Chapter 27 #2
“I had to sneak up on you,” Holden said, dragging Kit with him. “You were still thinking about other people.”
“Not my fault. You need to distract me better.”
Holden laughed, the sound blending with the falling water. Then he pulled Kit back against his broad chest. “As you wish.”
No thinking. No hurting. Just for right now.
Kit twisted in Holden’s arms, because he wanted to touch more of the strong, sleek body pressed behind him. But he also wanted Holden to pin him in place. To trap him. Holden obliged the latter desire, his arms a slick vise beneath the spray.
“Be careful,” Holden said, like the considerate boyfriend he was. “If you try to escape, you might slip and fall. Can you pass me the shower gel?”
A shelf cut into the wall was in reach. Kit squinted to tell the products apart, then passed the gel over. When Holden snapped the cap open, spearmint flooded the damp air.
“You can brace yourself on the wall for balance,” Holden said helpfully, before slick hands curved over Kit’s ass.
Kit swore under his breath, hands slapping against tile.
Showering had been Holden’s idea. Scrubbing off the feel of Terry’s corpse. He should probably wash and condition his excessive mane of hair, too. But Holden seemed way more focused on cleaning Kit.
Thoroughly.
Kit wasn’t complaining. Even if his nipples didn’t need that much soaping down. Teasing pressure, alternating soft and firm, accelerated Kit’s need for more.
“Did you get this gel specifically for the scent?” Kit asked, arching into the slippery touches. That spearmint was bound to linger.
Holden cruelly abandoned Kit’s nipples—though the possessive grip around his waist had its own appeal. “You’re so smart, sweetheart. I want everyone else to smell it on you and know you were with me.”
Kit’s breath sharpened to a squeak as a slick hand fell to his cock. Holden’s hand was so big, Kit’s cock disappeared into his grasp. One firm stroke dragged Kit to his toes.
Holden’s other arm braced around his middle. Water hissed around them, and steam clouded the glass door. Warmth stole into Kit’s lungs.
“Don’t come yet,” Holden murmured into his ear. “I’m just cleaning you up. God, your cock is just like you. Small and pretty and perfect.”
Each word plunged into Kit’s brain, quickening his pulse just as much as the physical touch.
He never gave much thought to the size of his—okay, that was a lie.
He was a nineteen-year-old guy, for fuck’s sake, and he used to idly hope his cock would get bigger someday.
It wasn’t tiny, it just wasn’t impressive.
Except Holden, James, and Darius all seemed plenty impressed.
“If you don’t want me to come, stop jerking me off,” Kit complained, arching against Holden’s body.
Then he groaned in further exasperation when Holden complied. The fucking bastard.
Holden rubbed shower gel into Kit’s tense shoulders. “Is this what you wanted?”
“I want you to fuck me.” Kit twisted, managing to face Holden this time.
The heavy cock brushing his stomach sent butterflies swooping through his entire body. He wanted this so, so bad. Time to really twist the thumbscrews.
Kit looked up through his lashes, lifting his chin to bare his throat. In the smallest, neediest voice he could muster, he begged, “Please, Holden, please fuck me now.”
Holden shuddered. Focused, intent, he yanked the shower handle, and the spray cut out. Water dripped, punctuating their shared breaths.
“Not here.” Holden grinned at Kit’s pout. “I want to tie you to my bed.”
Kit’s protest faltered. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”
Holden’s grin widened into dimples. “I’ve been planning our first time for a while.”
“How long?” Kit asked, greedy for every ounce of twisted affection.
Holden took Kit by the hand and bent to kiss his knuckles.
The touch of his lips bloomed along Kit’s skin.
“I started fantasizing after we met at the library. But the fantasies didn’t turn into plans until I knew you wanted me, too.
” Holden’s grip tensed. His eyes lowered. “The real me, that is. Not the mask.”
For a moment, the blue tiles darkened to a grubby basement. “When you kidnapped me.”
Holden kissed Kit’s hand again. His voice rasped. “You showed me I didn’t have to die with you. I started planning how to live with you instead.”
Kit shuddered. He knew exactly what Holden was giving him. A cold heart on a bone platter. A heart Holden hadn’t even known beat in his chest.
A vulnerable piece of truth.
It did the job. Kit wasn’t thinking about anybody else right now. He felt dizzy, the floor unstable, as he and Holden left the shower.
There were awkward moments of laughter. Holden threatened to shake himself out like a dog but wrung his hair into the shower instead. Haphazard attempts at drying each other with towels. They gave up still damp, hair clinging to their necks, and stumbled into the bedroom.
Kit fell onto the bed, where soft bedding clung to his bare skin. But Holden paused at the nightstand, so Kit sat back up to watch him.
“I can grab lube from another room,” Kit offered.
“You aren’t leaving that bed until I’ve fucked you senseless,” Holden said, with his usual cheerfulness. Except there was a shivery uncertainty in his movements. Like he was off balance, out of his element.
Like today really meant something to him.
Holden pulled a box from the nightstand. The wood clunked on the surface, and the latch whispered open at a touch. Holden drew out a pair of cuffs Kit hadn’t seen in months.
But their weight seared into his memory. Lined with leather and fake fur. Heavy. Comfortable.
“Can I use these?” Holden asked quietly.
The same cuffs he used the night he drugged and kidnapped Kit. The night he planned to murder kit.
The night Kit ripped open his own heart as a gift.
A need deeper than lust pulsed through Kit. He wanted an echo of that night. An hour, a moment when nothing mattered outside this singular obsession. Kit offered his wrists. “Only if you use the ankle cuffs, too.”
All the uncertainty fled Holden’s face. “God, I love you.”
He pinned Kit to the mattress.