was fake to me. None of it. Of course that kiss meant something to me—it meant the world.”
My whole body tightens, quivering with hope.
“Then why—?”
“I could never deserve you.” A strong hand curves around my hip, searing me through my red velvet dress. I’m falling into those steady brown eyes. “I have no idea how to do any of this. My parents hated each other and put me off the idea of love for years; my best friend from college is a determined loner. I’ve never seen a happy couple up close, never learned how it’s done.”
Darius’s mouth twists, and turmoil swirls in those dark eyes. Jeez, he’s really worried about this, isn’t he? This has really kept him away from me for a year.
Men. Honestly.
“Darius.” He inhales sharply when I take his hand, my thumb rubbing back and forth on his palm. “Maybe I’m not the only one who needs practice.”
The composer chokes out a laugh, like he can’t believe this is real.
“You’d do that for me? Figure things out as we go?”
And oh, this beautiful dumbass. Fighting a smile, I place my other hand on his chest, slipping my fingertip beneath his shirt again. “Obviously. How do you think everyone else does it? Do you think there’s a secret manual?”
Darius hums, head lowering. “No?”
Our breath mingles, and we’re a hair’s breadth away from kissing. My second ever kiss. “Good instinct. So we can figure it out, right? We’re smart people.”
“ You’re smart people.” Darius nips my bottom lip. “I’m all looks, sweetheart.”
And he’s teasing me again, hands roaming, breathing faster, but when our mouths meet, all is right with the world.
Fight? What fight?
And what fake date?
Turns out neither of us are good actors, because we meant every heated look, every dance, every touch. Both of us pretended it wasn’t real while dying on the inside, contorted with longing. What a pair we are.
“There will be rumors on Monday.” Tugging his jacket off his broad shoulders, I kiss Darius again and again until my head spins. He kisses me back, devouring my mouth, my neck, my jaw. “Everyone will be gossiping about you again.”
“Good.” The jacket lands with a soft thump somewhere behind the sofa. “Let them. They’ve finally stumbled on something true.”
And… the Darius Amin, famous composer, with the bookish accountant with glasses? Will anyone even believe it? Will they think it’s too ridiculous? Will they—
No.
Not going down that path.
I don’t care how it looks to everyone else in the office. Don’t care if they think Darius is too handsome for me. Because the fact is he wants me—so desperately that he’s growling, popping a button off his shirt as he tears it open—and that’s all that matters. Everyone else can kick rocks.
“So,” Darius says between kisses, squeezing my waist, my hips, my ass, “fucking… sweet. . You know how long I’ve wanted this?”
I laugh as he kisses down my throat, raking my fingers through his hair. It’s thick and soft and springy, and it smells like cedar wood and lime. “A year?”
A growl rumbles against my skin. “Longer. Much longer. From the first fucking second I laid eyes on you, walking across the lobby in your fussy little pencil skirt, I wanted to—”
“Yeah?”
Clever fingers stroke over my back, searching for the entrance to my dress. Grabbing Darius’s arm, I redirect him to my side, sucking in a quick breath when he starts tugging the zipper.
“ Yes. ” His mouth finds mine again, claiming, devouring . His tongue strokes against mine, and I’m burning up in my skin, burning to a crisp, panting and swaying in the composer’s arms.
My friend’s arms.
And now so much more.
“Wanted to tear that cardigan right off you.” The zipper catches, and Darius yanks it on with a snarl. Jeez, I’ve never seen him like this—half-feral, with a ravenous glint in his dark eyes. Gone is the calm, collected man from the office, and here instead is a man whose control has frayed to the last thread. “Wanted to drag you into that supply closet and shake the walls.”
Oh, crap.
I’d let him.
I’d totally let him.
And now we’re tearing our clothes off in the boss’s penthouse, our work party happening above our heads, and the fire is hot and my bare skin is pebbled with goosebumps. If we stop, I might die.
Darius steers me to the sofa and coaxes me to sit down. To stretch out, legs parted, thighs quivering.
“This,” he says, thudding to his knees on the rug. Warm hands cup my knees. “ This . This is my dream.”
And it’s all a perfect whirl: his bare, sculpted body, the dark hair dusting his chest and drawing a line down his abs, the lamplight, his touch, his breath, the tickle of his hair as his head lowers between my legs.
Darius Amin pauses, brown gaze searching. His cheeks are flushed. “Yes?”
And I’m already squirming, the backs of my knees sweaty with how badly I need this. “ Yes .”
His head ducks.
Firelight glimmers in the dark strands of his hair. His breath puffs against my bare seam, tickly and warm, and then—
Heat.
Wet, torturous heat.
A flattened tongue licks the length of my slit.
He laves me, licking and sucking and nibbling everywhere, exploring every inch. And my breaths come in short pants, my fingers twisting in his hair, because that’s Darius down there, tasting me so intimately. That’s Darius Amin sliding a finger inside me, crooking it to tease my inner walls. That’s Darius torturing me into a sweaty, babbling heap.
My hips rock up to meet his mouth. My squishy thighs grip his ears. Is he okay? Does he like this? Is it—
“Luce,” Darius groans, his words vibrating against my clit. “You taste so fucking good. Give it to me, sweetheart. Give me everything. Rub yourself on my tongue.”
Oookay.
You know, I’ve always been an A+ student. Always been good at following instructions.
And if Darius wants me to let loose, to surrender to this completely… I sure will.
With a sigh, I melt back against the sofa, even as my hands tug him closer by the hair, yanking his face harder between my legs. Darius rumbles his approval, mouth working furiously between my thighs.
The wave builds slowly at first, then faster and faster, until I can’t hold it back any longer, can’t keep it from cresting. My heart thuds and my cheeks flush and my eyes screw shut, anguished breaths echoing in my ears.
“Oh!”
It crashes over me, trembling my whole body. On and on it goes, until I’m a boneless heap, sprawled naked on my boss’s teal sofa.
Darius sits back on his heels, and his mouth and chin are slick in the firelight.
“?”
I wobble up to look at him properly. “Uh-huh?”
His gaze burns. “You’re mine. ”