Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kit
It was raining as it always was in Seattle.
Though this time it wasn’t some gentle drizzle.
No, this was one of those late spring storms that made the street shimmer and the windows rattle like the world was shaking loose.
I was barefoot in cutoff sweats and a too-big tee I’d stolen from my Roderick the last time I had been visiting in L.A.
My hair was still damp from the shower, and there he was—Roderick Wilder, standing on my porch like sin incarnate, soaked, wild-eyed, and completely fucking impossible to resist.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t ask to come in. Didn’t apologize for being gone for weeks or for that message I left on the answering machine that he never returned last Tuesday. He just stood there, looking at me like I was his everything.
My heart sprinted in my chest like it knew what was coming, but I didn’t expect the way he kissed me.
He didn’t even wait for the door to shut. Just slammed it behind him with one hand, then backed me into it with the other. His mouth was on mine.
Hot, hungry, claiming.
His hands cupped my jaw like I was something sacred and he was about to ruin me anyway.
He kissed like a man starved, like he hadn’t had air or food or me in too long.
His tongue slid against mine, slow at first—then deeper, harder, until I moaned against him and clawed at his shirt, yanking him closer.
“You didn’t call,” I gasped between kisses, my hands already beneath his shirt, fingers dragging along the muscles I’d memorized.
“I couldn’t,” he whispered against my neck, his lips brushing the skin just below my ear, his breath ragged. “We were recording and having interviews . . . I was too busy.”
“You think this fixes anything?”
“No. But I need you.”
Then he kissed me again—desperate this time, like he couldn’t get enough of me, like he was trying to fuck me with just his mouth and need.
And I let him.
Because I needed him too. Even when I hated that I did.
He pressed his thigh between mine, and I arched into him like a live wire, gasping as he grabbed my waist, lifting me until I wrapped my legs around his hips. His hardness pushed against me, right through the thin cotton of my shorts, and I rocked into him.
He pushed my back against it again and slid one hand beneath my shirt—his palm hot, rough, reverent. He groaned when he found I wasn’t wearing a bra, and the sound he made—God—it vibrated right between my legs.
“Say you missed me,” he murmured into my skin, dragging his mouth along my collarbone. “Just fucking say it, even when I don’t deserve it.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I breathed, clutching at him as if my body couldn’t decide whether to slap him or pull him deeper. “Of course I missed you.”
That was all he needed. He dropped to his knees. Fast. Hungry, maybe even desperate. As if gravity didn’t even exist for him once I said the words.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts and yanked them down in one smooth, punishing motion.
I barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on me—hot, open, fucking ravenous.
He dragged his tongue along my slit like he was tasting something he’d been dreaming about for weeks.
His groan vibrated through my core, and I dropped my head back against the door with a soft, desperate whimper.
“Fuck,” he growled against me, his voice all gravel and sex. “You taste like I remember. Better.”
His fingers slid up my thighs, strong and sure, and then one—no, two—slid inside me, knuckle-deep, curling just right as his tongue circled my clit with maddening precision.
He didn’t ease in gently. He fucked me with his mouth and hand like he was trying to erase the time and distance between us.
Like he wanted to replace every doubt I’d ever had with this feeling—of being filled, consumed, wrecked by him.
“Roderick—” I gasped, clutching his hair, my knees buckling as he pressed closer, holding me open for him.
He sucked my clit between his lips, flicking it with his tongue while his fingers pumped faster, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur.
“God, I missed the way you fall apart on my fingers,” he murmured, pausing only to kiss me lower, deeper, filthier. “You still get so fucking wet for me. You were made for this, Kit. For me.”
I moaned—helpless—and he smiled against me, dark and pleased, then went back to devouring me like it was his purpose. His tongue flicked, flattened, licked me with slow, focused strokes, then fast, relentless ones.
His fingers curled again, harder this time, fucking into me until my hips were moving on instinct, chasing the next wave. I rocked against his mouth, shameless and aching, grinding down on his face like I owned it—like he wanted to be used, worshipped, swallowed whole by me.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, voice wrecked, breath hot against my soaked skin. “Use my face. Take what you need. Fuck yourself on my tongue—give it to me.”
And I did.
I gave him everything.
Because in that moment, there was no pride left, no distance I could keep. No walls, no logic, no protection from him. Just heat, rhythm, and the truth of what we were when no one was watching.
I let go in a way I only did with him because I felt safe, cherished, and loved.
My hands were tangled in his hair, my thighs clenched tight around his head, and I rode him like I was starved for it.
Like he was air, and I’d been drowning without him.
Every lick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers inside me, pulled me closer to the edge—and I didn’t fucking care if I shattered.
I wanted to.
Because with Roderick, surrender wasn’t weakness. It was freedom. It was the only time I didn’t feel like I had to be smart, careful, or controlled.
With him, I could fall apart.
And he loved watching me do it.
“You like that?” he growled, lips slick, voice vibrating right where I needed it. “You love using my face like this. Fucking ruin me, Kit. Come for me.”
My vision blurred. I was panting, flushed, soaked in sweat, wanting, and everything I didn’t know how to say.
Every muscle in my body trembled as the orgasm ripped through me—hot and feral and blinding.
I cried out, not just from the release, but from how deep it went. How much of me it stripped bare.
I came undone on his tongue, again and again, until my body went limp against the door, and still—still—he didn’t stop. He licked me through it, fingers slowing but not pulling away, coaxing every last wave from me like he wanted to memorize it.
And when he finally stood, mouth wet, eyes dark and blown wide, I saw it—the thing he never said but always showed me when we were alone.
Love.
Wild. Twisted. Fucked-up—but ours.
And I hated how much I still felt it too.
I pulled him up by the collar of his drenched shirt, my legs still trembling, my breath ragged in my throat.
His mouth met mine without hesitation—hungry, open, slick with everything he’d just taken from me.
I kissed him deep, tasting myself on his tongue, and it was filthy and honest and fucking perfect.
He groaned into it, hands gripping my waist like he didn’t know whether to lift me again or fuck me against the door until we forgot our names.
“You taste so fucking good on my lips,” he rasped, his mouth brushing mine as I dragged my hands down his chest, pushing the soaked fabric up to feel skin. “I could live off you.”
I rolled my hips against the thick press of him through his jeans, needing more, needing him inside me already. My whole body throbbed with the ache of it.
“You gonna let me fuck you, Kit?” he whispered, biting down softly on my bottom lip. “Right here. Right now. You’re so fucking wet, I could slide in without effort, stretch you open until you scream for me.”
“Condom,” I gasped. “Now.”
He laughed—low, feral, flushed with lust. “Fuck, yes.”
He shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough, his cock springing free—hard, flushed, glistening at the tip. He reached into his back pocket, tore the foil open with his teeth, and rolled it on with practiced ease, all while keeping his eyes on me.
“Been thinking about this . . . I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured, his voice turning raw again. “Your pussy wrapped around me. So fucking tight. So warm. You were made for me, Kit.”
I braced myself against the door, chest rising fast, eyes locked on his.
“Then take me,” I whispered.
He didn’t wait.
His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me again as if I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around him, held on as he positioned himself at my entrance, his tip sliding against me—slick and hot, teasing.
“Feel that?” he murmured against my jaw, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance. “That stretch? That burn? That’s mine.”
Then he pushed inside.
Slow at first, like he wanted to taste every inch of it. My body opened around him, clenched around him, welcoming him as if he belonged there. I gasped—full, overwhelmed, wrecked—and he groaned, forehead pressing against mine as he bottomed out.
“Fuck,” he growled. “So goddamn tight. You feel like heaven.”
I moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, body arching into his thrust as he started to move—slow, deep, devastating.
And I couldn’t think.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t remember anything but him, us, and how much I loved him.
Forever, I said, until forever ended, of course.