Page 19 of Chasing After You (Twisted Desires #3)

Dorian

Three weeks passed like a slow-burning fever.

I didn’t rush it. Not because I didn’t want to—God, I wanted to—but because I couldn’t afford to.

Josh was skittish, like a stray dog that had been kicked one too many times.

If I moved too fast, too hard, he’d run.

And I couldn’t handle him running again.

If he even tried, I knew it would snap my resolve.

I knew that I’d end up scaring him, locking him up, doing things he wouldn’t be ready for yet.

So, instead, I learned the rhythm of his life and began to integrate myself into it. I wanted him to come to the conclusion himself that he needed me in his life, not as a brother, but as something more.

I flirted, yes. But never outright. Never enough to corner him or make him flinch. Just enough to let him wonder, let him yearn for more, but never give it to him.

When I brushed against him, I let my hand linger half a second longer than necessary.

When I hugged him goodbye, I let my lips brush the side of his neck—not a kiss, just an exhaled breath—but close enough that he tensed yet didn’t pull away.

When we were walking together and someone flirted with him, I didn’t speak. I just watched. He started looking to me for help, wanting me to step in and explain that he wasn’t available. But he was, and I could see the way that was confusing him.

I memorized his drink orders, the way he liked his pasta cooked, and the scent of his favorite shower gel.

I’d text him reminders about things before he remembered them himself.

Told him when he needed a jacket, told him I’d take care of choosing the places I took him for lunches and dinners, told him I liked it when he wore softer, lighter clothes rather than the alpha jock shit that didn’t truly suit him.

It wasn’t just watching him anymore.

It was knowing him.

And using that knowledge like a thousand invisible threads to pull him ever closer.

I complimented him in offhand ways. You always smell good. You’re so good at following instructions. Those pants would look much better on you. I could live off your lattes. How do you come up with so many interesting recipes? What shampoo do you use? It makes your hair so soft.

I let him catch me looking.

I caught him looking back.

I hardly ever called him brother anymore.

Not unless someone else was around. And even then, my voice always twisted around the word like it tasted wrong in my mouth.

I had nothing against the word itself, despite my dislike for it.

I actually loved what it meant to us. I loved that it meant that I knew him better than anyone else in the world.

I just hated how he used it as an excuse.

As a reason why he didn’t want me to be so close.

Sometimes I’d say his name like a prayer. Sometimes I didn’t say anything at all—I’d just look at him in that way that made him fidget and glance away like he was afraid of what I saw when I looked too long.

I knew he was trying to keep the peace. Knew he was hiding things from his friends. Knew he had already stopped telling Oliver every little thing like he used to. I knew he was minimizing my behavior in his own head.

He’s just weird.

He’s just lonely.

He’s just Dorian.

I wanted to tell him what I really was.

I wanted to ask if he dreamed about me, too.

But I didn’t.

I played the long game. The gentle one. The kind where you make someone fall into you without realizing they’re falling at all.

Because I didn’t want Josh to be afraid again.

I wanted him to want— no, need me. Crave me.

And lately, I started to see the changes.

In the way his gaze would drop to my mouth when I talked too close.

In the way he leaned in when he laughed, like he was unconsciously trying to touch me.

In the way he never corrected me when I called him mine.

In the way his pupils expanded when my hands lingered for too long.

In the way he melted in relief when I made decisions for him.

He was warm clay in my hands.

Still soft. Still shaping.

I wasn’t trying to trick him.

I was trying to show him that everything he needed was already within me. That I’d been his before either of us knew what that meant.

So I kept close.

Never too far.

Never too fast.

And every night, I dreamed of the moment he’d stop pretending he didn’t feel it too.

I wanted him to come onto me. But for that to happen, I needed to move forward with my plan.

* * *

“Hey, Dori… Where have you been staying? Did you end up renting somewhere?” Josh asked one day as we were looking over the lunch menu at a cozy Thai restaurant in town. I held back my smile.

“Yeah, I got a house out by that park I took you to the other day.”

“Oh, really? How do you like it?”

“It’s nice. I’ve been working on it, setting it up the way I want, and all that. It’s not huge, but it’s three beds, two and a half baths.”

Josh looked impressed, eyebrows rising slightly as he stabbed at the ice in his water with his straw. “Three bedrooms? Damn. Planning to start a commune?”

I shrugged, keeping it casual. “I like space. Makes it easier to think.”

He laughed, but there was something thoughtful about the way he was staring at his menu now, not really reading the words. His fingers tapped lightly on the table, like he was weighing something in his head.

I waited.

Then, after a beat, he exhaled and said, “So… my landlord isn’t renewing my lease.”

I didn’t react. Not outwardly. I kept my expression carefully neutral, though my pulse surged with satisfaction.

“Oh?” I asked, feigning surprise. “When did that happen?”

“Got the notice yesterday. Said the building’s going through ‘necessary renovations,’ but that feels like a load of crap. Rent’s going up in the area—he probably wants someone who’ll pay more.” He frowned.

I hummed sympathetically. “That’s shitty.”

Josh nodded, lips pressed tight. “Yeah. I’ve got about a month left, but I don’t know what I’m doing after that.

I haven’t found anything I like yet, and most of the affordable stuff is for students or old people.

” He hesitated, his voice quieter now. “Would it be weird if I stayed at your place for a while? Just until I find something? You uh… you mentioned before that we could live together… Is that still on the table?”

There it was.

The question I’d been quietly grooming into existence.

I tilted my head, taking a slow sip of my tea to hide the grin that threatened to break free. “Why would that be weird?”

“I dunno. We haven’t lived together since we were kids. And you’re… you know.”

“I’m what?” My jaw ticked.

His eyes darted up to mine. “Weird.”

I smirked. “You like my weird.”

He gave me an unamused look, but the blush spreading across his cheeks gave his true feelings away. “You sure it wouldn’t bother you?”

“I have an empty room with your name on it,” I said smoothly. “Unless you’d prefer mine.”

Josh groaned, “Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not. I’m being hospitable.”

He rolled his eyes, but looked relieved. His whole body softened, like a weight had slid off his shoulders. “Thanks, Dori. Seriously. You’re saving my ass.”

I shrugged. “No need to thank me, it’ll be fun living together again. Like a family.”

He didn’t know I’d met with his landlord two weeks ago.

Didn’t know I’d offered to buy the building outright in cash in exchange for one small favor: non-renewal of a particular tenant’s lease.

Didn’t know I’d chosen this house with him in mind.

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.