Page 53 of Chasing After You

Josh thought he was just asking for help.

He didn’t know I’d been setting a trap.

Not to hurt him—never that. But to draw him nearer, piece by piece. To create a life that left no empty space between us.

And when he moved in, I wouldn’t rush. Wouldn’t push.

I’d wait. Then, continue on with the next phase of my plan.

Because this was the beginning of the end for his resistance, his uncertainty, his doubt.

Living with me would change everything.

It was only a matter of time.

I felt myself grow hard under the table as I went over things in my mind. I needed to add the finishing touches to the playroom, and then I’d be all set.

I’d have him begging for my cock in no time.

He would be so fucking good for me, I just knew it.

* * *

I never made him uncomfortable enough to leave—just disoriented enough to lean in. Day after day, week after week, he was ripening for me.

He’d sigh sadly when I wasn’t there waiting after his shift. He’d text me without thinking—memes, updates, pictures of latte art he was trying out.

He’d stare at my mouth when he thought I wasn’t looking. One time, I even caught him looking at my ass.

The house was ready now. It had taken time—painting, furnishing, building the perfect place of comfort. Everything was subtle, curated. Nothing that would scare him, at least, not in the rooms he had access to. Just enough to make him feel safe, wanted, and comfortable.

And tonight, finally, after almost a month since he asked to move in, was his last night in the apartment.

The moving boxes were packed. Most of his things were already at my place, stacked neatly in the spare room—his future room, for now.

I stood in the driveway with a hand in my jacket pocket, the porch light casting a warm halo on the walk. I could hear the distant sound of his car pulling up the street, headlights sweeping through the dark.

“Welcome home,” I called out as he pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.

Finally.

14

Josh

Living with Dorian was weird, not gonna lie. But in terms of roommates, I’d take him over Hayes and Hudson any day.

The first night, I’d stayed in what he must’ve deemed his guest room. It was clean, welcoming, and furnished in a way that suggested someone had really thought about what would make a person feel settled and comfortable. There were several soft throw blankets, a charging station already set up on the nightstand, and a TV set up with a gaming system. I felt like that was a little over the top for a guest room, but rich people did tend to be weird about throwing money around.

When he’d shown me to the room, he’d made sure to stress that I could redecorate it and change anything I didn’t like. For a short-term stay, I didn’t feel like I’d be making any majorchanges, but it wouldn’t hurt to hang some pictures on the wall to make it feel a bit more like home.

Sometimes, I’d walk into the kitchen in the mornings and find he’d already started making breakfastfor me.He’d hand me a plate with a smile and say things like, “You always forget to eat when you’re anxious,” like it wasn’t weird that he got up every day to cook my breakfast when all he ever had was a cup of black coffee.

He did my laundry, which felt wrong for some reason, but I ignored that feeling because who didn’t want to come home to clean clothes and fresh bed sheets?

He wouldn’t let me into the third bedroom, the one situated between mine and his—it was always locked. I found that out on day three, when I was trying to find the cleaning supplies and figured they might be in there.

And yeah, it was his house, his stuff, his rules, so he had every right to lock a door, but it made me more than curious considering it was literally the only locked door in the entire house. Not even his bedroom was locked.