A/N

Welcome to the 2nd book in the Cherry series!

ORAL FIXATION

This book is a work of fiction, names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously—which, let’s be honest, is the same thing oh please. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

TRIGGER WARNINGS

Mature themes and strong language

CAUTION

This book is a little unrealistic But when did that ever stop a Wattpad reader?

Aight, let’s go!

Copyright ©️ Cherrykimono7 2025

Old Arrivals

“Dorian, your phone is ringing.”

 "Titus, I know what my ringtone sounds like," I reply my older brother as I take a gulp of his drink. He snatches his tumbler from my hand, causing the littlest of droplets to wet my hand, but it is too late, what's left of it is not even a mouthful.

 "Do you not have a photoshoot to be at?" My yet older sister hauls two huge bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. They are brimming with snacks and party supplies. "Or is this one of the days when you are too cool for fashion?" She is really good at guessing the particular phone calls I ignore.

 "I'll always be too cool for fashion, Bree." I'd rather do the editorial for Harper's Bazaar later in the day anyway.

 Briony sticks her tongue out at me and answers her own phone, picking thick red hair—her was such a dark red it looked like an overly ripe cherry—from her face and tucking it behind her ear quickly. "Door?" She says while already moving to the entrance. "Okay...but you're not getting in if you are alone. Ari has to have the time of his life."

 It's been 'Ari this, Ari that' for the past seven days. It is all my older siblings can think or talk about. A main character such as myself, was instantly out of the spotlight. What a loss.

 Apparently, Aristotle Hunter has been close to our family for the longest time, and then he was off to the military, and somewhere within that time, life dealt him one of the most fucked up of cards. Imagine leaving your family to serve in the army, and while your family is worried sick from time to time, wondering whether you'll come back to them in one piece, you instead come back to find every single last one of them dead, swept up from one car on a family road trip, in one fell swoop. 'Orphaned', did not even begin to cover it, imagine being the only one left alive to grieve your own family. Personally, I don't know how I wouldn't join them. There's a certain amount of strength I simply didn't possess. That was a few years ago. Since then, Briony and Titus ended their futile battle for Ari, and somehow still manage to share one best friend.

 The get-together is supposed to be a tiny one apparently. Guess what...it is not. Because it is still two hours left to start—which is the time Ari is expected to arrive—but the house is already getting full.

 My two siblings and I share this house, but we all have our own places. It's meant to be a place where we can come to be together, away from our individual personal lives. A place that is home; the goal was a success, because we are barely at our own places.

 "Dori!"

 Before I can respond, Toria kisses me on the mouth, lingering for longer than is necessary and I let her because we're used to this. I have my oral fixation to thank for that, definitely not my gayness.

 By the time two hours have passed, I've engaged with everyone at the get-together, a little conversation and a little flirting here and there, I've made out with someone else, and then with Toria, and now I'm sitting in the centre of my friends, feeling good about ignoring the shoot I had to be at earlier, because small party or not, it is a good one. 

 The shoot director begins to call me. 

Ah, yes, Harper’s.

     Just as I am about to answer, Titus’ voice booms over all the chatter, causing everyone to pause momentarily. “ARI IN THE BUILDING!”

 Every single person erupts into cheers, either hollering or chanting Ari's name. Titus and Bree almost knock him down while I can't believe I am undressing him with my eyes. 

     Some people are still cheering, some say hi, some toast their glasses to him, some shout his name. Everyone is doing something except me. I gaping at the man. It has to be a crime to look that hot. I want to lick him up from head to toe, then from toe to the tips of his fingers. Hell I’ll even lick inside his nostrils if he wants. You haven’t seen the man, so shut up.

 Only Toria notices. "Close your mouth Dori," she says while pushing my chin up to close my mouth. I am openly staring, and she doesn't pass up the chance to make fun of me for it. 

     Ari is living proof that I would never survive the military. What sorcery, what magic took people in and brought them back out looking like that?! I have never wanted a dick so badly inside my mouth.

 As he immerses himself deeper and deeper into the party, my attention buries itself deeper and deeper into him. This is definitely not the Ari I expected to see, nor the one remember.

 "Okay that's enough," Toria resigns.

 I feel my phone ringing again, rather than hear it. 

Oh yeah. “I gotta take this.”

 "I'm bringing him over." She gets up, and in that moment, I know there's no way I'm going anywhere. Toria leaves me by myself.

 Fuck that editorial. I ignore my phone, putting it away while silencing it. I don't regret my decision as I watch Toria stride back, the hottest man on earth at her right. Dangerous eyes slowly locate me, and pin me to the spot as they get closer, closing the distance between us. His eyes don't tear away, and neither do mine. I resist the urge to lick my lips. I don't even check who is calling me this time. If I am being even the least bit honest, fuck my modeling career.

Catching Up for Beginners

Toria doesn’t bother to linger even for a considerable amount of time after she’s all but explained my situation to Ari. She’s left me to explain myself, and I’m in a trap. But she knows more than most people how bold I can get, so she’s not worried. She should be. My so-called ‘boldness’ has always been a double-edged sword.

 "So, you've been staring at me," he briefly looks in the direction Toria disappeared in, letting me know that's exactly what she said to him. God, even his voice is drop-dead gorgeous. I know I lick my lips, because his eyes flick to them in the briefest of moments, before they are back up to mine. 

Fuck my life . “You look…” Ari seems to freeze as recognition floods his face, it is very subtle, but he carries on. “Good to see you again, Fireman.”

 It is my turn to freeze. He cannot possibly remember that. It was too long ago. I didn't look like now...he definitely didn't look like now. What I saw before me qualified for advanced human-engineering.

 "Fireman?"

 "You don't remember? It's always been your dream to—do you even remember me, little Fireman?"

 "No," I lie through my teeth. "Not really."

 "And here I was, thinking you'd missed me, Lil'boy," he says and I resist the urge to tell him to never call me that again. "So why has Dorian Gallagher been staring at me, a 

stranger …or was that not true?“

 At least he doesn't seem irked or hurt about me not knowing him. I think my ego might have been properly bruised if I were him.

 "It's completely true," I confirm, and then lean into him. I let my index finger lightly trace over the hand that is loosely gripping his glass. "What is that, bourbon?"

 "Moonshine, obviously," he replies and my lips can't help but twitch.

 I take his glass from his hand and down it. He watches me with a bit of surprise. "Let me make you a new drink?" I offer.

 Ari looks like he has no idea how to react, but is curious to see where this is going.

 I get two glasses, and put them on the marble island in the kitchen, motioning for him to sit on a stool. Ari indulges me, his magnificent frame lowering to make himself comfortable across from me. "You're really grown now, huh? Used to be such a tiny kid," the last part he says mostly to himself. 

 

And you used to be someone I didn’t want to immediately jump.

 I create the best I can of what I believe a standard long island should be. I don't really care about getting him a drink, it is just an excellent excuse to get him alone, a little away from the party. I don't have long, because I know soon, someone else is going come looking for him to socialise. But I don't need too much time, I only need a few moments.

 "Is this your idea of a drink?" He asks after taking a sip and swallowing it, completely unimpressed.

 "It's not that bad," I say rather defensively.

 "It is terrible," he deadpans. Then he gets up and starts to mix a few things in front of me, pulling different ingredients from all parts of a kitchen he suspiciously knows his way around.

 "Hmm," he says while he licks cream off his finger. We swallow at the same time. "Here, taste this."

 I look down at my hand holding my phone, then I use the other one to hold my poorly made drink. "My hands are full," I tell him happily. 

 "Come on," he says to me despite dipping his hand in the mix again and getting closer to me. 

 My mouth is basically quivering with anticipation, with want, and the carnal desire to fix something inside it. I wasn't aware I wanted that finger on my tongue that badly. So badly I close the rest of the distance before he can reach me, wrapping my lips around his cream coated finger, taking in more of the digit than I intended to. 

 My eyes lock into Ari's while I shamelessly suck on his finger, using everything within me to quell the protrusion growing bigger between my legs. Ari's dark eyes hold mine as he lets me make an innocent thing obscene, then they fall to my lips and he watches, his own mouth parting slightly before his eyes are boring into mine again, all the laughter in them gone as I slowly suck, the sweetness on his finger long, long gone. I pull out his finger by myself, looking at it coated in my saliva, already feeling the loss of it, I lick the side from the bottom of his index to the tip, pretending to miss a spot. Then I let him go. "That was delicious," I tell him, licking my lips for good measure.

 Ari finally pulls his hand to himself, then nods slowly. "Yeah. I told you." His voice has taken on a coldness that I don't really like, but my mouth still remembers the warmth of his fingers on my tongue, so I smile.

 Ari sprays the cream on the two glasses he has mixed alcohol in and extends mine to me. I make sure I brush my fingers over his before taking the glass. The drink explodes on my tongue with flavour. I can feel the heaviness of the alcohol in it, but I can't exactly taste it because it is so perfectly blended and masked in hints of peach, cinnamon and pineapple. "I have never had this before," I admit.

 "Seeing as it is my own invention, I'm sure you haven't."

 "I like it," I approve and take another sip. "This is really good, Ari. Almost as good as sucking on your finger."

 He ignores what I say by drinking from his own glass and I can't tell whether it surprises him or not, that I said that. I have to try harder. I watch Ari set his glass down, gaze returning to me. We stare at each other intently for a short while. I'm trying not to absorb all the heat emanating from the space between us, so I finish my drink, tempted to ask for another one. All the while following a vein on his arm, then another on his hand, tracing it with my index finger, secretly wishing it could be my tongue.

 "Why do you keep touching me?" He asks me without breaking eye contact, turning me on to no end.

 "Can't help it," I reply, unable to stop. He makes no move to pull his hand away. "Make me another drink." 

 "You are starting to get very drunk," he states the obvious, unaware that I'm a skilled drinker. I party a lot, so it checks out.

 "And yet, I haven't slurred one word yet," I reply to him. "Besides, my bed is just one flight of stairs up."

 "I'm afraid that's a fair point," he says and finishes his own drink, getting up. "Just as stubborn as I remember."

 "You learned to make drinks from the army?" 

 He chuckles. "It's probably the other way round."

 "So the army learned to make drinks from you?" 

 "More or less."

 "What was it like?"

 "The army?" Ari asks with his eyes fixed down on the task literally at hand. There is a sad smile on his beautiful, lush lips. He looks uncertain, like he's trying to understand what words to tell me to convey his feelings about the time he served. "I loved it at first, then I hated it." He shrugs. "Now, I just don't know."

 Before I have a chance to answer, someone walks in. And very noisily at that. 

 "SO THIS IS WHERE THE LIFE OF THE PARTY IS HIDING!" I've seen this particular person speak with my siblings, but I don't know who he is. His smile splits his face in half.

 I badly want to throw him out but I remain seated. To my horror, I watch as Ari is motioning for him to sit down. 

Oh hell no.

Before I can ask him to find his way back, my sister comes in to save the day. “Oh my goodness Matt! How many times must I tell you to keep close to me?” Her gaze then assesses Ari and I. “Good to see you two catching up, but I’m coming back for you Ari. Can’t have Dori hiding you in the kitchen at your own party.”

 "Hey!" I reply, partially offended. "He came here by himself!"

 "Yeah right," Bree says on her way to the exit, Matt following suit behind her.

 When Ari and I look at each other again, we are both smiling. Then he goes back to finishing up the drink, while I choose from a thousand questions, which one to barrage him with, first.

     “What’s your workout routine? You are ripped.”

     He pauses, then replies. “I’m a soldier.”

     “Yes, but not every soldier is this hot.”

     “And not every model is this confident.”

     “Touché.” Ari smiles at my reply, so intimately it threatens to wrap itself right underneath my skin.

 "You've really grown," he says out of the blue. 

 "So I'm told," I respond curtly. It is also my first nervous moment, and I realize I have never felt self conscious in a very long time. 

Like a cheat code for a model if you ask me.

 Our conversation is a dance we got into slowly. And I've done more than flirt, and yet I haven't had the reaction I expected, and wanted. And now the dancing is getting too slow, and there seems to be no end to its lack of reciprocation. It feels like a long time coming, until my spirits wane and go down. 

 When I get even more frustrated, I know that something dreadful is coming, something like the thing I say next. "Do you have a dick?"

 Disappointingly, Ari's face gives nothing away. "Last time I checked, yes."

 "Can I suck it?" My mouth is basically watering for it right now.

 His eyebrows shoot up when he realizes that I'm waiting for an answer, and I'm not joking. "You're serious!"

 "Of course I am," I say. My gaze does not stray from his. I find that impressive, given what I've just asked.

 "N-no," he falters for a moment, shakes his head, then adds again. "No."

 I put on what I believe is one of my most charming smiles, because it is completely genuine. And this is why; that moment of hesitation...that moment when something other than 'no' was going to come out of his mouth, that moment where his mind had to force him to think again...is all I needed to know. That uncertainty is the only crack in the frame that I need.

Trials and Temptations

The first person I see the very next morning is Dorian, to what should not be my great surprise. We meet in the hallway, me, just out of a shower and a him, just out of bed. I assume that because his hair looks completely terrible. He is clearly having a hangover, it is all over his face, and in how weak he looks. His eyes look like he is struggling to keep them well open, until he looks at me.

 I find myself unable to move as he assesses me from head to toe. His gaze pauses, and for quite a long while, on my waist. In a parched and raspy voice, he says to me, "Ari, I can get on my knees right now." He walks closer to me and unashamedly puts his right hand on my abs, feeling as he likes, putting skittish things underneath my belly. "Jesus fucking Christ."

     “Normally,” I reply. “We say good morning.”

     “Never mind that,” he replies, still not taking his eyes off my torso, nor his hands, so I take them off myself, annoyingly conscious of touching him.

     “The bathroom is free,” I tell him, stepping away. “You look terrible.”

     “I know. You were right, yesterday. I had too much to drink,” he rocks his head between his hands. “This headache just might split my head in half.”

     The situation was almost laughable. “You are nursing this migraine, and yet you want to get on your knees right here, right now.”

     “Yes,” he replies. My hand goes to tighten around the towel on my waist when he looks down again. “Let me suck your dick, Ari.”

     “That is not happening,” I reply with as much finality as I can muster into my voice.

     I could not bring myself to take Dorian Gallagher out of my mind, not since the few drunken moments we shared last night. Not since I opened my eyes in sobriety this morning. Not since running into him in the hallway, trying so hard to paint a picture of disinterest and failing. The truth is that I totally froze, then I played it cool.

     Now here I am, turning the kitchen inside out because of the sake of his hungover. I couldn’t help myself. Somewhere between his vulgar way of thinking and his inability to feel shame, I’d fallen for him overnight. He is my complete opposite, talks way too much, flirts way too much, has no shred of decency. And yet my heart still wants him. Still wants something I know is impossible to attain. I can have him anytime I want, he has already and more than once, made that clear. The problem is that I want more than just merely that.

     “Smells so good,” I hear him say, coming into the kitchen. It takes everything inside me not to smile. Dorian creates a similar scene when he sits at the kitchen island, only this time, I slide a bowl of chicken soup before him. He doesn’t hesitate to scoop a spoonful and blow on it adorably, then shove it into to his mouth. “Ari!”

     He quickly eats a few more spoonfuls. “ARI!” He says again, a little more urgency applied. “This is seriously so good,” he licks his lips. I know my face won’t show it, but I am so happy. “How can you not have some?”

     I resist the urge to rub the back of my neck for no apparent reason. “You’re the one with a hangover, not me.”

     He stops momentarily to look at me, but before I can let that gaze linger for any longer, I leave the room to let him eat in peace. Hopefully it does him some good.

---

     The next morning, I make sure to take my shower before I know Dorian would be up. Much of yesterday had been about avoiding him, without much success. He is a relentless person, he does not give you space to breathe, and he isn’t as easily deterred from a goal like he ought to be. In other words, Dorian Gallagher does not give up.

     There are times when I’d just want to grab him and force him down to his knees before me, right where he wants to be. Give him all that dick he can’t seem to shut up about. But I know I’ll lose him the moment I let that happen. There are moments where I want to grab him and put my lips to his, shut them up from pestering me every second, so much my fingers itch with it. There are moments where I want to grab him and tear his clothes off. But I have to keep it all to myself, and steer clear of him. I have to constantly remind myself that my type is not Dorian. My type is a homely guy who wants to figure the rest of life out together. Not a hot as fuck guy I knew since a kid who only wants a summer fling. My baser urges tell me to just imagine how many things he could do with that beautiful mouth of his. My heart says it doesn’t matter if it is all meaningless in the end.

     It’s been five days since I moved in with the Gallaghers and it feels almost natural, like I’ve always been here and not like I’ve just arrived. I’m grateful that this is family. Everything is as it should be, all except for one thing. The only thing I never anticipated. A grown up version of Dorian, and my growing feelings for him.

     I’m working out at the patio when I notice Dorian casually watching me from the door, in his hand he holds a bright yellow popsicle. It is fucking seven in the morning, and he is casually eating a popsicle like that is normal.

     He doesn’t take his eyes off me, fully dressed in a silk dress shirt tucked into a long black pair of slacks and spotlessly shiny black dress shoes. He looks sinfully attractive, just my fucking luck. The buttons he left open had me peeking at the base of his throat and the top of his chest, there was no helping it.

     Dorian comes to crouch about one inch away from me, completely unbothered that I am working out a few hundred crunches. Pulling his popsicle out of his mouth, he says, “I’m running late for a photoshoot.”

     “And how may I help you, Fireman?”

     “You can wrap this up and come with me,” he replies. “Will five minutes be enough time for you?”

     Maybe he has lost his mind. “I’m not coming with you for your photoshoot.”

     “Yes you are,” he replies in his unwavering confidence. “Bree and Titus have already left, and I need someone to drive me there otherwise I’ll really be missing out on a great deal here.”

   I think about it for a short while, until I start to feel something cold landing on my shoulder a few times and trickling down together with my sweat. "Your popsicle is dripping on me," I say to Dorian, staring back at his frozen figure watching me.

 He lets it drip longer, slowly raising it to my neck. "Here," he replies. "Let me help you with that." Dorian leans in and puts his tongue on my shoulder and I go rigid. It's not exactly in the act but in how he does it, decisively, slowly, inappropriately. He licks from my shoulder upwards, following the trail of the popsicle juice up to the side of my neck. He finally leans back. "I'll be in the car."

Dorian gets up and walks away like he hasn't just barged into my workout, interrupted me and left me dumbfounded. My hand slowly rises to cover the side of my neck, where the remnants of his saliva mix with my sweat. I already know that it is going to become a memory that will continue to torture me. I drop back down and stare up, the sigh is so heavy as it leaves me. "This is unbelievable," I whisper to myself as I force my excited dick to die down. When I get up, I go to join the cause of it, who probably has no idea how much I am overwhelmed by him.

---

 I have never been inside a photo studio before, at least not the kind where models are usually photographed. They don't seem to be other models around by the time we arrive, only an elderly man with a huge camera dangling from his neck setting up an area where I assume Dorian is to pose from.

 "Hello. Come in, come in!" He says to us, then gives Dorian a hug and surprisingly hugs me as well. I am a little stunned to hug back but he is already focused on the next thing.

 Dorian is pointed towards a rack with clothes assembled neatly on each hanger. "Outfit 17," he says to Dorian.

 "I'll be right back," Dorian says to me after grabbing the clothes before disappearing into a different room. He looked so good already that I assumed he was going to be photographed in what he came wearing. I guess I'm wrong.

 "Are you a model?" The elderly man does not even look at me when he asks the question.

 I tear my eyes away from where Dorian has disappeared. "No," I reply.

 "He only ever comes with his sister, sometimes brother." He shrugs. "So you're just Dori's boyfriend? He's a great model by the way."

 "I am not Dorian's boyfriend," I reply.

 "Why are you here?"

 "I'm his...chauffeur for the day I guess."

 "Hmm."

 I have never seen someone so unimpressed in my life. A few minutes after that, Dorian walks out in full white. The button down he's wearing is silk, but unlike his black one, this one is almost fully transparent. The pants are yet another quality of silk, fully thick and looking almost too expensive to touch. They are loose on his waist, 

  "Excellent!" The photographer exclaimed. "You don't even need makeup my beautiful boy!"

 "Okay, but how is this a representation of 

’possessive luxury ’?“ Dorian rolls his eyes.

 "This," the man replies, quickly retrieving an item from an expensive looking box, then quickly getting back to Dorian. He gets behind him and ties a thick rose gold choker adorned with rose gold gems against a shiny gold plate. The piece alone looks more expensive than anything else he's wearing.

 "Not bad old man," Dorian touches the piece delicately, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He turns to me unexpectedly. "How do I look?"

 

Good enough to eat? Like the hottest man on the planet? Good enough to have me completely clammed up.

 "Are you speechless Ari?" He asks cheekily. "Did I do that?"

 "I think you did more than that," the old man looks away from me. "Now Dori, go stand over there."

 I love that the attention was easily diverted from me, but I'm not certain whether or not what the old man said has put me in a worse situation.

 Of course, Dorian is a natural, but more than that he looks almost effortless, and yet nothing, but hard work could have been put into this flawlessness. Before the camera is the first time I see a disciplined version of him, he almost needs no instruction, but he follows all of it to the dot.

 My eyes don't know where to focus. He definitely needed no makeup. Somehow, his cheeks get rosier as he keeps posing, the translucent clothes force me to focus a bit too much on the pink buds that are his nipples, quite visible, even from where I'm seated. I think to myself of the situation I've gotten myself into. 

 I try to take my eyes off him. I can't. The photographer does a double take in my direction. I manage to catch it through the corner of my eye. He points to me to go over there where they are. 

 "What?" I feign confusion in the hopes of masking my nervousness.

 The smile on Dorian's face is instant. "Yeah Ari, come over here." 

The little devil.

     “What for?” I ask while I get closer to him.

     “Do something,” the photographer says to me unhelpfully.

     “Something like what?” I ask Dorian as if he is the one talking to me.

     He responds by grabbing my hand in his and pulling me forward to stand behind him. “Just think possessive luxury, come on.”

     I sigh, a little out of my element. “As long as my face isn’t in it.”

     Behind Dorian, as I think of what to do, I fiddle with the choker lightly, tracing a finger underneath it and away again, feeling the base of of his throat, feeling him take a big breath in as I swallow, still unsure.

     The camera clicks come furiously. I’ve never been this close to Dorian. I am wrung tighter than a drum, trying not to touch him too much, and trying not to give in.

  I unbutton the silk shirt slowly until his entire torso is exposed. I create a little space between us when I realise how close my lips are to the part of his neck that connects to his earlobe. I then take the choker off and understand the vision behind the photoshoot. It may as well be a collar. "Tie it around my arm," I say close to Dorian's ear, almost a whisper. 

     When he has quietly done as I said, I close that same hand sluggishly around his throat, making sure my face is now hidden behind him. My other hand skims down and I can feel how hard he is trying to keep his breathing under control. I tease him with my fingers on the loose fitting of his pants, then boldly, I extend a little bit of it inside. I realise that Dorian has lost composure when I hear him cuss, and that’s when I realize that half my hand is already inside the loose pants.

 The camera clicks do not stop, even after I step away and assume my previously comfortable seat. Before that, I take off the choker from my hand and place it in the box near me. I get the odd satisfaction of watching a Dorian out of sorts, completely bothered that the photographer has to ask him several times to remain exactly where he is.

 But this is Dorian, so he recovers too quickly for my liking, his eyes shoot to mine and they do not leave. Either I choked him harder than I intended, or his skin is more sensitive than I realised because it remains a bright pink outline of my fingers around his throat.

 "Impeccable! Absolutely phenomenal!" The photographer cries.

 Dorian's eyes still haven't left mine up until the shoot comes to an end. I have never seen them so serious before.

 My gut squeezes unpleasantly when the photographer kisses him deeply on the cheek. "And you!" He turns to me. "Seriously. Consider being a model. Dori, you talk to your boyfriend yes?" 

     Dorian does not answer.

 "Please put your information in these papers," he says to me.

     “What for?”

 "Of course all of my models get paid." 

 "I'm not–"

 "I do not take credit for unpaid work. Dori, walk your boyfriend through it." The old man clearly doesn't care what I have to say as he starts to put the fancy box away.

 "I don't know, Elio..." Dorian answers, getting closer to me. "My boyfriend is actually more stubborn than I thought."

---

 On the sixth night, I wait for the shock to register on everyone's face. The dinner table is frozen as if that could not be the end of my sentence. "I've bought a new apartment."

 "What?" Titus asks in shock.

 "Yeah, is something wrong?" Briony asks quickly, her concern always melts my heart. "Do you not feel at home?"

 "No!" I can't help but rush my response. "Of course not. You guys are family. Always. But it's not like I was going to move here permanently."

 "You could if you wanted to," she replies.

 "Why do you have to leave so soon though?" Titus' expression says he can't believe it.

     “Is it because of me?”

     “No,” I reply. Despite the fact that it is indeed and unsurprisingly because of him. I couldn’t trust myself around him anymore, and after that photoshoot, it has been more intense between us. It almost feels as if he knows he’s going to win this battle of wills, and that is not an option for me.

     He narrows his eyes. “It is, isn’t it.”

     “Why, what’s going on between you two?”

     “Nothing,” I reply before Dorian can say anything. The whole table goes quiet for about a minute.

     “Dorian,” Bree’s tone gets serious very quickly. Angry even. “What did you do?”

     “It’s all me,” I tell them. “I was thinking about it for while. Now that the army is behind me, I thought I’d like to try and meet someone, settle down. It’s about that age anyway.” I don’t look at Dorian as I say this. “Of course you all are welcome at anytime, any day. I mean it.” I don’t look at Dorian when I say this either. But it does not stop both Bree and Titus from looking from me to him, and then back.

     “Are you sure it is not Dorian? Just tell me what he did.”

     “Oh my God, Bree! Maybe I’m not the devil you think I am.”

     “Honestly, you always are,” she replies without hesitation. “I saw the way you looked at him the moment he arrived Dori. Ari isn’t one of your games, child…he’s family. He deserves so much better than your bullshit. Speaking of, when are you getting over this dumb phase of yours? Are you not tired of kissing every boy and girl who breathes in your direction? Not giving two flying fucks whether you hurt them or not? Do you find that so cool? Because it is not! You don’t want someone for your own? Do you want to end up alone?” She sighs in frustration, throwing her hands up.

     “Bree…” I begin, but Dorian cuts me off.

     “Damn, mom. How long have you been holding all that in your chest?”

 "I'm serious! And now you have Ari just up and leaving," That's what you want? Are you happy now?"

 "That's enough Bree. Leave him alone," Titus cuts in. 

     “Yeah Bree, that sure is what I fucking want.” Dorian gets up, his anger is more quiet than I thought it would be, but I feel it roll off him. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even slam the door on his way out. The need to immediately follow him is almost too much for me to ignore, it makes me restless.

     “Calm down,” Titus puts his hand on my arm, pinning me with his intelligent eyes. “I’ll go after him.”

     “What is going on with you two?” Bree asks after Titus has left us alone. I try not to grit my teeth.

     “That was too harsh. He’s just a kid.”

     “Is that really what you think, Hunter? Do you look at him and think ‘that’s a kid’ ? Because I saw the way he looked at you that night, but I also saw the way you looked at him. The way you look at him, even now. That is not how you look at a kid. And he’s not a kid for fuck’s sake, it’s high time he stops acting like one.”

     I hate this. So I look away because I am unable to look her in the eye, unable to admit that I am so pissed off because I know she hurt him. Unable to explain how none of this is about him. I hate it. So I get up. “I’m going to pack.”

     “Yeah, like your feelings, I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”