Chapter 27 - Kit
Kit
Tears burned behind my eyes. Right here, buried to the hilt in the man I’d craved for two years, I was about to fall apart completely.
Felix wrapped around me like liquid fire, silk and velvet and perfect heat. But those broken sounds spilling from his lips, the way my name cracked on his tongue—that would destroy me.
Mine. The word pounded through my skull with every thrust, primal and consuming.
It was unfathomable, but it was true. Felix beneath me, around me, finally fucking mine.
Two years of watching from the shadows, aching for him, wanting what I couldn’t have, and now he was here, taking me like he was made for it.
I wanted to wreck him for hours. Catalogue every sound I could drag from his throat. But he felt too good, too tight and warm and willing, and I was already hanging by a thread.
Felix first. Always Felix first.
I worked him harder, thumb circling the head with each stroke. His fingers yanked at my hair, ripping a groan from my chest. The sharp bite of pleasure made me drive deeper, ecstasy ricocheting through my entire body.
“Kit, I— Oh— I can’t—”
His entire body seized, spine bowing as my name ripped from his throat again.
The sound shattered me. I abandoned his cock to crush him against me, one arm banded across his chest, the other braced for leverage as I drove into him through the aftershocks, desperate to devour every soft and needy whimper.
Felix melted in my arms, utterly spent, and I was lost. The climax tore through me like wildfire—white-hot, all-consuming.
My cock jerked and pulsed as I emptied myself inside him, filling him with everything I had.
A feral sound clawed from my chest, my hips grinding helplessly as pleasure obliterated me.
Another growl rumbled up, pure wolf—possessive, satisfied—and I quickly sank my teeth into my own tongue to stop them from claiming his throat.
“Fuck,” I gasped, holding him like he might float away if I let go. “Felix.”
Both of us slick with sweat and trembling, I withdrew as carefully as possible. Felix made this tiny sound of protest that carved straight through my ribs.
I chuckled against his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there. “I know, me too. But I need to clean you.”
I turned him carefully onto his back, and he gazed up at me through those dark lashes, pupils still blown wide.
Cum painted his stomach in streaks, and I bent to lap it up with my tongue, long, slow, deliberate drags that made him shiver beneath me. He tasted fucking incredible. Divine. Addictive. I was salivating by the time he was spotless.
Felix’s fingers found my hair, shy at first, then more certain as he tugged to guide me up his body. His touch steered my mouth to that spot above his collarbone—where I’d marked him weeks ago. The bruise had faded, but muscle memory guided me straight to the place.
My heart slammed against my ribcage as my wolf howled in triumph. He was offering himself. Asking to be claimed again.
I sealed my mouth over that tender spot, sucking hard while my hand captured his, fingers lacing tight. Felix’s breathing fractured, pulse rabbiting beneath my lips as I worked his throat. The rhythm consumed me—sucking, nipping, soothing with my tongue until he was soft and pliant beneath me.
Minutes passed before I was sated. When I finally pulled back, delight flooded me at the dark bruise blooming like a brand on his skin. I brushed my lips against his ear. “You like being marked, don’t you?”
His nod was desperate, fingers tugging at my hair.
“Even where people might see?”
He squirmed beneath me, and holy fuck, that did things to me, despite the fact I’d literally just come.
I dragged my tongue along his jaw just to make him laugh. The sound bubbled up, breathless and perfect, pulling a grin from me I couldn’t suppress.
“Alright, I think I’m clean now,” he said through giggles.
“Not even close.” I kissed his forehead and rolled out of bed. “Don’t move.”
I padded quickly to the bathroom to turn on the bath, yanking on the old-fashioned brass taps and grabbing those fancy bath bombs Rory left behind. Lavender and eucalyptus. Bubbles began forming immediately, white foam climbing the sides of the tub.
Back in the bedroom, I found Felix exactly where I’d left him, sprawled across my sheets like he belonged there. His hair was a mess, his eyes soft and drowsy, and there was my purple mark proudly on his throat.
Mine.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
I scooped him up before he could protest, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back.
“For God’s sake, I can walk you know!”
“Hush.” I carried him down the hallway, his head tucked against my shoulder. “Let me take care of you.”
In the bathroom, steam had already fogged the mirror, and the tub was nearly full, overflowing with bubbles.
I’d always felt a bit ridiculous about the fancy clawfoot tub when I’d renovated this place—too indulgent for someone like me.
But watching Felix’s eyes widen as I lowered him into the warm water, I was grateful for every penny I’d spent.
His reaction was immediate. Eyes fluttering shut, lips parting on a soft gasp as the heat enveloped him. His whole body seemed to melt into the bubbles, tension I hadn’t even noticed draining from his shoulders.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “This is heaven. My shower only ever reaches lukewarm.”
I knelt beside the tub, reaching for a washcloth, then hesitated. He looked so content, so blissful, I almost didn’t want to disturb him.
“Get in with me.”
“That would be nice, but I won’t fit. I’m too big.”
Felix cracked one eye open, a wicked smile playing at his lips. “That’s what I said half an hour ago.”
I splashed his face. “Oh, stop.”
But then he resorted to giving me those puppy-dog eyes, all dark lashes and soft pleading, and my resolve crumbled like wet paper. I found myself climbing carefully into the tub on top of him.
Water sloshed everywhere. It cascaded over the sides, splashing across the tiles in great waves, and we both burst into laughter. I settled my much larger frame around his smaller one, Felix’s legs tangling with mine.
“See, this is cozy,” he said, wiggling against me.
“I’m going to have to use every single towel,” I grumbled. I wrapped my arms around him, chin resting on his shoulder. “You feeling sore?”
“I’m fine.” He tilted his head back. “Better than fine.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
The words stuck in my throat for a moment. For giving me something I never thought I’d have. For trusting me with your body. For forgiving me for being such a complete bastard. For giving me a chance to prove myself to you.
“For being here,” I said finally. “For being here with me.”
Felix brought his hand up to my face, eyes widening. For a moment I thought he was going to say something, but instead, he leaned forward to kiss my other cheek.
When the water cooled and our skin started to prune, I forced him out of the bath, then wrapped him in my largest, fluffiest dressing gown. It swallowed him completely, the sleeves hanging past his fingertips, the hem pooling around his feet.
I lifted him once again, ignoring his half-hearted protests, and carried him to the sofa, setting him down and tucking the enormous dressing gown around him. “Stay put here while I change the bed.”
But of course he didn’t listen. He followed me into the bedroom and started ripping the sheets off with me.
We worked in comfortable silence, tucking corners and smoothing fabric.
The domesticity of it hit me square in the chest. Felix in my dressing gown, hair still damp from the bath, helping me make the bed we’d just thoroughly destroyed.
When we climbed back under the fresh covers, I pulled him against my chest without thinking.
He settled there like he belonged, head on my shoulder, one leg thrown over mine.
Neither of us mentioned me calling him an Uber, which is what I usually did at the end of our dates here—he’d never stayed the night before.
But there was no way I was letting him leave this time. Or ever again, if I got my way.
I held him close, breathing in his scent until it saturated my lungs.
Felix’s fingers traced the scars scattered across my chest, and I held my breath.
I’d spent years avoiding mirrors, hating the roadmap of violence carved into me.
These weren’t the kind of marks you got from training accidents, they were too deliberate, too cruel, crossing my skin like a violent constellation.
I waited for him to pull back, to ask questions I couldn’t answer.
Instead, he pressed his palm flat against the worst of them, right over my heart.
His touch was warm and steady, like he was claiming every damaged inch.
The careful way he explored each raised line—not with horror or curiosity, but with something like tenderness—made my wolf settle, calm completely.
For the first time in years, the scars felt like just skin.
Just part of me that someone could love.
“What’s that over there?” Felix asked.
I followed his gaze to my cluttered bedside table. My heart plummeted.
“Oh… it’s…”
“Is that A Dance with Dragons?” His voice was bright with surprise.
Fuck. I should have hidden it. Buried it under the lamp or shoved it in a drawer. Instead, there it was—book five, all dog-eared and annotated, sitting right there alongside the other four volumes I’d already devoured.
“I’m about halfway through,” I mumbled.
Felix twisted to look at me properly, eyebrows raised. “Since when do you read fantasy?”
I rubbed my hand over my face. “I… I saw you reading one of them once. In the kitchen. You looked completely absorbed, so I thought I’d try it.”
The admission hung between us. More tangible proof that I’d been watching him, noting his habits, desperate to understand every single piece of him.