“When did you get her?” I ask.
Kit grins. “A few years ago. I found her in high school, underneath one of the dumpsters by the cafeteria, and I knew she was meant to be with me. She just stared at me like, ‘yes, dude, I’ve been waiting for you to get out of this place so we can go home.’”
“The cat distribution system strikes again,” I tease.
“Exactly. And then I had to leave her with my parents while I was in school, but they live close by, so I went home all the time to spend time with her. When we moved in together as a pack, I was excited to finally have her back with me full time.”
“That must have been an adjustment,” I say as we leave Jemma to her food and head down the hall.
“It was fine. My parents were always working long hours anyway. She gets more attention here, especially since you’ve moved in.”
“Thatcher says he can’t get Jemma to love him,” I laugh.
“Jemma loves him. He isn’t paying attention to the small things. Like when she rubs her leg up against him when she walks past him. He just sees her and thinks she’s ignoring him.”
That makes a bout of amusement shoot through me. “That actually makes sense.”
“And she doesn’t like sweat. Thatcher is always eithersweaty from practice or his hands are clammy, so she won’t let him touch her.”
We come upon my room, my sanctuary, but I don’t want to part. My time with him has been a blast, so I gesture toward the door.
“D-Do you want to hang out in my room with me?” I inquire, my tone bleeding with my anxiousness, but Kit beams in response, his eyes sparkling with delight.
“You don’t even have to ask.”
My room feels too quiet when we enter, as if my sacred space knows what a big deal it is that I want to hang out in here. As if it knows how dangerous it is to be with Kit behind closed doors.
Kit goes to turn on the light but I stop him. “No, no overhead lights please,” I say as I go to my lamp and click it on.
“You’re right, this is much better.” He admires my room, which he hasn’t seen since he helped me move in, and all the changes I have made since I’ve been here. My stuffed animals finally have their own space. My video game collection is secure in its casing by the consoles. And my closet is open, displaying the bright array of colors that I own.
“Can we watch something on my laptop? I kind of want to lie down. That game really exhausted me,” I tell him.
“Of course, I’m pretty tired, too.”
We set up my laptop and put on an anime we both enjoy, something cozy and slow burn that we can leave on if we fall asleep. I get under the covers and pull them back. He stares at the space beside me as he stands awkwardly beside the bed.
“I can get under the covers with you?” he asks, his eyes round and unblinking.
I bite my lip, trying to be casual, but I’m actually terrified. “If you want to, yes.”
He jumps in before I can blink, his body closing in on minewith extreme heat. His scent immediately blooms underneath the covers and sticks to every surface. I grin at that, satisfied that my bed now emits the aroma of a watermelon stand as I curl deeper into his chest and press play on the computer.
A few minutes go by, and Kit rearranges considerably so he can see over my head. Then, he snakes his arm around me and rests his fingers on my stomach over my shirt, his arm pulling me closer.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, and the huskiness of it makes me swallow a whine.
I don’t trust myself with words, so I nod enough so he knows, and then try to relax into the pillow.
We lay there for a while, enjoying the company of each other’s touch, and I feel myself pooling down below without any effort from him. Just his hand resting on my stomach has caused me to twist into knots. It’s borderline embarrassing, but I can’t even find it within myself to care. His touch feels like everything I’ve ever needed, and the omega in my chest begs for more.
He must feel it, too, because his fingers flex across my stomach with tension. My attention is no longer on the screen beside us. It’s focused on the intense way his skin feathers over mine, like two magnets waiting to join together.
“Opal,” he whispers in my ear, desperate and guttural.
The sounds hit me deep below. It’s the most wrecked I’ve ever heard him, and it makes my body feel every emotion that I’ve been repressing since I stepped foot in this house.
On an exhale, I reach up and place my hand on top of his. My fingers lay directly on his, playing with the spaces between, just before I move his hand downward. I refuse to look back at him, knowing that if I see his face lit up with any kind of bliss, I will be done for. But I’m also not strong enough to stop this. My entire body needs this more than Ineed to breathe his watermelon fragrance directly into my lungs.
