Chapter 33 Kit
KIT
TWO MONTHS LATER
“Fuck, Damian! Damian, more, more!”
With one foot planted on my boyfriend’s shoulder, and the other hanging off the sleek kitchen cabinets, I arch back on the palms of my hands and push myself onto his wicked tongue. Who knew unpacking would make Damian so horny?
He plunges deeper, working a clever finger in beside his tongue to taunt that most delicious spot.
“Ah, Damian!” I pant, one hand flying into his sweaty hair. “God, fuck me. Please fuck me!”
My evil boyfriend doesn’t listen, instead he hooks his finger against my prostate and moans against my stretched rim.
“Please,” I sob, yanking at him frantically. My body is so keyed up, I’m not above begging.
Finally, Damian has mercy, pulling his face back with a lewd kiss to my abused hole. “You need any prep?” he asks, quickly undoing his jeans. My own lay discarded somewhere in our massive kitchen.
“Not after this morning,” I gasp. “Your cum is still dripping out of me.”
Damian’s growl is almost inhuman. And then, he’s inside me, sparing me no time to adjust before pounding into me so hard that my ass bumps across the smooth countertop.
His nails bite into my hips, dragging me down onto his thick length until all I can do is moan and weep and scream his name. We come together, Damian spilling deep inside me while I paint his hand with my release. It’s fast and brutal, a far cry from our slow lovemaking only hours ago.
And I fucking love it.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. Everything is just so bloody perfect, especially if I ignore the mountain of packing boxes that we need to deal with today.
Well, okay, so there are a few residual nightmares I’d rather be without, and it takes me a while to trust new places and people after what Lucien did to me. But everything considered, I’d say I’m handling it pretty well.
I run my fingers reverently along the expensive, cold kitchen worktop we just ruined. “So kind of Lucien to insist on marble.”
“So kind of him,” Damian agrees, pulling out and tucking himself back into his jeans.
“So kind.”
It’s been a running joke ever since we presented our demands to Lucien.
Just like it was so kind of Lucien to purchase this apartment in our names, so kind of him to insist on my brand-new sports car, so kind of him to pay our tuition, and because fuck anything he bought me while I was acting as his performing monkey, so kind of him to buy me a whole new wardrobe.
Oxford Street didn’t know what’d hit it.
Let’s just say, our silence was pricey. We’ve not even had to touch our inflated trust funds yet. And why would we need to with our living expenses and our new apartment in one of the most exclusive skyscrapers in the city all accounted for?
So kind.
The Stalk is one of the newest glass towers in Central London, an iridescent emerald stronghold that presides over the entire city.
It’s said the skyscraper gets its name from the forest green windows that wrap themselves around the building like vines until they disappear into the clouds.
The fact that none other than Everett Stalk owns the building has been forgotten by almost everyone.
Though rumour has it that his penthouse takes up the entire top floor.
Our modest, one-bedroom, twentieth-floor dwelling with every modern luxury money can buy is practically a hovel in comparison. We’re only poor students, after all.
I can’t wait to invite the twins for a housewarming. Jack’s going to lose his mind.
Mum’s considering a flat here, too, now that she’s settled on a divorce solicitor.
I googled the woman, and she’s a complete shark.
Lucien doesn’t stand a chance. I’m still not sure I’m keen on Mum moving so close, but at least the building is big enough that we shouldn’t run into each other too often.
“Argh, we’ve got so much to unpack,” Damian groans, throwing his head back grudgingly. “Can’t we just do this all evening?”
“No, my bum’s going numb. Besides, we have to sort out the boxes at some point. We still haven’t found the lube, remember? We can’t rely on last rounds’ cum forever.”
Damian huffs dramatically. “Fine, we’ll unpack. But can we at least have dessert for dinner?”
“No,” I laugh. “We did that yesterday, and I’ve only just recovered from the sugar crash.”
“But we’re celebrating,” Damian whines, wrapping himself around me like an octopus. “Look at us, standing on our own two feet, living in our own home, and already arguing like an old married couple about dinner. We deserve a treat!”
I snort. “You’re ridiculous. There’s so much wrong with that argument, I can’t even untangle it all.”
Damian can still be a bit sheltered sometimes. Standing on our own two feet, honestly. At least I can admit we’re only in this situation because we have our dear, ex-dad by the balls. But, hey, no guilt here.
Am I ever worried about Lucien retaliating? Sometimes, if I’m having a bad day. Luckily, Everett Stalk offered his security services to us at a questionably low price, and he’s the best in the business. I don’t doubt that Stalk is watching Lucien’s every move as we speak.
“You still love me though, right?” Damian smiles crookedly, picking me off the counter and spinning us through a wall of empty boxes.
I wrap my legs around his waist, happiness surging through me. I feel invincible. We are invincible. “Yeah,” I say, nuzzling into his neck. “I fucking love you anyway.”
“Enough to let me have dessert for dinner?”
“Oh my god, you win,” I laugh. One of these days, I’ll figure out how to say no to those puppy dog eyes. “Now, let me down so I can put on some trousers. My ass is getting cold.”
He shifts my weight, balancing me with one hand so that he can trace down my exposed crack with the other. He hums darkly. “I love feeling my cum leaking out of you.”
He lifts his glistening finger to his lips and licks, his eyes fluttering closed as he savours our taste. Fuuuck. Then, just as I’m about to chase his cum with my tongue, we’re rudely interrupted.
Buuuzz.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Damian grouses, finally dropping me next to my creased-to-high-heavens jeans. I wish I could find the box with my clothes in, because wearing nothing at all would be better than these. Is this denim blended with crepe paper or something?
A deep voice crackles through the intercom. “Hi, I have a sofa delivery for Gretel?”
I turn to Damian, my hand on my heart. I can’t wait to see it.
We had it imported, especially from the continent.
It’s a one-off piece by some exquisite furniture designer I’ve never heard of, but as soon as I saw the price tag, I instantly knew I wanted Lucien to pay for it.
The thing set him back a small fortune, and that’s just in shipping costs.
“So kind,” I simper, batting my eyelashes at my stepbrother.
Damian smirks, pulling me in for a filthy kiss. He purrs in agreement. “So kind.”