Kit took in the rest of the room, distracting himself from Quin. It was spartan, all white walls and matching furniture in navy blues and greys. It smelled fresh, like the spring air outside, and of the bergamot scent Quin wore. A couple of succulents in red pots stood on the windowsill, one sadly half shrivelled.
“I tend to over-water them,” Quin said, gaze following Kit’s. “I always think they need more than they do.”
“The cactus you gave me is doing well.”
“If you kill it, I’ll never forgive you,” Quin said, deadpan.
Kit went over to the window and peered out. “Good view of the neighbour’s garden.”
“They get the sun,” Quin responded, then added, “Kit, how about you sit down on the bed and relax?”
“I’ll stand.”
“How about the relaxing part of that?”
“I’m relaxed,” Kit lied. Quin started to get up, but Kit didn’t want to hear whatever spiel was coming. “So, which way do you like it?” Kit asked, trying to project casualness.
“I’m sure I’ll like it however you want it,” Quin said, as easy and open as ever. “Apart from the golden showers. I’d prefer not, if I’m honest. Game for trying pretty much anything else.”
Kit ignored the jibe. “You’d let me top you?”
Quin stiffened before nodding. “Sure. If that’s what you wanted to do.”
“You don’t sound sure,” Kit said, jutting his chin out.
“It’s been a while. Whatever you want, though.” Quin’s voice was steady, the initial note of uncertainty gone.
“Get undressed,” Kit demanded.
Quin raised his eyebrow, amusement dancing across his features. “Happy to.” Quin proceeded to remove every stitch of clothing he wore with deliberate slowness.
Kit stood there, watching and resisting the urge to react.
When Quin was down to his navy-blue boxer briefs that stretched over the tops of his thick thighs, he caught Kit’s eye. “All the way?” he asked.
“All the way,” Kit confirmed, proud of himself for getting the words out without stuttering.
Quin smirked, hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and then pulled his underwear down, revealing himself fully. “Like what you see?”
Kit’s gaze roved over Quin’s form. He was hairier than Kit, with a body made for function over form; Quin’s muscles weren’t gym-honed or bulging and, despite his obvious strength, there were no washboard abs to be seen. Still, Kit knew that anyone punching Quin’s stomach would be more likely to come away with a broken hand than wind Quin.
Kit tried not to focus on Quin’s cock, but it twitched under his scrutiny, as if asking for attention. Large, because of course it was. Everything about Quin was big. Nottoobig, though. Kit wondered what it would feel like to take it inside himself. That was the idea that made his own cock stir for the first time since they’d entered the bedroom.
“Kit?” Quin prompted, uncertainty creasing his eyes.
Kit hadn’t even realised he’d been staring in silence. “Very good,” he said lamely, not remembering what Quin’s original question had been. How could he, when faced with over six feet of buck-naked werewolf? Telling Quin to take his clothes off had been a terrible idea. At least if Quin were clothed, then Kit could formulate a proper sentence.
Quin tilted his head. “So, how do you want me?”
Kit glanced at the bed. “All fours?” he suggested, unsure.
“Lube is in the nightstand,” Quin said.
“Right.”
“Do you plan on getting undressed or…?” Quin asked as he got into position. Kit hadn’t expected him to. He’d expected pushback—an argument or a fight. But Quin really was going to let him do whatever he wanted.
Kit felt adrift. “Um,” was the only noise he could make.
