“Just be yourself.”
“Myself? That’s awful advice! And what if they think it’s too fast?”
“My mum proposed to my dad on their second date.”
Kit’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Werewolf thing. She liked the smell of him, and didn’t want anyone else muscling in.”
“Like mother, like son.”
“Hey, I liked more than simply your scent.”
“Yeah?”
“My beast wanted to eat you up.”
Kit flicked Quin on the nose. “That’s not the compliment you mean it to be.”
“I meant that his instincts are bang on.” Quin paused. “I mean, our instincts. I’m my beast. Can’t keep pretending we aren’t the same. Not when he was so right about you.”
Kit kissed him to stop him from rambling any longer. “I’m glad you and your beast are on better terms.”
“He’s not so bad. Being possessed showed me how terrible it could be. I’m the one in control, not anyone else, even when I’m all wolfed out.”
The captain poked her head out from the covered helm. “Ready to go back to shore?”
Quin raised an eyebrow at Kit.
Kit nodded, decisive. “Let’s go home.”
Mabel yipped in what could have only been agreement.
“Baby boy, what are you wearing?”
“I got them online, Daddy.”
“That’s not the answer to the question I asked,” Quin said, raking his eyes over Kit where he lay stretched out on their bed.
Kit blinked innocently up at him. “Oh, these?” he asked, trailing his hands down the rest of his stocking-clad legs.
“Yes, those.”
Kit pouted. “I thought you might like them.” He’d recently mustered up the courage to order a multitude of more feminine underwear sets, but this was the first time he was wearing anything like this in front of Quin. The blush pink thigh-highs matched his tiny bikini-type briefs, so tight that they cupped his bulge in an obscene manner. He wore nothing else other than the resized ring on his finger, and an extra hidden surprise for Quin.
“You look good enough to eat,” Quin said.
“The big bad wolf coming to ravish poor Little Red Riding Hood?”
“You’re wearing the wrong colour,” Quin pointed out. “Besides, I’m not sure that’s how the story ended.”
Kit bit down on his lower lip. “How about we make up our own ending?”
Quin strode forwards and took hold of one of Kit’s ankles, yanking him towards the end of the bed. Kit yelped, startled by the move, before laughing at himself.
“Do you remember the rule about buying sex things without my say-so?” Quin asked.
Kit made a show of thinking hard. “Nope. Besides, since when are stockings considered ‘sex things’? Have you reconsidered your lack of a foot fetish?”
