ChapterThirty-Four
Kit
June 6th, 1986
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.
