“If you think you can pull an Indiana Jones and get me to kiss all of your injuries, then…” Kit trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Well, I suppose you’d be right.”
Kit took his time kissing Quin’s knuckles, and his head, and his jaw, and his lips. It went some way to alleviating Quin’s aches, but unease lurked close to the surface. He wanted to claw at it, rip away his skin, to see whether Lawrence remained.
Kit fell asleep as soon as the sun came up. Quin, however, couldn’t rest, his mind racing. He hoped the witches might have some answers to the questions he had running through his mind.
He looked down at his torn knuckles, sick with the knowledge that that his own hands could inflict such violence. Kit didn’t deserve someone who could harm him, deliberately or not. Quin couldn’t let that happen to him.
Not again.
TWENTY-ONE
Kit
Kit’s eyesfell shut for the third time in as many minutes. He lay curled up on the sofa with his head pillowed in Quin’s lap, the rhythmic scratch of Quin’s blunt nails over his scalp making Kit feel like a spoiled cat. He wasn’t missing anything by dozing—Quin was watching the highlights of the rugby, and though Kit didn’t care for the sport, he appreciated how excited Quin got when watching his team play.
Whilst Quin made vague sports-related observations that Kit hummed along in agreement to, his mind was elsewhere. In the couple of nights after the possession, nothing untoward had happened. Everything seemed normal. There was no sign of Lawrence, not even in a nightmare.
Kit was waiting for the worst to happen. This time, he’d prepared himself. He’d hidden the chains under the bed when Quin wasn’t looking, and Quin had told Kit to just knock him out if need be—head injury be damned.
Quin had been careful around him ever since the possession, which Kit hated. He knew Quin wanted to ask him more questions about what Lawrence had done to him in the past, but Quin hadn’t asked outright. Kit was concerned that if Quinfound out, he might never be intimate with him again for fear of hurting him.
And then there was the other thing. The big thing. The thing about Quin loving Kit. In some ways, it wasn’t surprising. Quin showed his love in every action, every word, every touch. Kitfeltloved for the first time in his life.
But he hadn’t said it back.
It hadn’t occurred to him that he would ever speak those words aloud to anyone.
He’d loved his sister, but neither of them were the sort of people who would be so sentimental as to say it. His mother’s apathy had snuffed out any love he’d had for her, and his father wasn’t even worth considering as someone capable of giving or receiving love. His parents had only seemed to tolerate one another.
Kit was unsure how to voice the feelings he had for Quin. Saying he loved him would be the least of it. Until Quin had come into his life, he’d just been surviving. Kit had forgotten how laughter tasted on his tongue, how anticipation could curl around his heart, how need could burn through his body. He craved it, how Quin overwhelmed him in the most wonderful of ways—Kit couldn’t deny him even if he wanted to.
To top it all off, Quin was being patient with him. Perhaps it was time Kit rewarded him for it.
But first, Kit needed to feed. He hadn’t done so recently, so no doubt his current lethargy was due in part to the lack of blood. They’d spent the past couple of nights in bed together, doing little more than holding each other. It was frightfully domestic, truth be told, but Quin had insisted upon it, which Kit was grateful for.
“I need to eat,” Kit announced.
“Feed from me,” Quin said, moving his hand from Kit’s hair and waggling his wrist in front of his face.
Kit sat up, his fangs growing as his thirst was tempted. His brain took on the fuzziness he got when he was starving. It was like when he and Quin fucked, Kit’s base instincts mingling with the buzz of excitement. It allowed him to get out of his head, to give himself over to Quin.
Kit believed that he was the one getting the better end of the deal.
Quin noticed Kit’s shift in mood. “I’ll take those teeth as a yes, baby boy.”
Anticipation thrummed under Kit’s skin. “Are you sure, Daddy?” he asked, conscious of the faint lisp his fangs gave him.
“Course,” Quin said, giving Kit a wicked smile. One of Quin’s hands slid down his body until it was resting over his crotch. “Do you want to make the feeding even more fun?”
Kit ran his tongue over his aching teeth. “In what way?”
“How about you climb onto my lap, sit on my dick, and suck me dry?”
Kit pressed a hand to his chest, scandalised. “Daddy!”
Quin raised an eyebrow. “Too much?” he asked.
“I should say yes. But no. Apparently, I like yourmuchness.”
