I trudge back up toward the house, and as I come into view of the kitchen windows, I hear a voice calling my name.
A very welcome voice.
"Raffi? Are you alright?" Darian comes running out of the kitchen door, and his hands flutter over my chest and arms, as if looking for injuries. The concern in his tone makes something warm glow in my chest.
"I'm fine. Just a little soggy."
"Ms. Rochford was very vocal about Mr. Russo being down at the pool, but she didn't sayyouwere involved. She said Mr. Andretti saved her." I just sigh. Darian frowns at my soaked clothes, then fixes me with a stern look. "You need to get out of these wet things immediately. I'll wash them for you myself."
I can't help but smile. It's cute how worried he is. "Okay, Mom."
Darian huffs, but I can see the hint of smile on his lips too. "Honestly, if you insist on throwing yourself into pools fully clothed, I shall have to keep a closer eye on you."
"Is that a promise?" I ask before I can think better of it. Darian blinks at me, and for a moment I'm afraid I've overstepped.
Again.
Then Darian clears his throat and says, "Well, someone has to make sure you don't catch pneumonia."
My grin widens. "Then it's a good thing I have you to take care of me."
He ducks his head, but he's smiling too. "Yes," he agrees softly. "It is."
Santarelli has been shadowing Darian in the kitchen while I've been looking for Russo, so I send him out again to find the asshole and make sure he's locked up. Then Darian leads me to the laundry room and starts looking through the washer settings. I lean against the wall, dripping neatly in one spot, content to watch him work. There's something soothing about his efficiency and attention to detail.
But then he turns to me with an expectant look, his cheeks a little flushed. "Well? A-are you going to get out of those clothes or not?"
I reach for the hem of my shirt and see that his gaze is intent upon me, lips slightly parted. I unbutton slowly, revealing my abs inch by inch. Darian's breathing has gone shallow. By the time I pull the shirt off, his pupils are blown wide with desire.
Mine must look the same. My cock is straining against my zipper, aching to be free. I lick my lips and Darian's eyes track the movement.
"Raffi," he whispers, voice rough.
"Yes?" I ask, just as hoarse.
"Your pants, too," he murmurs, his face flushing a deep shade of rose as his eyes flit over my body. He's struggling to maintain his composure, but I love the way he's watching me.
Like he can't tear his gaze away.
Slowly, deliberately, I unbutton my pants and slide the zipper down, watching his face as I push the fabric over my hips and let them fall to the floor. The sight of me standing there in nothing but my white boxer briefs—see-through now, thanks to the water—seems to leave him momentarily breathless, his lips parting on a silent gasp.
I take a chance. "Do you want to touch me?"
"Y-yes."
"Then ask."
He takes a step toward me, then another. "Can I touch you?" he breathes out.
"Yeah. You can touch me."
I glance at the closed door as his hands come up, tentative, and land on my chest. The door's shut, but there's no lock. That just makes it hotter, though, as Darian runs his hands over my nipples, tight already, still damp from the pool. He slides one hand lower, over my belly, as though counting out my six-pack.
I can feel his warm breath, fast, playing over my chest, and wonder if he might slide that hand a little lower with some encouragement. But then he looks up at me, a longing in his eyes that I think I recognize.
"Do you want me to kiss you, sweets?" I ask.
"Yes."
