57. Bowen
Bowen
Two years.
Twenty-four months.
Seven hundred and thirty days spent trying to burn Kit Meyer from my skin.
Hundreds of hours spent transferring my scars to wood just so I could breathe.
Just so I could run my fingers over something rougher than the sleek print of a photo.
So my memories could haunt me somewhere outside of my head.
Now I feel the press of his smile on my skin as I trail my fingers lazily up and down his spine, just to feel him shiver against me.
If I could burn the way the golden morning light illuminates his eyes, making them warm honey and lush forest green, I would.
Though no medium could capture the depths of his stare, so I look back, willing my brain to memorize every detail of his face.
Every freckle. The exact shade of his berry, kiss-bitten mouth, and the pretty pink of his flushed cheeks.
I want them all locked away. Just in case.
His hair is still damp from the water when I sink my fingers into the light brown waves on top of his head. The satisfaction I get from his hitched breath when I grip gently at the roots is maddening.
I don't know how the fuck I didn't see it. Didn't see this. Why did it take seeing him broken down and bleeding out in grief for me to finally, unquestionably, get it?
There is a reason I've always been drawn to him. A reason that his pulling away from me bent and broke me in ways I was still too close-minded to understand as a teen. Kit was way ahead of me for a long time. Time I wish I could get back.
My gut tightens at the pure relief on his face when I cup his cheek. The bitter taste of apologies I should have spoken years ago sits heavy on my tongue. I don't say a word when I roll us back over, sheet tangled around our legs.
I hope he can feel it in the reverent drag of my calloused hands over his body. I hope he can taste the truth I've been too cowardly to explain straight from my lips. I want him to look in my eyes and know, without a shadow of doubt, that he's all I want.
Now. Then. He's all I've ever wanted.
I swallow his gasps, consume his every exhale, and revel in the burn of blunt nails down my back. He's soft and pliant under my fingertips, muscles quivering from my touch.
I want to take him apart, over and over again. Just to put him back together. I want him sobbing in my sheets and crying my name in ways that have nothing to do with want and everything to do with having. I want him to have me.
Again.
“Boe,” Kit breaks from my lips to moan, fingers digging into my skin like he's terrified I'll disappear if he loosens his hold.
I don't want him to. I want him to mark my body.
I want to swipe the steam from the mirror tomorrow and remember exactly the places he had his hands.
His mouth. I want them branded on my fucking skin.
The forward glide of my hips has Kit's wide eyes blazing. “Please,” he says on a shallow breath.
“Please what, kitten?” My gravelly voice has his body shuddering under me. Or maybe it's the way I rub my cock against his, both of us hard like we didn't just do this not even fifteen minutes ago.
Kit huffs, moaning again when I thrust against him. The bedroom smells like lake water and sex. I want the whole damn cabin to smell like us. I wait, sucking at his throat, but Kit never was good at spitting out what he wants, was he?
I take him with me, rolling onto my back. The pillow cushions my head, and his slender hands brace on my chest.
I take my hands off his hips one at a time, tucking them behind my head. I refuse the smirk that threatens to pull at my mouth.
Kit's confusion is evident in his scrunched nose and eyes looking back and forth between mine. “Why'd you stop?”
“Figured since you won't say what you want, you can show me instead. Unless you just want to pout?”
He pushes up on my chest, warm thighs falling on either side of my hips. He's looking down at me like I'm suddenly a bomb, and he has no fucking clue how to disarm me. I fist the hair at my nape so hard it stings. I'd very much like to flip him back over and show him exactly what I want.
Hesitant hands hover over my chest, whispering over my nipples. “Boe, I don’t…” He huffs again, chewing on his lip. It's painful to watch him struggle. He was just touching me. “I'm not… I don't know what you're comfortable with here. I'm not what you're…used to, and—”
Oh, fuck that.
Snatching him up around the waist, I move to the edge of the bed and stand with him clinging to me. I grab the bottle of lube and pad into the bathroom, only setting him down once we're standing in front of the big mirror over the sink.
Kit’s eyes are wide, looking at me standing over his shoulder.
Any thread of humor is gone, replaced with a singular focus. Somehow, chasing him after kissing him didn't do the trick. Fucking him didn't do it either, apparently.
“Who are you?”
His breath hitches, “Kit.”
I shake my head, leaning close enough I can smell the sunlight and water dried in his hair. “Who are you to me?”
“Kitten,” he murmurs, body going slack in front of me. I hum my approval, placing a single kiss on his shoulder.
“Who's cum is inside you right now, kitten?” I catch his eyes in the mirror and watch his blush deepen, stretching from the hollow of his throat to his hairline.
“Yours…”
“Mine,” I agree, voice husky with more need than I've ever felt in my life.
Kit's eyes snap down to my hand, grabbing the lube off the counter.
His fingers dig into the cool surface, and I watch his breathing quicken, chest rising and falling as I coat my fingers.
I use my other hand to run down his smooth back, silently urging him to arch for me.
He does. So fucking beautifully.
He moans low and aching when my wet fingers trace around his rim, I didn't need the lube.
“Your hole is stretched by my cock. Full of my cum.
And you're worried I'm uncomfortable with this?” I move my fingers slow and steady, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.
But my kitten's eyes are glassy pools of autumn fire.
I press my hard length into his hip, locking him between me and the counter.
“Do I look like a man who doesn't want this? Want you?” His hair moves with his head shake, eyes closing when I rub against his prostate. “Eyes, kitten.”
I take him apart one thrust at a time. But he's pulling me apart at the fucking seams with every moan, every push back of his hips. The way he watches me with a parted mouth and needy eyes.
“Do you see it yet, baby? Don't you see what you do to me? You are exactly what I want.”
I stop my movements when he groans and goes up on tippy toes, back arched deep. His eyes are wild when the orgasm stays just out of his grasp.
“Boe, please,” he whispers.
“Please, what?” The bathroom lights are bright, the mirror right there in front of us. There isn't a shadow for him to hide in. It's him. Me. And exactly what this is staring back at us.
“I want you,” he finally says, his normally smooth voice deep with his desire.
“Want? I don't give a shit about your want, I want your need. I want you to need me the way I need you.”
His laugh is tinged with disbelief, “I've always needed you.”
I bury my face in his neck, nipping at his earlobe while I lube my cock. “Then watch me give it to you, kitten.”
We both groan when I slide back inside his slick heat. His body takes me to the root in a vise so tight I have to lean my forehead against his shoulder.
“Eyes, Bowen.”
My laugh is guttural and ends with a groan pulled from deep, where all I've wanted for years has been buried.
“Say it,” I say. Beg.
“Yours,” he breathes, pressing back against me. “I'm yours.”
It takes Herculean efforts not to back him into the tiles. Truly.
“Why are you so tall? Tilt more.” Kit's fingers scrub gently at my scalp under the shower spray. I don't tilt more; I like watching his tongue poke out in frustration. “Boe, tilt back, so I can rinse your hair. And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” The water is getting colder by the second. That's why I washed him first. The little demon likes his water hot enough to scald. I also took sick pleasure in washing the cum off of his ass. Maybe I'm the demon?
“Like you want to eat me.” He rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are the pretty pink I love to see.
He can look disgruntled all he wants—doesn't hide the sigh he lets out when I pull his wet body flush with mine.
I take mercy on him, tilting my head back so he can rinse the rest of the shampoo from my hair.
Then I release him long enough to pass a washcloth.
He holds it out for a squirt of body wash, then stands there.
Burning red and looking at my body with eyes that flick back and forth and all around like he doesn't know where to look first.
My deep chuckle makes him jolt, and he grabs my hand, shooting me a glance while he starts scrubbing up my arm.
“You really are always wet and naked, huh?” He watches his hands work. Up my arm, over my chest. His breathing picks up when he makes it to my stomach. My stomach clenches when he sweeps lower and his eyelashes flutter. If he touches my cock, we're never making it out of here clean.
I step aside just enough for the spray of cold water to hit him, and he hisses, jumping back.
“Oh my God, Yeti!” He tosses me the washcloth and I grin, watching him as I quickly soap up the rest of my body and rinse.
At least I know a cold shower does absolutely nothing against my libido and Kit fucking Meyer.
By the time I'm drying his hair with his favorite striped towel, he's once again like warm putty in my hands, eyes soft when I lean in to kiss the freckles across his nose.
Fucking Kit is addicting. I already know I'm not going to be able to get enough. But my favorite thing? Touching him. Just being able to fucking touch him again. The feel of any part of him under my hands is my favorite thing.
Nothing in this world has ever grounded me the way he does. I always knew he took comfort from me being there, but I didn't realize just how much I needed it too until I couldn't touch him anymore.