Covet Thy Neighbor

me to stick to my I really can’t do this right now guns. Inconsiderate bastard.
    “Anyway.” I gestured at my still-locked door. “It’s pretty late. I should get going.”
    “Yeah, I’d better call it a night myself. Weekends get busy. Good night, Seth.”
    “Good night.”
    He extended his hand. Seemed weird to part ways on a friendly handshake after last night, but it was just as well. The more platonic, the better.
    Except he didn’t let go. Neither did I. Just like last night when things had taken that unexpected turn.
    Our eyes met.
    His fingers twitched on the back of my hand. Mine did the same on his. Like we were both thinking about using that casual contact to shorten this comfortable-but-not distance to nothing.
    “If it makes a difference,” he said quietly, “I’m not after anything serious either.” His fingers twitched again, but not so subtly. “Not anytime soon.”
    “Is that right?”
    He nodded slowly. His lips tightened like he was resisting—barely—the urge to lick them.
    Oh, hell. Who was I kidding?
    I tightened my grasp on his hand, and I’d barely pulled before he was against me and had me all wrapped up in a deep, mind-blowing kiss. I’d spent the whole goddamned day telling myself we couldn’t do this, but that was an impossible thing to acknowledge or act on when I was touching him like this. Or when he was kissing me like that. Or when he tasted so much like a night that didn’t seem so regrettable now.
    He broke the kiss and tilted his head back, and I didn’t need to be told twice. I dived in and kissed the side of his throat, the underside of his jaw, any hot skin he exposed to me.
    “You sure you have to go?” he asked, panting as I kissed my way down his neck.
    “Go?” I paused to flick my tongue just above his collar. “Who said anything about going?”
    “You . . . you did . . . I . . .” A shiver pressed his body closer to mine. “No one.”
    I grinned against his neck. “That’s what I thought.”
    His fingers slid through my hair, but then he grabbed it and pulled my head back, and before I’d even gotten past that shock, his lips were against mine. Fucking hell, but aggressive men were my weakness, and nothing turned me on like—
    He pushed me up against the wall. I pulled back and looked at him, completely stunned, and he had the most devilish gleam in his eyes in that split second before he kissed me again. And then his hands were on my jeans. My belt. My zipper. Christ .
    Darren broke the kiss, and I didn’t even have time for a half-assed Is this a good idea? before he went to his knees.
    Both his hand and mouth slid down and up my cock—one creating friction, one slick and hot—and his other hand rested on my hip. I put one hand over his, grasped his hair with the other. Low groans reverberated against my skin, making sure I knew he enjoyed this as much as I did, and my mouth watered at the thought of returning the favor right here in the hallway.
    Damn you, Darren, you’re making it very hard to—very difficult to tell myself we can’t . . . that we can’t . . . that . . . oh, sweet Mother of God, keep doing that . . .
    “Oh, fuck,” I groaned. My eyes rolled back. My knees almost shook right out from under me. My hand hit the wall beside me, and clawed at the wallpapered plaster for some kind of purchase, some kind of something to hold on to as I fell apart.
    As he stood, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You still need to leave for the evening?”
    “You want me to?” When did my teeth start chattering?
    “Absolutely not.”
    “Then no.” I wrapped my arms around him. “I don’t need to be anywhere.”
    “Good. Because you’re needed in my bedroom.”

If there was anything worse than an awkward morning after, it was two awkward mornings after in a row. Or, well, I assumed that would be the case, but I didn’t wait around to find out. When we’d finally exhausted each other around two o’clock in the morning, and the only options remaining were falling asleep or staying awake and talking, I kissed him good-night, put on my jeans, and escaped to my own apartment.
    Where I promptly didn’t sleep.
    Stanley announced his presence with a soft meow, and then climbed onto the bed. He walked across me, as he always did—Christ, I needed to put the little fucker on a diet—before he flopped down beside me. I scratched his ears, which got a quiet purr out of him. For a minute, anyway. Then he got up, moved