Chapter 27
“He means nothing to me, baby.”
The house was so quiet, Holden could hear Kit’s every soft breath. He also heard his own promise, echoing just as fervent and sweet as its first whisper in a grimy bathroom stall.
Next time we’re alone, I’m going to fuck you.
They were alone in the kitchen now. Holden had many faults, according to other people’s moral scales. But he was a man of his word when it mattered.
Usually. When Holden made that promise, he hadn’t imagined that the next time they were alone would be like this. Darius missing, James and Bishop chasing after him like idiots who care, and Kit quietly frantic over everything.
Holden’s hands still tingled with the memory of cold flesh. He had to break Terry in several places to fit him into the fridge.
Which was exciting. Fun. Of course. Just probably bad for the mood. Holden very much wanted the mood to be right. Because Kit deserved the best.
Not because Holden was nervous.
He wasn’t used to restraining himself with Kit, but he could do his best. “I’m going to check the doors and windows,” Holden said, because that seemed practical. “Make sure everything’s locked up.”
“Good idea,” Kit said in a rush, like he was relieved for the break in the silence. “I’ll make sandwiches—no. We’re out of bread. I made too many sandwiches today.”
Kit’s face crumpled into a perfect, delicate frown. He couldn’t hear the promise hammering in Holden’s mind; all Kit had was the creeping silence.
That wouldn’t do.
“Come with me.” Holden caught Kit’s hand. “You can tell James you supervised me every moment, to make sure I stayed out of trouble.”
Holden’s every atom reveled in the way Kit’s hand settled into his grasp.
“I’ll give James a detailed report.” Teasing slyness snuck past Kit’s worry. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”
They led each other from window to window and door to door.
Boxes of other people’s things made the place look like an unfinished video game level.
The house was huge, which was good because this murdery polycule had too much personality to be contained in a small apartment.
But every inch of fancy rustic sideboard reminded Holden that he had the least to offer Kit financially.
He would have to work on that after he graduated.
“What are you thinking about?” Kit asked, as they finished their inspection. It sounded like a leading question, but Holden couldn’t tell where it was leading.
“Career planning.” Holden spun Kit around, bringing him face to face. “But enough of that. I need a shower. I don’t like feeling another man’s touch while I’m with you.”
Kit frowned, in that adorable jealous way—then in that ‘are you fucking kidding me’ way. “You mean Terry. The guy whose corpse you just shoved into a fridge.”
Holden stole Kit’s other hand. “He means nothing to me, baby.”
Kit burst into laughter. Sharp and loud and delightful enough to double him over. He sagged against Holden, shaking, and Holden’s heart thudded with every wheeze.
God, he loved his angel.
Kit’s face was bright pink when he straightened, but his eyes were clear. He wound his hands behind Holden’s neck. “Can I join you in the shower? I don’t want to be by myself.”
Another tiny treasure of vulnerability. “Is that so?” Holden asked, stroking Kit’s waist.
“Mmhm.” Kit lifted onto his toes, pressing more of his weight against Holden. “And I seem to remember a certain promise about the next time we were alone…”
Right. Holden had almost forgotten. He might be a freak, but so was Kit, in his own darling way.
Holden didn’t have to restrain himself at all.
Kit barely touched the ground as Holden whisked him upstairs. Sure, he was walking under his own power, when Holden wasn’t pressing him against walls for teasing kisses. But he couldn’t feel anything beyond Holden’s warm body.
Almost enough to melt the anxious chill. If Kit grasped for more and more, maybe it would be enough.
“Is this your room now?” Kit asked, as Holden tugged him into a bedroom.
This was one of the ones still furnished by the staging company.
The wallpaper was a series of tiny blue pastoral landscapes, and the bed had a solid reddish frame.
Not really Holden’s style. A couple moving boxes sat unopened at the foot of the bed, while a couple leaned empty and flat next to the closet.
Already unpacking—clear psychopath behavior.
“It’s closest to your bedroom,” Holden said, like it was obvious.
Kit stumbled. “I haven’t picked a room yet.”
Holden grinned. “You want the attic room, with the best view of the driveway.”
Something scarier than lust shivered down Kit’s spine. The glorious unraveling of being seen. “I should pick a different room, to prove you wrong.”
Holden’s grin widened. “But you won’t.”
Fucking asshole. “But I won’t.”
Holden crowded him into the spacious bathroom. Blue and white tiles echoed with Kit’s quickening heartbeat. The room suddenly felt too big. The whole house felt too big, just the two of them not enough to fill the place.
Questions itched, so maddening Kit wanted to cut them from his arms and thighs. More pain to muffle imaginary answers. What the fuck was Darius doing? Did he hang up on Kit because he was in danger? What were James and Bishop running into? When would Kit know if they were—
“No, no, no.” Holden shoved Kit against the counter. His voice deepened to a growl. “Think about me now, darling.”
“Sorry,” Kit managed, before Holden stole his breath in a ravenous kiss. Frantic thoughts coalesced into the present moment. Kit was here. He wasn’t alone. This was better than pain.
Holden tugged Kit’s sweatshirt and murmured against his lips, “I want to see you.”
“You’ve seen me before,” Kit said, unwinding his arms from Holden’s neck. He didn’t remember putting them there.
“Never like this.” Holden’s smile was small, his brown eyes bright and earnest. “Never all of you, just for me.”
Right. They hadn’t been alone since the grimy bathroom at Cicada. Before that, the last time they were truly isolated and unobserved was in the basement of Ed Addersen’s house. When Holden drugged and kidnapped Kit, planning to kill him.
Kit shivered at the memory. He’d kept his clothes on that time, but he’d exposed far more vulnerable parts of himself than skin.
“You’ve seen things nobody else has seen,” Kit said, because he wanted—
There. That possessive smirk.
Holden wagged his finger, though. “Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about past Holden. Think about present Holden. The Holden who’s right here in front of you, desperate to wash you clean and fuck you filthy.”
Kit swallowed, blood rushing downwards. “Then take my fucking clothes off.”
Holden, still grinning and smug, did just that.
Eager hands shoved Kit’s sweatshirt aside, then blazed insistent paths beneath his shirt to discard that too.
Holden wandered the contours of Kit’s ribs with enthusiasm verging on frantic.
Thumbed the soft flesh along Kit’s hip bones, the firmer muscle along his spine, like Holden couldn’t decide where to linger next.
“Gorgeous little angel,” Holden purred. “I want to take forever with you, but I also want you naked now.”
“What part of ‘take my fucking clothes off’ did you not understand?” Kit wriggled from Holden’s grasp, reaching for his own fly. The zipper strained against his needy cock. “Take forever another time. Please, Holden.”
Holden yanked Kit’s wrists aside. He pinned Kit to the counter in a comfortable, unbreakable grasp.
“Say that again,” Holden said, low and intense.
Kit licked his dry lips. Tugged his wrists, just for the proof that Holden’s hands wouldn’t budge. “Please, Holden.”
“Again.”
“Please, Holden! You fucking—”
Holden silenced his complaints with a deep, messy kiss. Falling into it was easy, especially when Holden finally reached for Kit’s fly. Quick fumbling drew Kit’s jeans to his thighs.
Kit expected Holden to get sidetracked at that point. Hell, despite Kit’s impatience, he really wouldn’t mind Holden getting sidetracked with his cock. But Holden was back on their accelerated schedule now, lifting Kit’s feet one by one to discard his jeans and briefs.
“Start the shower for us,” Holden said, stepping back. His gaze darted all over Kit’s body. Then he reached for his own shirt. “Get the water how you want it.”
Right. Showering. Kit nearly stumbled peeking over his shoulder to watch Holden strip.
The blue-tiled shower was massive, big enough for…
Kit’s mind filled in a convenient number of people.
He wasn’t great at geometry, but he could be optimistic.
One last peek at Holden’s long, lean body—lingering on the curve of ass and thigh as Holden bent to gather their clothes.
Then Kit concentrated on not freezing or scalding himself with unfamiliar faucet handles. Water hissed against the tiles, blurring the sounds behind Kit.
There was an art to adjusting any shower. Kit didn’t know Holden’s preferences, so regular warm seemed safest. James liked his showers scalding hot, while Darius preferred cold. They could never all shower together, or one of them would complain.
“Hey,” Holden said—right behind him.
Kit squeaked, spinning, but didn’t slip, because he spun right into the trap of Holden’s arms. “Sneaking up on me in the shower? Way to play up the psycho murderer thing.”
“Too bad the glass door is clear,” Holden said thoughtfully. “We should replace it with frosted glass, so I can watch your blurry outline, and you can’t see me coming at all.”
“Seriously fucking psycho,” Kit said, too breathless to be an accusation. Especially when Holden’s broad hands slid down his back, cupping his ass. “It’ll fog up anyway. I don’t take cold showers.”
Holden’s cock rested hot and heavy on Kit’s stomach.
Golden blond hair spilled around his shoulders, still creased from being tied up. It darkened, flattening, as Holden stepped into the spray.