Damaged Goods (Killers Mine #2)

Chapter 1

clingier than usual

Kit’s elbows ached against the dining table, and sweat stung past his eyes. He already came what felt like an hour ago, barely able to whimper as James drove the breath from his lungs. Now, sore and sensitive, Kit could only bend over and wait for James to finish.

All the little discomforts would have been annoying on their own. Together, they lifted Kit into inhuman bliss. Even better than the orgasm itself, Kit was so fucked out and loopy that nothing scared him.

Not even—

“Fuck, I love you,” James murmured against Kit’s shoulder, between wet, sharp kisses. “Want to call in tomorrow, so I can stay inside you all night. All day.”

Kit whined as James ground into his oversensitive prostate. His cock twitched despite its exhaustion. “You’re literally the boss. Nobody’s stopping you.”

“That’s right. Nobody.” James touched Kit’s sides and shoulders. Pinned Kit’s hands to the table. “I’ll let you have your phone, but you’ll be shaking too much to text. When that little twerp texts you, you’ll have to call him back, and—”

Kit was too breathless to laugh. “Thought we weren’t supposed to talk about Holden in bed.” Because things were still tense. Because James was even clingier than usual, blaming himself for Holden abducting Kit right in front of him.

James rocked deep into Kit. “We’re not in bed. This is the dining table.”

They were running out of furniture they could use for polite company.

Kit couldn’t muster a thought, much less a reply. He didn’t need to. He just needed James to fuck him stupid, and James was always happy to oblige.

“Close, pretty boy,” James panted. “I’m close.”

As if Kit didn’t know the signs. James drove in faster, hard enough Kit would think he might split open if he could think at all. Then with a ragged groan, James shuddered to a halt. His forehead dropped between Kit’s shoulder blades.

He kissed Kit’s back, right behind his heart.

When James finally pulled out, cum and lube spilled with him. James massaged the filthy mixture around Kit’s tender hole.

“Do you want a shower, babe? Or do you want to hold my cum for a few hours?”

Kit arched into James’s fingers. It was too much. He wanted more. “Will you be in the shower?”

James squeezed Kit’s ass before stepping away. “What kind of boyfriend would I be, letting you shower unsupervised?”

Kit straightened up and leaned gingerly against the table. New aches and bruises pinged his awareness with every movement. The pangs kept him in the blissed-out, thought-free haze.

He was naked except for one sock that hadn’t quite made it off. James was naked too, which was rare. Usually, they were too impatient to shed all their clothes before fucking, and one or both would end up half-dressed.

Which resulted in a lot of dirty clothes. At least, for all his posturing in front of Darius, James did know how to do laundry. He’d even shown Kit how to use his machines, even though as he put it, his pretty little trophy boyfriend shouldn’t have to lift a finger.

Being mildly useful made Kit feel better about the whole freeloading thing.

Still naked, James padded into the kitchen. His phoenix tattoo seemed to flicker and burn with every movement. Kit resisted the urge to call him back, because okay, fine. He’d been feeling clingy recently too.

Which was worrisome.

Kit had never had so many people to depend on. The first person he ever relied on was the worst person he’d ever met.

James returned with a damp dish towel. Instead of cleaning Kit up, he dropped the towel on the table and drew Kit into a perfect, suffocating kiss.

“You look far away,” James said, cupping both hands behind Kit’s head. “What are you thinking about?”

Kit touched James’s wrists. Feather-light pressure held them both in place.

“I think I want a gun,” Kit said quietly.

James’s dark eyes narrowed, searching. But all he said was, “I’ll get you a dozen, babe.”

Before kissing Kit again.

Rare San Corvo rain pattered against the thin windows, making the tiny kitchen seem cozier in comparison. Fascinated, Kit wiggled open a badly fitted drawer to find a set of rooster-patterned ladles and spatulas.

“These are adorable.” Kit waved a soup ladle. “There’s no way you bought this.”

“What are you talking about?” Holden seized the ladle and used it to draw Kit closer. His golden-brown eyes crinkled in a smile. “I love cock.”

Kit stared at the rooster pattern, then at Holden.

With an exaggerated sigh, Holden surrendered the ladle.

“Clever boy. Mom gave them to me when I moved in. She’d had them sitting around for literal years, because my aunt—my dad’s sister, that is—gave them to her.

They don’t fit Mom’s kitchen, but Mom was convinced getting rid of them would be rude.

Regifting within the family is fine, apparently. ”

“You know,” Darius said from the doorway. “He’s said more to you this morning than he’s said to me all week.”

Holden’s cheerful gaze didn’t deviate from Kit. “Kit wants to know me better. Communication is important for a healthy relationship.”

“If I ever have a healthy relationship, I’ll report back.” Kit replaced the ladle. “Are we packing up anything in here?”

Kit had joined Holden and Darius to pack up Holden’s apartment. Not everything, because Holden was still allegedly staying here according to his parents, his landlord, and anyone else outside the murdery inner circle. Just whatever Holden needed for a long-term stay at Darius’s place.

Bishop and Darius already combed through Holden’s apartment last week. It was a shabby but clean little space, probably in greater disarray than usual after the search. There were imprints on the carpet where furniture had been moved and not exactly replaced.

“We should clean out the food, but other than that, no,” Holden said. “I don’t need kitchen supplies when my roommate won’t let me use the appliances.”

Darius shrugged. “I’ve been very permissive. I let you open the fridge this morning.”

Most people probably wouldn’t see how alert Darius was right now. He appeared cool and casual. Impossibly rugged and sexy in a gray sweater, like a fucking magazine model. He even smiled sometimes, lower lip curving enticingly.

But he carried a gun beneath that touchably soft sweater, and nothing escaped his notice.

Holden, meanwhile, was a ray of sunshine. “Can I get you something to drink, darling?”

“I don’t think so,” Darius said.

Kit chewed his lip. He was kind of thirsty, but the last time he accepted a drink from Holden didn’t go well.

On the other hand, that whole abduction thing was a huge breakthrough in their relationship…

That was the other reason Darius was here. Not just that Holden might do something stupid, but Kit might too.

“I promise I haven’t drugged the tap water,” Holden said. “I don’t even know how I would do that. I haven’t done anything to the glasses, either. How would I have anticipated you guys coming over weeks in advance?”

“That.” Darius pointed at him. “The fact that you thought of that is the entire problem.”

Kit patted Holden’s shoulder. He had to reach up. “Let’s finish up quickly, and we can get coffee on the way back to Darius’s place. My caffeine fix can wait.”

“Are you sure?” Holden reached for his phone. “I can order delivery.”

“I’m sure.” Kit moved towards the doorway and Darius. “What do you need from your bedroom?”

Holden followed in Kit’s wake, a warm, cheerful presence. “If Bishop didn’t find them, we should grab my murder archives.”

Kit stopped short. “Your what?”