Darius

Dear diary,
When I got the assignment to cover a luxury safari in Africa, I imagined golden plains, wild animals, and starlit nights — but I didn’t realize the story would become so personal.That morning, a safari vehicle pulled up to the front of my lodge. Behind the wheel sat Darius — tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly composed. His deep ebony skin seemed to glow softly in the morning light, his short-cropped hair neat, his expression calm yet powerful. His voice was low and rich, carrying both warmth and quiet authority as he introduced himself as my guide for the next few days.​There was something about him — that quiet strength, the unshakable confidence — that made the idea of spending nights in the wild under his protection feel both comforting and dangerously exciting.We started our journey across the plains, the horizon stretching endlessly around us. But then Darius made an unexpected stop at another lodge. That’s where I saw him — Leo.My long-time rival. My charming, infuriating counterpart from another magazine.Blond, beautiful, and British — with that sharp wit and effortless charm that seemed to hypnotize every man in the room. Somehow, Leo always got the same assignments as me, and somehow, he always managed to make me feel like the sidekick in my own story.​He climbed into the vehicle, greeted Darius with a sparkling smile, then turned to me and said, “Fancy meeting you here,” before sliding into the front seat beside him.Through the mirror, he caught my gaze and gave me a smirk that said everything: This one’s mine.I sat quietly in the back, telling myself to focus on the story, not on Darius… or Leo.The first day of the safari was breathtaking.We crossed vast savannas painted in gold and rust, watched herds of elephants move like silent giants, and spotted lions lounging in the shade, their tails lazily flicking in the heat.Darius spoke softly but with authority, his deep voice weaving stories about the land — about balance, instinct, and the quiet power of nature.
I could have listened to him for hours.​Leo, on the other hand, was more interested in flirting than learning. He kept tossing Darius compliments — about his physique, his knowledge, his “commanding presence.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I bit my tongue and focused on my notes. Still, jealousy burned quietly beneath my skin.​By sunset, we reached the campsite. Darius showed us how to pitch our tents, his movements efficient, practiced. As the fire crackled to life, the air filled with the scent of wood smoke and the distant hum of wildlife. The night sky opened above us, impossibly wide and full of stars.We sat close to the fire while Darius shared tales of his years guiding travelers through the wild — stories that made the land feel alive. Leo listened for a while, then quickly lost interest, scrolling through his phone until he fell asleep, his head resting carelessly on his backpack.​When the fire burned low, Darius turned to me, his voice suddenly quieter, deeper.
“Finally,” he whispered, leaning closer, “some time to ourselves.”My heart skipped a beat.​We talked for a while, our conversation turning unexpectedly personal. He spoke about his family, the solitude of this life, and how the savanna felt like home. I shared bits of my own — the endless flights, the loneliness behind the stories.​At some point, our words stopped mattering.
He brushed his hand against mine, and I felt a rush of warmth.
He stood, offered me his hand, and led me silently into his tent.Inside, the only sound was our breathing.
He hovered above me, his dark eyes reflecting the dim glow from the lantern.
When our lips met, it was slow — deliberate — the kind of kiss that unfolds over a lifetime.He removed his shirt, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him — his powerful frame, his chest smooth and firm, his body sculpted in perfect proportion. His skin was dark and warm under my hands, his scent a mix of sweat, musk, and smoke.​Soon, my own clothes joined his on the ground.
He kissed me again, and I melted into him.When he entered me, the sensation was overwhelming — a sharp gasp of pain, then an intoxicating flood of pleasure.He covered my mouth gently with his hand, reminding me that Leo was still sleeping by the fire just a few meters away.The thought sent a thrill through me.
For once, I was the one who won.​Darius moved slowly at first, then deeper, faster, his rhythm steady and primal. The pain dissolved into waves of pleasure, and I clung to him, matching every thrust with breathless need. When we both reached the edge, we came together — a moment so intense it left me trembling.He collapsed on top of me, his weight grounding me, comforting me.Later, he turned me to my side, wrapped his arms around me, and held me until sleep took us both.By morning, Leo’s face told me everything.
He watched us step out of the tent, his jaw tight, his expression forced.He didn’t say a word, just muttered something about having enough material for his article and left early.That left me and Darius alone — just the two of us, the wilderness, and the sound of the wind over the plains.The next day was everything I had hoped for — long drives through untamed land, quiet moments beneath acacia trees, laughter shared between silences.And that night, under the open African sky, we found each other again — slow, tender, and wordless.When the trip ended, and the time came to say goodbye, Darius pulled me close and whispered,
“Some stories stay with you forever.”He was right.
This one will.