Darius sat on the edge of the bed, uncapped the bottle of water, and took a large gulp. Kieran tracked his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Jesus Christ, the man is sex on a stick.
Darius shifted, gaze darting around the room before finally meeting Kieran’s eyes. If Kieran didn’t know better, he’d say Darius was nervous as all hell, but the Darius he knew was never intimidated and was in control at all times. Okay, so maybe that was a lie given how he’d been when he was drunk as fuck, but even drunk Darius hadn’t looked like he wanted to bolt. Or maybe it was Kieran he wanted to leave? But there was no way in hell that was happening, at least not without a clear indication. Kieran had been fantasizing about Darius for six weeks, since the very first day he’d set foot in Sparks, and he wasn’t missing the opportunity now.
He approached the bed and took the bottle from Darius’s hand. He placed it and the bottle he’d been holding on the nightstand, and turned back to Darius. This time Darius met his gaze without hesitation. His nostrils flared and he swallowed heavily, and when Kieran grasped his hands, he could feel the slight tremor.
“You want this?” he whispered.
Kieran held his breath until Darius answered with a slow smile. Darius widened his legs, making room for Kieran and pulling him closer. Kieran’s knees went weak and he easily gave in to the tug, bending to bring his mouth to Darius’s. Any hesitation Darius may have had disappeared. He reached out and placed his palms on either side of Kieran’s face—he controlled the kiss, owned it, tilting their faces so he could take over Kieran’s mouth. The blood rushed south as Darius tasted and devoured. God, he could kiss.
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