18. Peter Does Not Buy His Tie From Target
18
Peter Does Not Buy His Tie From Target
I wake wrapped around a warm male body in a bed that isn’t mine. As Veronica would say, “Sounds like Tuesday,” but then I remember. I fucked my damn stepbrother. That’s got to be an all-time low in the depravity department. I prod my feelings and find that none of me gives much of a shit if we’re legally related. Hell, I’m not positive I could’ve kept my hands off Kit even if he did turn out to be my long-lost brother by blood. But that’s some V. C. Andrews kinda shit and I was never a fan. The early eighties were a super weird time for popular fiction, but I digress and wrestle my squirrel brain off of shuffle mode.
Let’s just look at the facts. I’d like to think my A+ game got me here, but to myself at least I have to admit that Kit seduced me every bit as much as I seduced him. So we have two very consenting adults in this kinda sorta taboo scenario. That’s got to count for something.
Fact number two is that Kit blew my fucking mind last night. All my fuses are fried and need to be replaced. I’m not thinking clearly, and I don’t really care. If last night was an example of what not thinking gets me, sign me up for a lifetime supply of that shit. I’m not even close to being done with Kit. Not by a longshot. There is so much left of him to pick apart and explore.
The third fact isn’t a fun one. When Baldwin gets back from Sicily he’s going to blow a fucking gasket if he gets wind of what’s going on between me and Kit. Part of me would enjoy the look on his face when he comprehends what his son and I have done. And will continue to do. Kit has all kinds of bells and whistles and I’m going to play with every single one wherever and whenever I choose. That’s sure as hell going to involve the office in some way or another. Fucking in the corporate headquarters of Minola Corp sounds scorching hot, but also a recipe to give my stepfather an aneurysm.
For the first time I allow myself to consciously think what I’ve held in the back of my mind for most if my life—I don’t really care if something bad happens to Baldwin Minola.
Two things are clear to me in the watery dawn light seeping into Kit’s bedroom. The first is that Kit isn’t the spoiled selfish brat Baldwin has always insinuated he is. The tiny glimpses into Kit’s childhood that he’s let spill out paint the picture of a sad and lost little boy, forsaken by everyone except his grandparents. The second thing is that I’m also beginning to think Baldwin has been financially holding out on me and Mom, although I’m not sure by how much.
I think it’s telling that my lack of obvious signs of wealth confuses Kit. He doesn’t seem to understand why I’m not as well-off as he is. I don’t think he knows that I have no trust fund and after getting my MBA, I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. Baldwin has led me to believe that if I do what he wants, namely to humiliate and bully his son into giving up his place at Minola Corp, that he’ll be able to make all our money problems magically go away. I’ll be able to pay off my school loans and credit card debt and we’ll be able to afford that cancer pill for Mom so she doesn’t have to keep going into the hospital for radiation treatments.
I suspect that if I promised to be everything Kit needs in a partner that he’d make sure my mother was taken care of properly and lift the burden of debt off my shoulders without thinking twice about the expense. Money has no particular meaning for him. It’s the grease that eases his way through life and nothing else. He doesn’t want to hoard his wealth like a jealous dragon. What Kit wants, I think, is affection. Companionship. Love.
I’m not sure I’m capable of that last one. I love my mother and Veronica, obviously platonically, but I’ve never romantically loved anyone. I’m not even sure how it’s supposed to work. What makes you love someone, forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live? I have absolutely no idea, but I’m good at faking things. I know how to make a person feel loved and that’s nearly the same thing, right?
It might be enough for Kit, at any rate. If he paid for my mother’s medication I’d figure out how to be the most romantic son of a bitch that ever existed—if that’s even what Kit wants. I just don’t know. On the other hand, I’m planning on fucking Kit silly for the foreseeable future, so that gives me some time to figure this shit out.
I can do this. I plan on taming my semi-feral Kitten with pets and snuggles and plenty of romping around until he becomes a purring machine whenever he sees me. I have drive and I know how to be ruthless. Thanks for that, Baldwin. I’m going to use everything you drummed into my head for my benefit for a change, not yours. I’m going to make Kit happy like it’s my fucking job. It that means spanking his ass on a regular basis or whipping him or doing whatever the fuck kinky shit he likes, I am on it.
Kit, despite all the shit I’ve thrown at him so far, hasn’t blown up at me in a fit of rage. He’s sniped at me plenty and has been as irritating as possible while still doing a perfect job at work, but he hasn’t screamed at me once.
Baldwin, on the other hand, has screamed at me until he lost his voice. Or at least he used to, before I figured out how to be the little minion he wanted.
Taking all of this into account, I think choosing which Minola deserves my loyalty is a no-brainer. Even if love isn’t in my bag of tricks, I know how to be devoted. I am the perfect partner for Kit. Now all I need to do is prove it to him.
And also hope Baldwin doesn’t have us killed. I have no idea what Baldwin’s really up to in Palermo, but I doubt it’s just for an innocent family reunion with his mother’s people. From hints he’s let drop and a little Googling on my part, I’m suspicious his relatives there are Mafia. Whatever he’s asking his shady relatives in Sicily for, I know it can’t be good—not for me or Mom and definitely not for Kit.
I wonder if I should warn Kit then I wonder if it would do any good.
My churning thoughts are interrupted when Kit stirs and moves so he’s lying on his back looking up at me. “You stayed with me all night?” Kit says those words like they’re a question he wants the answer to but is afraid to ask.
“Your bed is very comfortable, Kitten.”
“Stop calling me Kitten.” Kit frowns slightly and without thinking I smooth the skin between his eyebrows and on his forehead until he relaxes. “And the guest bed has the same mattress and pillows as my bed.”
“The guest bed doesn’t have you in it,” I say, pleased when Kit’s skin pinkens to the same hue as the sky outside.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Kit says, more to himself than me. “I can’t believe any of this is real. I was probably hit by a car on my way home and this is all a dream my comatose brain has concocted to keep me entertained.”
“If this is just a dream, we can do whatever we want with no consequences,” I point out, attempting to be helpful.
Kit looks up at me. He nibbles his lip, which for the record is super fucking hot, and asks, “What kind of things?”
“We could play hooky from work.”
Shock fills Kit’s face. “We can’t just not show up to work.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Nothing will happen to Minola Corp if we take off for the day. Who’s going to stop us?”
Kit blinks rapidly like his brain is rebooting. Then, in a small voice he asks, “Can we go see Sue?”
It takes me a second to figure out what he’s talking about but when I do, I grin down at him. “We can absolutely go see Sue.”
“There’s clean underwear in that middle drawer. My dressing room is that door right there. While I’m in the shower, pick out something to wear.” Kit says this to me over his shoulder as he walks into the bathroom then closes the door.
I immediately miss looking at his ass. A deep, but loud and insistent, part of my brain won’t stop telling me that Kit is too beautiful and a million miles out of my league. I know that no matter how much privilege I’ve been given, or how well I was educated, despite even the manners and social etiquette that was drilled into me so hard it’s become as natural as breathing, I will never lose the taint of my origins.
My stepfather made it clear how grateful I should be for him scooping my mother out of the gutter and giving both of us a life we could only aspire to, but never attain on our own. I was the replacement child for the one that had abandoned him, and I was taught to be thankful for every single thing I was given due to my elevated circumstances.
Part of me has always hated that narrative, even as a small child who had no idea what a narrative even was. I knew I was smart because my teachers and Mama said so. I was the one who earned the happy stickers and stars and A’s attached to my schoolwork. Nevertheless, I strove to please a man who, I learned soon after my mother married him, couldn’t be pleased.
He's strung both my mother and I along for years with crumbs of praise and affection along with the promise of more, if we can only be worthy of deserving it.
By college I had a clear plan that I chased with dogged determination. I would get my degree, and my MBA, work at Minola for a few years, and make the business contacts I needed. Then I’d look for a position in a company unaffiliated with Minola. Then I’d be free to be and say and do whatever I wanted. I’d convince my mother to leave Baldwin and take care of her. She knew I was pan and wouldn’t care who I was dating, as long as that person made me happy.
Then Mom was diagnosed with cancer and Baldwin’s father had died, leaving everything to his wife and grandson but nothing at all to Baldwin but a paltry trust fund. An insult of an inheritance, according to my stepfather. But he had a plan, and he needed me to enact it.
I was catapulted to importance in my stepfather’s eyes and that attention had been sweet like a cool drink of clear water after wandering in the desert. Of course I’d help Baldwin get his inheritance back. It was only fair, and the sooner my stepfather got that money, the sooner we would be able to afford the medicine my mother needed. And I’d also get to stick it to my asshole stepbrother.
I saw nothing wrong with my stepfather’s proposal to ruin Kristoff’s life, and when he turned out to be a cold, snooty asshole, taking everything away from him had only seemed like the perfect solution to everything.
Then I’d actually met Kristoff Minola and saw the kind if man he truly is. He works his ass off, strides for perfection in all things, is reliable and knowledgeable, and is the first person to make me feel like I’m not the smartest person in the room.
He's also a complete mess of a human being. Neurotic, high strung, cold, unapproachable, and sad. What he isn’t is the type of person who would reject even a crumb of affection offered to him.
One of the truisms of my existence is wobbling unsteadily and on the brink of crumbling into dust. I am beginning to realize how much Baldwin has been lying about his son. It makes me feel a little queasy about how I’ve been treating Kit—and how I’ve been using him.
I’m also filled with even more resolution to claim him as mine, but not for solely my sake. I plan to claim Kit, make him love me, and then keep him forever. I want, like a junkie wants heroin, all those untapped reservoirs of devotion I sense barely concealed under Kit’s cool composure. And once Kit loves me, I’m never letting him go.
With that goal in mind, I hurry after Kit and open the bathroom door in time to catch him stepping into his shower. The shower in the guest room en suite , while far better than the shower I have at home, did not prepare me for this.
Like his bedroom, the bathroom is in shades of black, gray, white, and silver. There’s a double vanity, a toilet and a damn bidet, and then the… shower? I don’t know what to call it. It’s enclosed by clear glass and enormous. I’ve never seen anything like it. First of all, there is no shower head. Water just falls from the ceiling like extremely steamy rain. Kit stands in the middle, legs braced, and his face turned up to the spray.
“Why is there a bathtub inside your shower?” I ask.
Kit’s eyes are closed but my appearance doesn’t seem to startle him. “I should have known you wouldn’t follow orders,” he says, eyes still closed as he lets the hot water fall on the relaxed features of his face.
I want to kiss him but that’s the one thing he’s absolutely said no to. The urge inside me burns painfully but I push it down. I will kiss Kit, and more importantly he’ll kiss me back, but not yet. He’s not ready. “From you?” I scoff. “Not in this lifetime. Why is there a tub in your shower?”
He finally deigns to look at me. Kit’s face appears vulnerable with his hair slicked back with water and his lashes in spiked clumps around those spooky silver eyes of his. Again, I’m struck by how devastatingly beautiful Kit is and doesn’t seem to have the first clue what he looks like.
“It’s called a wet room,” Kit says, as if the answer is an obvious one.
“What the fuck is a wet room?” Because no, it’s not obvious.
Kit shrugs. “It’s a shower with a bathtub in it. As you’ve already pointed out.”
Smartass. “I’m not going to prowl through your clothes like a creepy stalker. Especially not your underwear.” I feign a shudder. “If you feel that fussy about what I’m wearing to a museum, you can choose my outfit. Pretend I’m a giant ginger Ken doll.”
His lips quirk up in a lopsided smile. “That’s probably for the best. I don’t trust anyone who would buy that tie then wear it to competently dress himself for any occasion.”
I did not, for the record, buy the tie at Target. I couldn’t tell you where it’s from, but I didn’t buy it from a big box store where you can also purchase a television, Christmas tree, and a stuffed unicorn head to hang on your kid’s wall like the world’s creepiest hunting trophy. It was from a store that sells only men’s clothing, most of it designer brands.
I don’t contradict Kit, however, because he’s giving me exactly what I want. He will select something he wants me to wear, and I have no doubt his choices will speak volumes. Instead, I walk over to him and stand close enough that we are chest to chest and dick to dick. His begins to stir against mine and that makes me grin. “I could just eat you right up.”
“I can make you breakfast,” Kit says, prissy as fuck.
“I’m hungry for you, Kitten.”
“Stop calling me Kitten.”
Kit backs away from me and I pursue him, finally catching him when the backs of his legs hit the built-in shower bench. I push on his shoulders and he sinks down until he’s sitting on it. I stand in front of him and grab my cock as his eyes devour my every move. I give myself a few slow pulls and I swear Kit is drooling for me.
“Open up,” I tell him. “That’s not a request, Kit.”
His eyes dilate and darkness swallows his silver irises. Obediently, Kit opens his mouth wide and eagerly accepts my cock as I thrust my hips forward. I’m not fully erect but it's not long before I’m hard as steel and Kit is choking on me like the good boy he wants to be.
I stroke Kit’s wet hair then cup the nape of his neck and force him to take every last inch of me into his throat until his nose is buried into my groin. He gasps and gags around me but doesn’t try to pull back. In fact, his hands come around me and squeeze my ass as I thrust into Kit’s glorious mouth over and over and over. I only stop when I notice he’s tapping the side of my leg with the flat of his hand like he’s trying to convey a message.
I pull out of his heaven of a mouth and cup his face. “What is it, Kitten? Tell me.”
“Don’t come in my throat,” he rasps. “Come on my tongue so I can taste you.”
My cock throbs at his request. Kit, as a sexual being, is just one perfect surprise after another. “Open up.” He obeys and I jerk myself a few times until I’m spilling on his lips and tongue. “You eat that all up like a good boy,” I say, wishing I could pull him up to his feet then kiss the shit out of him.
That’s my new goal on my path to operation Make Kit Love Me. I will, one way or another, get that man to kiss me, even if it’s the last thing I do.