Chapter 15 Kit
FIFTEEN
Kit
The car journey back to Quin’s took both forever and no time at all. Kit was riding high off the success of the date, even if a small part of him felt guilty over staking his claim on Quin so dramatically. At least he hadn’t done something awful, like piss on him to mark his territory.
Kit glanced over at Quin, who was concentrating on reversing the car into a parking space close to his house.
He hoped Quin wouldn’t want Kit to piss on him, seeing as he couldn’t pee.
Not that it mattered, considering Kit wouldn’t want to piss on Quin.
But, desired or not, the idea was now stuck in his brain.
How ideal.
“What’s that face for?” Quin asked as he turned off the engine.
“Do you want to piss on me?” Kit blurted.
Quin’s eyes widened. “You want me to piss on you?”
“No. I mean—I don’t think so.” Kit was almost certain that he didn’t want Quin to piss on him, but he also didn’t want to say that, just in case Quin did have some thus far unmentioned piss kink.
“Is this some sort of joke about urine marking?”
“Urine marking?”
“Like when Mabel pees on the corner of a building to show that she considers it her territory.”
Kit threw his head back against the seat. “Can you ignore I said that?”
Quin looked both confused and amused, but he let it go.
With Mabel at the dog sitter’s, the space seemed emptier. Kit stood awkwardly in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot as Quin unlaced his shoes.
“Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?” Kit asked. “Please?” He needed something to do with his hands. He’d already half chewed his thumbnail off in the car.
“Of course,” Quin said. “C’mon and I’ll show you where everything is.”
Kit waved Quin away. “I’m sure I can figure it out myself.” He escaped to the kitchen, running through the steps of the tea-making process, the ritual helping to calm his nerves.
Once it finished brewing, he brought the steaming mug over to Quin, setting it down on the table. Quin sat in his seat, appearing relaxed but for the thudding of his heart. Kit remained standing as Quin blew on the tea to cool it.
“Cheers, Kit,” Quin said.
Emboldened, Kit pushed things to the next level. “Aren’t you going to reward me? I thought we had an agreement.” He pointed to his own lips. “Pay up.”
Quin’s grin split his face. He put the mug down and opened his arms. “C’mere.”
Kit moved closer but didn’t sit where Quin wanted. He leaned down, pressing one quick peck to Quin’s lips before pulling back. “I want more than a kiss,” he said.
Quin searched Kit’s face. He tried not to flinch under the scrutiny.
“Shall we go to the bedroom?” Quin asked.
Kit nodded once, decisive. He let Quin lead him upstairs, his bravado seeping away with every step he took.
By the time they were inside the bedroom, Kit had no idea what to do. Quin seemed at ease as he propped himself on the edge of the double bed, on the soft-looking plain white sheets.
Kit took in the rest of the room, distracting himself from Quin.
It was spartan, all white walls and matching furniture in navy blues and greys.
It smelled fresh, like the spring air outside, and of the bergamot scent Quin wore.
A couple of succulents in red pots stood on the windowsill, one sadly half shrivelled.
“I tend to over-water them,” Quin said, gaze following Kit’s. “I always think they need more than they do.”
“The cactus you gave me is doing well.”
“If you kill it, I’ll never forgive you,” Quin said, deadpan.
Kit went over to the window and peered out. “Good view of the neighbour’s garden.”
“They get the sun,” Quin responded, then added, “Kit, how about you sit down on the bed and relax?”
“I’ll stand.”
“How about the relaxing part of that?”
“I’m relaxed,” Kit lied. Quin started to get up, but Kit didn’t want to hear whatever spiel was coming. “So, which way do you like it?” Kit asked, trying to project casualness.
“I’m sure I’ll like it however you want it,” Quin said, as easy and open as ever. “Apart from the golden showers. I’d prefer not, if I’m honest. Game for trying pretty much anything else.”
Kit ignored the jibe. “You’d let me top you?”
Quin stiffened before nodding. “Sure. If that’s what you wanted to do.”
“You don’t sound sure,” Kit said, jutting his chin out.
“It’s been a while. Whatever you want, though.” Quin’s voice was steady, the initial note of uncertainty gone.
“Get undressed,” Kit demanded.
Quin raised his eyebrow, amusement dancing across his features. “Happy to.” Quin proceeded to remove every stitch of clothing he wore with deliberate slowness.
Kit stood there, watching and resisting the urge to react.
When Quin was down to his navy-blue boxer briefs that stretched over the tops of his thick thighs, he caught Kit’s eye. “All the way?” he asked.
“All the way,” Kit confirmed, proud of himself for getting the words out without stuttering.
Quin smirked, hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and then pulled his underwear down, revealing himself fully. “Like what you see?”
Kit’s gaze roved over Quin’s form. He was hairier than Kit, with a body made for function over form; Quin’s muscles weren’t gym-honed or bulging and, despite his obvious strength, there were no washboard abs to be seen.
Still, Kit knew that anyone punching Quin’s stomach would be more likely to come away with a broken hand than wind Quin.
Kit tried not to focus on Quin’s cock, but it twitched under his scrutiny, as if asking for attention.
Large, because of course it was. Everything about Quin was big.
Not too big, though. Kit wondered what it would feel like to take it inside himself.
That was the idea that made his own cock stir for the first time since they’d entered the bedroom.
“Kit?” Quin prompted, uncertainty creasing his eyes.
Kit hadn’t even realised he’d been staring in silence.
“Very good,” he said lamely, not remembering what Quin’s original question had been.
How could he, when faced with over six feet of buck-naked werewolf?
Telling Quin to take his clothes off had been a terrible idea.
At least if Quin were clothed, then Kit could formulate a proper sentence.
Quin tilted his head. “So, how do you want me?”
Kit glanced at the bed. “All fours?” he suggested, unsure.
“Lube is in the nightstand,” Quin said.
“Right.”
“Do you plan on getting undressed or…?” Quin asked as he got into position. Kit hadn’t expected him to. He’d expected pushback—an argument or a fight. But Quin really was going to let him do whatever he wanted.
Kit felt adrift. “Um,” was the only noise he could make.
Quin turned around, propping himself on the end of the bed. It should have looked ridiculous given his nudity, but Quin seemed at home in his own skin. “We don’t need to do this if you aren’t comfortable.”
Kit clenched his fists. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
“Have you topped before?”
Kit’s prolonged silence was answer enough.
“Do you want to top?”
Kit let his head tip back, looking up at the ceiling.
“I don’t know.” No, he didn’t want to top.
But he also didn’t want to voice that he needed Quin to direct things.
Part of Kit still felt ashamed of his desires.
He’d never know if they were completely his own, or whether Lawrence had moulded him into someone that craved submission over anything else.
Kit hadn’t been Lawrence’s ideal creation—his creator had wanted someone like Shaun who got off on the pain—but Kit had been close enough. He’d satisfied Lawrence until he’d grown bored. The notion of not being what Quin wanted scared Kit more than he thought possible.
“Look at me, Kit.” Quin’s voice wasn’t demanding, but it held an air of authority that made Kit comply.
He met Quin’s soft gaze, and some of his apprehension melted away.
“If you don’t want to continue, I’m more than okay with that.
Don’t feel you need to do or be anything you don’t want to. No pressure, okay?”
Kit bit down on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the maelstrom of emotions that warred inside of him.
Quin opened his arms. “Come here, ba—uh, Kit.”
Without hesitation, Kit threw himself into Quin’s arms with such force that he knocked him flat onto the mattress. Quin let out a soft, “Oof,” but didn’t complain.
Kit burrowed his face into Quin’s neck, inhaling his scent. He never wanted to let go. They both lay there for a while, Kit relaxing to the steady cadence of Quin’s breaths. Eventually, he worked up the courage to murmur a question. “What were you going to call me before you corrected yourself?”
Quin groaned, the rumbling working its way through Kit’s body. “I thought I got away with that.”
Through his fading turmoil, Kit smiled. “Nope.”
“Do I have to tell you? What if it’s embarrassing?”
“Is it?”
“I suppose that depends on your reaction,” Quin hedged.
“Tell me.”
“Okay.” Quin stayed quiet for a few seconds, but Kit waited. He was in a comfortable position and didn’t want to budge. “So, in most of my previous relationships, we’ve had a certain dynamic.”
“Uh-huh,” Kit said, anticipating Quin’s next words.
Quin made a noise of frustration. “Right, I’m just going to come out and say it.
I like my partner to call me Daddy. And I like…
taking care of them. Their needs. In and out of the bedroom.
I’m not overly into rules, and I’m not much of a Dom, but I like the dynamic.
” Quin paused, taking a deep breath. “That’s the long and short of it.
My cards are on the table. The cat’s out of the bag.
” Quin pressed his mouth shut, probably to stop himself from using another idiom.
Kit bit his lip to hide his smile, and satisfaction spread through him. “That’s why you swallowed your tongue when I said that thing about your dad.”
“It’s not…you know it’s not literally like that though, right?”
“I do. So, what were you about to call me?”