Chapter 18
Koby
It’s just past seven in the evening when I kick my apartment door shut.
Since operation Kill Octavius (and Anton) Grey began I’ve been coming home later and later. I shouldn’t be here for at least another two hours, but it’s my birthday, and Carter cut our working day short after a quick ten-hour shift. Instead of five minutes to shower and change, I have ninety.
He’s such a sweetheart sometimes.
I roll my shoulders, loosening the tension I carried all day, when a door clicks. I turn, watching it swing open down the hall and I nearly fucking swallow my tongue.
Leilani exits the bathroom... naked. Skin flushed pink, long legs glistening with lotion. The berry scent of it targets my nose instantly. Her hair is plastered to her shoulders, a single rivulet of water carving a path between her full, gorgeous breasts, pink nipples in hard peaks.
Her eyes catch mine and widen in shock.
She yelps and darts back into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the frame shakes.
“Ohmygod—Koby!” she calls out. “I’m sorry!”
Sorry? Christmas came early this year and she’s sorry?
Sorry, like this isn’t the best birthday present ever?
Sorry, like she did something wrong instead of giving me the best sight of my life?
Sorry is the last thing she should be. What she should be is pressed against the door she just slammed, my mouth on hers while I taste her lips and drink in every sound she makes.
“I didn’t hear you come in!” she adds.
I’m speechless. My lungs forget how to pull down air and I’m blinking like the LED on a dying smoke detector. My whole body is locked the fuck up.
Except for my cock.
That spongy tissue has no shame, twitching and straining behind my zipper as if it’s trying to bust out and make Leilani’s acquaintance.
Enchanté, mademoiselle.
I rake a hand through my hair, then drop it back down, palming the stiff, aching length through my pants. The pressure doesn’t help. High hope withers and dies when the move doesn’t ease the throbbing. It just reminds me how ready I am.
The bathroom door is just a few steps away. That’s all. A few short steps and I’d be there. I could knock. I could walk in. I could—
You can’t.
Right. If I push, I’ll ruin this.
“Do you always leave the bathroom naked?” I ask, then clear my throat because it came out like my name’s Jeff.
“Not when you’re home, Mr. Maddox,” she teases.
Fuck. She shouldn’t have said that. Neither part of that sentence, because I bite my teeth, trying not to think of Leilani as Mrs. Maddox, all the while wondering where I could install a pinprick camera...
I mean, where I would install one if I were a creep.
Which you’re not.
Mostly.
The door opens again and for the briefest moment I pray she’s reckless enough to gift me another glimpse. One more bare second. One more chance to memorize every line of her body.
But no. She emerges wrapped in a towel, still damp, still pink, still glowing. My pulse thuds in my ears. All the blood that’s not currently in my dick whooshes that way so loudly it almost drowns out Leilani’s words.
“I’ll go get dressed,” she says, not quite meeting my gaze.
She disappears into her bedroom and I’m still standing there, my system updating. It’s not until the door fully closes that I snap out of it and put one leg forward. Then the other. And again until I burst into my bedroom, turn the key, and lean back against hardwood.
Jesus Christ... I unbuckle, unzip, and grip my cock at the base.
My lungs empty in a rush, eyes close, and she’s there. Naked, wet, flushed. I groan, stroking fast.
Soft skin, the bounce of her boobs, the curve of her hips such a fucking perfect fit for my hands. That rivulet of water sliding between her breasts, down the soft curve of her stomach. Her nipples peaked, begging me to bite them.
I pump harder, hips pushing into my grip. My abs tighten, teeth sinking into my cheek as I imagine her body beneath mine, warm and soft.
God, I want her.
I want her spread out for me, thighs locked around my waist, nails carving my shoulders. I want her begging for me, crying my name even louder than she did through the wall last week. I want her coming on my cock then falling asleep in my arms where I can always watch over her.
Every sound she made just now is burned into me. That little yelp. The stammered apology. The click of the door slamming shut when she darted back inside.
I jerk faster, heat coiling deep and low in my spine. I don’t want to come so fast, but I want to come so much.
My jaw locks and my balls pull tight, the orgasm knocking the breath out of my chest. My hips keep pumping, fucking the air. I groan through my teeth, silver ribbons coating my fist.
Jesus, what is that girl doing to me?
Since when do I jerk off like a horny teenage boy after a girl way out of his league accidentally catches his eye? Since when does it take me a mere thirty seconds to blow my load?
I push off the wall, cupping my slick fist with the other hand to reduce the splash marks on the carpet. My cock’s still out of my pants, bobbing happily as I cross the room.
In a dreamlike state, I strip and hop straight under a stream of hot water.
“Fuck,” I snap, watching cum turn to sticky jelly on my skin.
I’m a man for God’s sake. I know how cum reacts with hot water, and yet here I am, scraping this gooey, gluey bullshit off my fist and dick like I’ve never done this before.
Once I’m certain there’s no residue left, I finish showering and head to my room, pulling my favorite combo from the closet. Black slacks, matching tailored jacket, and a white Oxford shirt. Two buttons undone, always.
Carter never wears a jacket, and I never wear a tie.
Gold cufflinks, my favorite watch, and a selection of signet rings. Not bad for a guy with cum under his fingernails.
Leilani’s in the living room, curled on the couch, hair damp, legs tucked under her butt.
She peers at me over the rim of a steaming cup. Her cheeks pink up, but she doesn’t mention what happened and I don’t either. I can’t risk blurting out that one glimpse at her naked body had me drafting a marriage proposal.
She scrutinizes me from the tip of my head down to my feet and back, two lines wrinkling her forehead.
“You’re... dressed up.” She tugs at the sleeve of—
“Is that my hoodie?”
“It was.” She smiles but it’s weak and fades fast. “You look nice.” Her gaze drops to my watch. “Where are you going?”
“Scarlett.”
“Ah, okay. Have fun.” She looks like she’s about to add something, but changes her mind, lifting the cup to her lips.
I hate leaving her alone. I should sit across from her, soaking in this domesticity because it already feels like a life I’d kill for.
“I won’t be long.”
She gives me another flat smile. “And I’ll be here.”
***
Carter, Ryder, and Broadway would all point their finger my way when asked who the crazy one is.
And they wouldn’t be wrong.
I do my best to bottle my chaos all year long, keeping it on a short leash, acting like a responsible adult.
Well, I try.
But there’s one day a year when I don’t. I let the cork fly and unleash it all. It’s my cheat day. I behave for three hundred and sixty-four days, then go wild on my birthday.
I drink until my stomach flips inside out. I puke, then drink more. I fuck anyone willing and start fights with anyone breathing. I’ve woken up with bruised ribs, busted lips, scratches on my back, and lipstick on my shirt more times than I can count.
The first time Carter and Broadway saw me let loose, three men lost their teeth, five women lost their minds, and I lost the contents of my stomach all over the booth at Delta, narrowly missing Dante Carrow.
Lucky for me, Dante saw the funny side.
Since then, Carter’s hosted my birthdays in a more controlled environment.
Security, alcohol, women, and a few soldiers willing to throw fists with me.
Sometimes he’ll add someone already on our shit list, and I’ll cut fingers between rounds of whiskey and pussy.
Or during. It’s been my birthday pattern for years.
Drink.
Fight.
Fuck.
Rinse.
Repeat.
A similar setup was ready this year, but I canceled the extravagant celebrations because all other women have lost their appeal since I saw Leilani. I couldn’t stomach the thought of wasting a single hour blacked out or buried in any pussy when I could be sober and sharp for her.
Ryder and Broadway are already in our section of the VIP area with their girls when I arrive. The customary happy birthdays, shoulder pats from the guys, and cheek pecks from the girls ends with Bianca.
“Hello, birthday boy,” she sing-songs, rising on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.
Ryder’s watching, as always, but for the first time, there’s no hostility in his dark eyes. He just smirks.
I guess my theory was correct. He was on edge whenever Bianca came anywhere near me because I stupidly flirted with her when she first arrived. Though flirted might be an overstatement. I was merely teasing.
Still, I made a few comments I shouldn’t have, called her hot, and that made Ryder’s jealousy spike whenever Bianca got too close to me.
Judging by tonight’s attitude, he’s over it.
Convenient timing... Leilani enters my life, head, heart, and soul, and Ryder relaxes.
“You should see a specialist about your trust issues,” I tell him, dropping into my seat.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He drapes an arm over Bianca’s shoulder once she takes a seat beside him.
They make an interesting couple.
Ryder’s the most stoic out of us. His temper’s buried deep and rarely rears its head. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times I’ve seen him lose his shit.
Bianca, on the other hand, is loud, fun, and ready to party. She’s the heart of the girl group, always the first to take a shot and hit the dancefloor.
“Happy birthday!” Hailey’s melodic voice fills my ears as she enters the VIP section with Carter in tow.