Chapter 14 - Darius
DARIUS
The sheets tangle around us as we lie in Harry’s bed, skin still warm from the shower, bodies close but not quite touching.
Being this close, it’s like the electricity from what just happened still sparks between us, and I’m so fucking tempted to grab him and pull him on top of me to snuggle .
. . or maybe more. The soft rustle of Harry’s breath greets me as he turns to face me, one arm tucked behind his head.
His curls are wet, more defined, and the sandy blond hair in his armpit contrasts with his pale skin. God, he’s so damn beautiful, it hurts.
The dim light from the bedside table casts a shadow across his face, but I can still make out the gentle curve of his lips, forming the hint of a smile.
“That was . . .” He trails off, eyes lingering on mine. His voice is low, yet it carries the weight of something deeper than mere satisfaction with the phenomenal banging we just shared.
“Amazing,” I finish for him, grinning.
My heart still hasn’t settled from the rush of the evening.
The impact of what happened tonight still coursing through me with a charged energy.
The sex. The shower. Harry lying on his bed next to me while water drips from his forehead.
I thought I knew what intimacy was, but this? This feels entirely new.
He laughs softly, his chest rumbling, drawing my attention. Besides the few hairs surrounding his nipples, he’s as smooth as a freshly waxed sports car. My tongue skates across my lips, watching him. He’s so fucking lickable.
“Yeah. Definitely amazing,” he says.
I roll onto my stomach to get more comfortable, but mostly to be closer to him.
He brushes a hand over my head, his fingers landing on my ear, rubbing and squeezing.
The way Harry took control—it was nothing like my brief relationship in college.
Doug was . . . well, he was insecure, hesitant.
We never really seemed on the same wavelength.
Sure, I was hanging out with my hockey teammates, and Doug was usually with the theatre crowd, but it was more than that.
We never seemed to truly connect. Even when we were alone.
But Harry? There’s something about the way he looks at me. The way he moves. He just knows what I want without me having to ask for it. He doesn’t question. He just does. And fuck, it feels so damn good.
“You know, this”—I move my hands between us—“is way different than with my ex.” The words slip out before I can even think about it, and I swallow hard, wishing I could gobble them back up.
Harry cocks an eyebrow and moves the hand behind his head so he’s opening himself, an invitation. I lay my head on his chest, and fuck, lying on him this way feels like heaven.
“Different, how?”
I don’t want Harry to think I’m rushing things. Or comparing him to someone else. And honestly, there’s no comparison. The hotel room. What we just did. It’s monumentally different.
“It just feels more . . . real, I guess. Is that weird?”
“No.”
His fingers play with the hair at the top of my head. It’s not much, but it’s longer than the buzzed sides and back, and for the first time in ages, I find myself contemplating whether I should let it grow longer.
“With Doug, I always felt like I was tiptoeing around him. In bed, we were like two baby lambs fumbling to find our footing. Kinda like you on the ice.”
He punches my arm softly. “Hey, I wasn’t that bad.”
“Harry.” I grab his hand from my head, kissing across his knuckles. “You were perfect.”
He smiles, and his radiant expression makes my heart sing.
“With you . . .” I continue. “You just know. You know exactly what you want and tell me what to do, and honestly, I never realized how much I would love that.”
Harry exhales, a hint of a laugh in his chest. “Well, I’m glad it’s working for you.”
He resumes massaging my scalp.
“It is,” I blurt. “But it’s not only that. It’s the way you . . . take control. It makes me feel safe, like I can just let go and enjoy myself because I’m in excellent hands. I’ve never felt that way before.”
His fingers pause, and I think he might say something, but he’s quiet. This shift in his mood doesn’t go unnoticed, and my chest twists. Something’s off.
“Hey,” I nudge his side, trying to catch his attention again. “I want to know something. After the semi-finals . . . back at school, you were distant. Like, you pushed me away. I was excited to keep things going, but . . . I don’t know . . . Did I do something wrong?”
He shifts slightly, and I glance up to see him staring at the ceiling. Anticipation curls around me.
“I was scared,” he whispers. “I had fun in Rhode Island. Clearly. But I guess the idea of getting too close scares me. I’ve . . . I’ve been burned by someone like you before.”
“Burned?” I echo, trying to piece together what he means.
“My high school boyfriend. Peter.” Harry pauses.
He takes a deep inhale, his breath hitching.
“We weren’t exactly out. Not fully, anyway.
My family knew, and I was trying to be more out at school.
Peter wasn’t having it. We fought about it.
All I wanted was to make him happy. Then .
. . something happened.” He stares at the ceiling, blinking.
“Someone on his track team found out and confronted Peter. He denied it. The whole thing blew up in my face. He wouldn’t talk to me.
I mean, he wouldn’t even look at me.” Harry’s eyes meet mine, and my body vibrates with sadness for high school Harry.
“The game. It brought up all these insecurities I have. I think I was scared of . . . of what could happen if it all went wrong again.”
His words sink into me, and a strange pain burns in my chest. My heart aches for him, for the past that still haunts him. For younger Harry. I sit up, face him, and hold his arm. My fingers brush his soft skin, and my thumb rubs tiny circles on the underside of his forearm.
“I didn’t want that to happen with you,” Harry continues, his eyes finally meeting mine again. “I didn’t want to mess this up.”
I reach out, grasping his shoulders. “You didn’t mess anything up, Harry. Not with me.”
He takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “You mean it?”
“Yeah,” I say firmly, my voice steady. “I mean it. I’m out at work. Just because your gaydar is on the fritz doesn’t mean others don’t know.”
“Really?”
“I’m not wearing a rainbow tracksuit, but I’m not ashamed.”
“You should. Wear a rainbow tracksuit, I mean. You’d look great.”
I laugh at the thought and lean my head into his hand.
“Okay, now, can you please elaborate on why you were a massive prick to me for the last four years?”
My eyes dart down as my ears burn hot. “I told you, I had a crush on you.”
“Darius.” Harry places a finger under my chin, lifts it, and forces my gaze to meet his. “For four years you teased me because you liked me? You’re not ten.”
“I . . . didn’t know how to show it. At school.
I know what most people think of me. Coach Hill.
The PE teacher. Hockey coach. Always wearing the same damn tracksuit.
Most of them probably assume I’m straight.
” I put my hand up quickly. “Not because I’ve ever said that.
Or even hinted at it. But people just make their own stories up about you based on what they think they know.
Anyway, I guess I was trying to hide it.
Not being gay. My feelings. For you.” My head spins as my mouth tries to keep up.
“Harry, you’re so damn smart. Confident.
Loudly out. Handsome. You’re everything I wish I could be.
I thought someone like you would never go for a guy like me so, I was a . . . what did you say, again?”
“A prick.”
“Right. I was a prick.”
“But Darius, that’s where you’re wrong. I mean, I am smart. Handsome enough.” He smiles and my stomach flips. “You’re wrong about someone like me never going for a guy like you.”
My eyes flutter. Trying to see him more clearly in the low light.
Blinking away the wetness and hoping Harry doesn’t see.
And then he takes my face in his hands. Holding my jaw like a soccer ball, and something amazing happens.
Harry looks at me in this way, like he really sees me—all of me.
And that look makes everything else not matter.
A gentle smile plucks at the corner of his lips, and a cozy warmth spreads through me. It’s like everything—every worry, every fear—melts away in the space between us.
He shifts slightly, pulling me closer, his hand resting gently on the back of my neck. “Stay over?” he asks, his voice soft but hopeful. “It’s Friday. We don’t have to do anything else. Just . . . be here. With me.”
I nod before I can even think about it. The thought of being with him tonight, of staying at his place, holding him all night, feels like the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
We settle back into the warmth of the bed, the silence wrapping around us like a blanket. His arm slips around me, pulling me close. As I close my eyes, the steady beat of his heart against mine lulls me into a perfect peace I never realized I was missing.
For the first time in a long time, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.