10

DEV

My throat works once before I can make myself answer. Nico is close enough that if I stretch my leg out from the edge of the bed, my knee will hit him. The pillow is still clamped across my lap, and his eyes drop to it before returning to my face.

“Maya came because she was worried.”

“That why the door was locked?”

“She didn’t want the whole house hearing our conversation.”

“What conversation?”

“None of your business.”

Nico’s mouth tightens. He takes another step, and now the front of his thigh is almost against my knee. “You expect me to believe she sat in here for an hour talking about nothing?”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

His gaze falls to the pillow again. “You cared enough to hide that.”

My fingers tighten around the fabric. “Get out.”

“Who were you thinking about?” The question lands so cleanly that I hate him for it.

“What?”

“When I walked in.” He tips his chin toward my lap. “You had your hand down there and your jeans open. So who was it?”

Victor’s voice flashes through my head, rough and private, and I shove the memory away before it can put anything on my face. “Jerking off in my own room still isn’t your business.”

“Didn’t look like you were ashamed until I caught you.”

“Congratulations. You’ve discovered privacy.”

He doesn’t smile. “Was it Maya?”

I stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“She was in here with the door locked.”

“She’s my friend.”

“And you tell your friends everything?”

His gaze stays fixed on me, and there it is. This stopped being about catching me with my hand between my legs several questions ago.

I set the pillow aside and stand because sitting under him while he interrogates me is making me want to punch something. My erection is still obvious under my jeans, and Nico’s eyes drop immediately. He looks long enough that I notice, then lifts his gaze like he has won something.

“Stop staring at my dick.”

“Hard to miss.”

“Fuck you.”

“You already wanted to.”

The words hit because they are true, and he knows exactly how much I hate that. Long before that night, before he ever kissed me, I had wanted him badly enough to steal one of his tank tops and humiliate myself with it. Whatever is happening to Nico now has nothing to do with why my eyes used to follow him around this house.

I turn away before he can read any of that on my face and head for the walk-in closet. “I’m changing. Get out.”

He follows me anyway. The closet is big enough to walk into, with clothes hanging along both walls and shelves across the back, but once Nico steps through the doorway behind me, there is much less usable space. I reach for a clean shirt from the shelf, turn, and find him planted between me and the bedroom.

“What now?”

“What did you tell her about that night?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nico.”

“You told her about me.”

“I said nothing about you.”

He steps closer. My back brushes the edge of the shelving, forcing me to angle one shoulder because getting around him would mean pushing directly past his body.

His voice drops. “Did you tell her I kissed you?”

“No.”

“Did you tell her you wanted it?”

My jaw clenches, and Nico catches the reaction immediately.

“There.” His eyes stay on mine. “That.”

“What?”

“You keep acting like what happened between us came out of nowhere.” He moves closer until there is barely space left between the front of his shirt and mine. “You wanted me before I ever touched you.”

“Move.”

“You stole my tank top.”

“I said move.”

“You were getting hard over me before any of this happened, Dev.”

That is the part I cannot argue with. I can be scared of whatever changed in Nico afterward. I can hate the way he keeps watching me now and the way his attention has sharpened until it feels impossible to escape. None of that changes what came before. My own attraction belongs to me, and having Nico throw it back in my face makes something hot and angry twist low in my stomach.

He plants one hand against the shelf beside my shoulder. There are only inches between us now. I can smell his soap when he speaks, and my eyes catch on his mouth before dropping to the stretch of his shirt across his chest where his raised arm pulls the fabric tight.

His gaze follows mine. “Still want me to move?”

I should say yes and mean it.

Instead, I remember watching him walk around this house before any of this started. The tank top. His bare arms. Every stupid second I spent looking when I thought he would never know. Now he does know, and he is standing close enough that the front of his jeans almost brushes mine.

“Yes,” I say anyway.

Nico stays where he is. His free hand settles at my waist, fingers pressing through my shirt just above the waistband of my jeans. I stiffen immediately, but he does not pull me forward. He leaves his hand there and waits, watching my face.

“Then do something.”

His chest is right there. I could shove him hard enough to clear the doorway. I could duck beneath his arm and walk out. For several seconds I actually picture doing it.

Then his thumb shifts once against my waist.

My erection presses harder against my jeans.

I hate that he can feel the change in me. I hate more that some part of me wants to find out whether kissing him sober will feel different when I am the one deciding it happens.

I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him into me.

Our mouths hit hard enough that my shoulder knocks the shelf. Nico’s hand closes around my waist, and his other hand comes off the shelf to grip my hip. He starts to draw me closer, but I am already moving into him, closing the space myself.

I know exactly who I am kissing.

When Nico pulls his mouth back half an inch, I follow him and kiss him again before he can say anything.

His thigh pushes between mine and makes me widen my stance. His jeans meet the front of mine when he shifts closer, putting more pressure against the erection I never managed to lose. My breath catches against his mouth, and Nico feels it.

A low laugh slips out of him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Be an asshole for five seconds.”

“That sounds difficult.”

I shove at his chest, but there is barely any force behind it now, and we both know it. Nico catches my wrist and holds my hand against his shirt. His heart is beating hard beneath my palm.

He presses closer again.

My back meets the shelving. His thigh stays between mine, and the front of his jeans drags against me when he adjusts his footing. I could turn my hips away. Instead, I shift against him once before I can talk myself out of it.

Nico’s eyes drop between us.

That look should embarrass me enough to stop.

It doesn’t.

The bedroom door opens, and both of us go rigid.

“Dev?”

Mom.

Nico releases my wrist immediately. I grab the closet door and pull it almost shut until only a narrow strip of bedroom light remains between the door and frame.

“I’m changing,” I call. My voice comes out rough, so I clear my throat. “One second.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Her footsteps move farther into the bedroom instead of back toward the hall. “I wanted to check on you. Maya said you were feeling better when she left.”

I press my lips together before answering. “I’m fine.”

Nico stands inches away, one shoulder brushing the hanging clothes. His chest is still rising faster than normal, and my jeans are still visibly tented between us. I try to shift my hips backward, but the shelf behind me stops me after barely an inch.

Mom keeps talking. “You’ve barely eaten all week. Did you have anything today?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

I look at Nico just as his gaze drops to the front of my jeans, and my stomach tightens.

“Nico,” I mouth.

He looks back up at me.

For a second I think the interruption has finally ended this. He should stay still. I should wait until Mom leaves, shove him out of the closet, and remember that getting caught would destroy far more than whatever is happening between us.

Then Nico bends his knees.

My pulse jumps.

He lowers himself slowly, one hand sliding from my waist to the shelf beside my thigh for balance. He is giving me enough time to stop him. That is what makes it worse. There is no surprise to hide behind, no sudden movement I can pretend I did not understand.

His shoulder is directly beneath my hand.

I could push him upright.

Instead, I keep my hand where it is.

Nico settles into a crouch in front of me. My knees nearly frame his shoulders, and from above I can see the top of his head before he lifts his face toward mine. My erection is impossible to hide at this distance. The denim is pulled tight over it, directly in his line of sight.

Mom says something about making me food if I am still not feeling well. I barely catch half of it.

“Dev?”

“Sorry. Yeah. I heard you.”

Nico keeps looking up at me.

My fingers curl around the edge of the shelf. He still has not touched me there. I could tell him to get up without Mom ever knowing why.

But the memory of his mouth is still on mine. My lips feel swollen from kissing him, and my hips have not forgotten the pressure of his body against them. Worse, Nico was right about one thing. Whatever has happened to him, nobody cursed me into wanting this.

I shift my feet farther apart.

Only slightly.

Enough.

Nico notices.

Outside the closet, Mom says, “You’ve been shut in here for days. Are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell me?”

My stomach turns over.

“No,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I’m just tired.”

Nico’s eyes remain steady on me as he brings one finger close to his lips. “Shhhhh.”

I shake my head at him as vigorously as I can but the look on his face…there’s no going back. His shifts closer between my knees without taking his eyes off my face, then his hand leaves the shelf.

I see it rise.

I know exactly where he is reaching.

And I stay still as his hand moves toward my cock.