Page 5 of Bad Habits

Stick it out, Wes.The lavish court yard swarmed with people, their voices a cacophony of ambition and greed. Every handshake a transaction, every smile a contract. I circulated, playing the role of dutiful son, the perfect image of an Ashbourne man—privileged, polished, and utterly annoyed by the charade.

I shadowed Parker, my presence a ghost he seemed hellbent to exorcise. With every step I took, he drifted farther away, his disinterest a blade twisting in my gut.Fuck it.The annoyance bubbled up, hot and raw. I turned on my heel, my patience snapping like a brittle twig under my foot. I entered the house, and it seemed to swallow me whole. The din of the party muffled as I wandered through the sterile halls. A guitar leaned against the wall, nonchalant, begging to be touched. My fingers itched, the urge undeniable. I grabbed it, its weight familiar in my hands.

I took a seat by the window which offered a view into the courtyard and of Parker. I stole glances as I let the strings vibrate under my touch, a soft murmur escaping my lips, one that’d been replaying in my mind for days. His laughter echoed into the house, grating against my nerves as his grin stretched from ear to ear. He was with her, some girl all too eager to press flesh and play coy. My grip on the guitar tightened, knuckles bleaching.

I strummed harder, the guitar’s protest lost in the churn of my turmoil. She laughed, that high-pitched sound that girls make when they’re selling lies as flirtation. His hand on her waist, claiming territory. He was mine to claim, but never in the light. It pissed me off, the way gravity pulled you down—inescapable, relentless, suffocating. I couldn’t stand to see it, not now, not ever. An hour bled away, slowly, as if time somehow came to a stop. Every glance out the window made heat prickle at the back of my neck. Parker, laughing it up with Miss Silicone 5000—a display so plastic it could’ve been shrink-wrapped and sold.

The guitar, once solace, was now a taunt. I set it aside, and it clunked against the polished wood floor. The sound softer than the violence in my veins. I had a mind to stand up and storm out, but deep down I knew I couldn’t. Plus, I would never want to give Cole the satisfaction. I refused to continue to look out the window at the shit show before me, so I stood, intending to wander, but then a shadow darkened the doorway; Parker, the traitor himself, stepping inside. His eyes found mine, a question there I didn’t care to answer.

“Brooding much?” He sauntered in.

“Anything’s better than watching you flirt in front of my face,” I spat, voice low.

He stiffened, arms crossing, a wall building in his gaze. The same wall I wanted to tear down with bare hands. Defensive, like he had any ground to stand on.

“Screw you” he muttered, turning on a heel, leaving me there with the echoes of our silent war.

I watched him go, the pull in my chest vicious. I stalked after him, heat igniting every step I took. He continued, not letting up as he kept his pace, his back to me. But my body moved without my control, and I found my fingers latching on to his arm, yanking him into the shadowed corner where prying eyes couldn’t penetrate.

“Jesus, Wes, what the fuck?” His voice was a mix of surprise and irritation as I pinned him against the wall with my stare. “Trying to keep us safe, you know? It’s not exactly a fucking walk in the park, keeping this shit under wraps,” he hissed, his gaze dropping to the floorboards, a silent plea for understanding. “Do you really want us to get caught? For everyone to know?”

I let his words simmer in the air, but still my irritation wouldn’t settle. “You haven’t kissed me in days. So…”

He exhaled sharply, tilting his head back, exposing the line of his throat. I waited, thinking the worst, but hoping that he wouldn’t utter words that would shatter me to pieces right then and now. But in a heartbeat, his lips crashed against mine, a hard, claiming press that spoke of frustration and need. His teeth nipped at my neck, a reminder of what we were, what we hid.

“Can that tide you over for a few days?” The words were a challenge, pulled away with a bite to my bottom lip that left a sting.

I shrugged, the weight of his kiss still burning on my lips. “I’ll let you know.” The words were tossed out like bait, waiting to see if he’d bite.

Parker’s eyes rolled in a playful challenge as he shook his head. “Remind me to kick your ass one day.”

“I won’t.” My response was a flat denial, the unspoken promise hanging between us, thick and heavy.

We turned, our bodies brushing as we navigated through the hallway. The party sprawled in front of us. Laughter chirped, glasses clinked, and a sea of faces smeared into one another, nothing more than a blur. I stepped back into that masquerade, the taste of him still a ghost on my tongue, the heat of his body a phantom echo against mine.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said, steeling myself for the scam as we mingled back into the crowd.

Chapter5

Darius

Present Day

The musky scent of sex hung thick in the air of my grandfather’s extravagant coach house, a stark contrast to the sterile lifelessness that clung to the rest of his damn mansion. I had this hot piece of twink ass writhing beneath me, begging for more with every sharp thrust. Couldn’t wait to see the back of him, though; he was just another nameless fuck hole in a long line of distractions.

“Darius, oh my god—” His voice was lost under my grunts. The only sound that mattered was the carnal slap of skin on skin.

The door slammed open with a force that could have cracked the frame. Martha, the perpetual shadow in this house, stood there wide-eyed, clutching her feather duster like some sort of holy relic against sin. Her scream cut through the room, high-pitched and scandalized. I didn’t miss a beat, just kept hammering into the twink, who seemed oblivious to the audience we’d acquired.

“Get out!” I growled without looking up, feeling a savage satisfaction as she stumbled backward, her cry still echoing off the walls as she ran. She left the door hanging open, the sound of her fleeing footsteps a pathetic counterpoint to the desperate moans from my bed.

Fuck it. Let the world watch. I wasn’t stopping until I was done.

My rhythm faltered, a single image flashing behind my eyelids—a photo I never should’ve seen. The day the illusion shattered, the moment that fucking picture in Weston’s office mocked me with its truth. Dad and him, a secret as dirty as the one I was making on these sheets. Emotions had torn through me like shrapnel, rage, disgust, betrayal—fucking everything.

“Fuck!” I cursed aloud, slamming into the twink harder, trying to obliterate the memory that seeped into my bones.

I came hard, every muscle tensing, releasing more than just pent-up lust. With a final grunt, I pushed the twink away, my chest heaving with more than exertion. “Get up. Get dressed. Out of my face,” I spat, the words like bullets.

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