The beat of the music reverberates through my headphones as I step out of the elevator and head toward my apartment. I can't believe I've survived a workweek at that company.
But it's not the company that's the problem; it's that infuriating CEO who acts like he's been taken over by aliens. I swear, there's a control button hidden behind his neck somewhere.
He keeps piling on the work—documents to fill out, schedules to create. I can barely keep track of my own life, and now I'm supposed to schedule a whole company?
Not that I've exactly been a model employee. I always try to match his energy whenever he throws those annoying vibes my way, and somehow, I always hit a nerve—giving me the satisfaction I crave.
The company rules and I are like oil and water; we never seem to mix, especially the dress code, and honestly, I'm surprised he hasn't fired me yet. Maybe he likes me... ugh, just the thought of it makes me wanna puke. He's definitely handsome, but I can't wrap my head around why I find him so unattractive.
I place my thumb on the biometric scanner by the door, and it clicks open. I'm sure I turned off the lights before leaving for work, but every single one of them is blazing. I pause my music, slipping off my headphones to think clearly.
I turn left, eyes landing on the shoe rack, and there's a white Air Jordan that wasn't there this morning. Relief floods through me; for a moment, I thought someone had broken in—which is nearly impossible with all the security measures I've got in place—but it's just Byron. He's the only one with access to my apartment, and thank goodness he took off his shoes this time.
I slip off my shoes, dropping them next to his, and head inside. He's sprawled out on one of my couches, face up, eyes closed. I'd been ready to yell at him for barging in unannounced, but on second thought, he doesn't look like the ByronI know. Something definitely off.
"Byron?" I drop my stuff and crouch beside him. "What's wrong?"
Byron opens his eyes, raising a brow when he sees me. "Stop staring at me like that—I'm not dying," he mutters, sitting up.
"Forgive me for actually giving a fuck about you," I say, standing up and putting my hands on my hips.
Since he seems fine, I can't help but ask, "Why are you here?" Not that I mean it in a bad way—he's my best friend, and he's always welcome—but it's freaking Friday.
"I'm hungry," he says.
I tilt my head, surprised, and before I can stop myself, I burst into laughter. He just stares at me, dead serious, which only makes it funnier. Is he kidding me?
He left his own place—a place where he's got chefs on standby, ready to cook him a five-course meal on a whim—and he came all the way here just to tell Rae he's hungry. I'll never be able to take him seriously.
"Byron, why are you really here?" As much as I know he'd do something like this, a part of me senses something's off.
"No, seriously. I'm hungry."
There's an honesty in his voice that makes me sigh, because the truth is, I'm starving too.
Not that I'm about to cook. I can't even remember the last time I made anything myself—I've been ordering in for months. At this point, I'm pretty sure I've forgotten how to cook.
I reach into my bag, pull out my phone, and place a call to the nearest restaurant.
"Can we take your order, please?"
"I'd like…" And then, the call cuts off. I stare at my phone, irritated. It's been acting up all day.
"What happened?"
"It's my phone." I mutter, trying to place the call again when it suddenly rings back.
I heave a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you called back. I'm starving! So, you were asking for my order, right? It's rice, fries, and chicken. Wait, let me ask my friend for his order."
I turn to Byron, who's busy turning his phone off every time he hears it ring. "Byron, what are you ordering?"
He shrugs, barely looking up. "I'll have whatever you're having."
"He's having the same thing." I pause, waiting for some kind of confirmation—a simple your order will be ready or something. But there's just silence on the other end. I shift my weight, glancing at Byron, then back to my phone. "So… when should I expect my delivery?" I ask, trying again.
Instead of a confirmation, I hear a beep. They hang up.
"Weird," I murmur, pulling the phone away and staring at the screen.
"What's wrong?" Byron asks.
"They hung up. I'll just order off the app instead."
I place the order for the food, then head to my room to take a quick shower. Afterward, I put on just my underwear and a blue T-shirt before making my way back to the living room.
Byron is still in the same spot I left him, but the nagging feeling that something is off with him lingers. I can't shake the suspicion that it has something to do with why he's been ignoring his phone every time it rings.
His gaze follows me—mostly my ass—as I head toward the door where the delivery guy has been waiting.
I open the door, and I'm met with a man who could make you moan without touching you.
He's got a faint smile on his lips, freshly done cornrows, and muscular arms inked up, barely hidden under his shirt.
How did someone this hot end up in something as mundane as a delivery uniform?
I fold my arms, intrigued, as my gaze lingers on him. "I didn't know my food would be this hot," I say, my tone playful.
He seems to get it because he chuckles, and I feel a rush of wetness slide down my thighs.
Fuck me with a Jack hammer.
"I have a delivery for Rayna Tayson."
"That's me," I say as I grab the package away from him while purposely making sure my hand brushes his."But I don't think this food will satisfy me. Do you deliver…the other type of food?" I wink, taking pleasure in the surprise that dances in his features.
"Stop flirting with him," Byron's voice cuts in from my rear and the delivery guy turns his head, eyes wide when he sees Byron.
"Byron Dele?"
No, it's his shadow.
I shot Byron an annoyed glance. What's his fucking problem? Can't I just have my fun?
Byron offers him a nonchalant smile. "Hey," he says to the delivery guy before sliding his hands up my shirt and resting them against my bare waist. I feel his fingers underneath the hem of my panties.
Really, I am not in the mood for his antics.
The delivery guy, starstruck, blurts out, "Man, I'm your biggest fan. Could you do me a favor?"
Byron raises an eyebrow, still playing with my waistband. "Sure."
"It's my sister's birthday today, and she's a huge fan of yours. Would you mind wishing her a happy birthday?"
"Okay," Byron agrees, and the delivery guy practically lights up as he grabs his phone.
I try to step away, but Byron's grip on my waist holds me in place—firm, but not enough to hurt. I shoot him a look and try to pry his hands off, but he only tightens his hold.
He's already ruined my chances with this not-so-hot-anymore guy and now he wants to fuck me. It's crazy how blurred the lines are between us. We're best friends, but there should be boundaries... and yet, there aren't any. We make out almost every time we're together, and neither of us seems to care, since we both know there are no strings attached.
The moment Byron reaches out to grab the phone, I slip around the side and head back inside. I don't waste time, I pull out the food and dive right into it.
My ringtone interrupts my meal, and I grab my phone mid-bite. I glance at the screen, nearly choking on the mouthful of food I'm trying to swallow.
Why is she calling me?
I look up, catching Byron's mischievous grin as he saunters over. "Byron, why is Momma Shar calling me?" Byron's grin vanishes… and I expected that.
Momma Shar—Sharlene Davis—is Byron's biological mom. After two years in foster care, she was granted full custody of Byron.
As an orphan with no relatives, I was a long-term foster child. But, I kept in touch with Byron, visiting him whenever I could, and Momma Shar treated me as part of the family.
"Whatever you do, don't press the green button."
There are no words to describe the look on his face right now—shocked? Angry? Scared? It's literally impossible to pinpoint.
"Okay, let me turn on airplane mode." I try to swipe away the call—oh no, no, no.
Byron stares at me in disbelief, mouthing, "You did not."
I mouth back, "I'm sorry," before putting the call on speaker.
"Rayna?"
My heart skips a beat at the sound of my name. She always calls me love, so hearing her use my first name sends a wave of unease through me.
"Momma Shar… hey, uhh… how are you?" I stammer, beads of sweat trickling down my forehead despite the AC blasting in the background.
"Give the phone to Byron."
Byron shakes his head, mouthing, "I'm not here."
"Byron's not here," I say, trying my best to sound believable.
"Rayna, give the phone to Byron or else I will slap you through the phone."
I swallow hard. I believe that's one hundred percent possible, especially coming from Momma Shar. I quickly hand the phone to Byron, who takes it reluctantly.
"Byron, why are you doing this?"
Byron doesn't reply.
"Since you refuse to get married, I asked you to give me grandchildren, and you've turned that down too. Are you infertile?"
I choke on my spit, caught off guard.
"No!" Byron yells, his eyes wide with shock.
"Give the phone back to Rayna."
My heart skips like it's caught in a jump rope. I wish the ground would open and swallow me up. What does she mean, give the phone back to Rayna? What do I have to do with any of this?
My hand trembles as I take the phone. "H…hi?"
"Why don't you advise your best friend?"
Maybe, because I'm not a life coach.
"I do," I lie. If anyone needs life advice, it's me—I'm a total mess.
"And why haven't you gotten married?"
My jaw drops, and I scoff. "I'm just twenty-four." And honestly, I can't even picture myself getting married in the next ten years.
"I got married at twenty-three."
"That was your decision, Momma Shar. I'm still practically a minor."
A twenty-four years old minor
She sighs. "I'm done with you two," she says, before hanging up.
Byron lets out a deep groan the moment the call ends, and the sound fills the room. He looks exhausted, rubbing his temples in frustration.
"You okay?" I walk towards where he's sitting and sit beside him, taking his hand in mine.
"It's my life. I get to decide what goes on in my life." He sighs.
"That's right," I agree. "So you are hiding from your own mother?"
"Shouldn't I?" he says with a laugh.
I laugh too. "That's just—" I barely finish my sentence before his lips are on mine.
I gasp. His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind my ear, and he gently gathers my hair, trailing kisses down to my collarbone.
His hand slides into my panties, fingers brushing my clit, making me moan. "You're always wet for me," he murmurs.
"By… Byron…" I manage to stammer, gripping the couch as he slips a finger inside me, then another, then a third. My body shudders, a tear slipping free as I'm caught between pleasure and the slightest edge of pain.
The click of his belt is almost drowned out by our breathing. I've been trying to keep my distance from him today, knowing I wouldn't be able to resist him once he got close. I always lose all sense of restraint when he touches me.
Somehow, my panties are on the floor, and he's lifting me onto his lap, his hands steady and sure as he guides me down onto his cock.
I gasp as he fills me, my whole body tensing. I start to move, slowly at first, then finding a rhythm, sinking into him with each movement.
My mouth crashes into his, sucking and nibbling on his lips while his hands roam over my body, tugging me even closer. I can feel his fingers digging into my skin, grounding me, pushing me to keep going—faster, harder—and I eagerly comply.
Byron breaks the kiss, trailing his mouth down my neck, biting and kissing as he moves. "Take this off," he murmurs, nodding toward my T-shirt.
I quickly pull it over my head and toss it aside.
He cups my breasts, and I bite my bottom lip, a soft moan escaping me. His fingers graze over my nipples, circling and teasing until they harden under his touch. He leans down, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue flicking over me while his other hand pinch my nipple.
"Byron," I moan, my breathing erratic and breathless.
He silences me with another deep kiss, pulling me close as our pace quickens. My hips rock faster, our bodies moving in sync. "Fuck, Rae. Fuck," he groans, his hands gripping my hips, guiding me as we move together, each thrust deeper than the last.
I lean forward, pressing my chest against his, feeling every inch of him as we move faster, both of us lost in the heat building between us. his hands tighten on my waist as he thrusts up to meet me. I roll my hips, grinding against him, feeling every inch of him as I move faster, pushing us both higher.
"Ohh," I moan, throwing my head back, my body arching as I reach my peak, a wave of pleasure crashing over me, my moans filling the room as I tremble around him. Byron follows, groaning my name, his grip tightening as he lets go, filling me with a final, deep thrust.