Ugh. This is so embarrassing.
Kit immediately decides to make it worse and asks, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
“Nothing,” I grumble, my cheeks burning so red it’s reflected in the mirror.
“Doesn’tfeellike nothing.”
“Kit…” I say warningly. We shouldnotbe talking about this.
His hands continue to slowly smooth out the silk over my stomach, more intentionally. “Because it seems to me, you’re thinking about how much you like this. I canfeelhow much you like this.” His eyes shoot downward as an indication of what he’s talking about, like he’s not already being abundantly clear. Like I can’t feel the pulse and slick arousal between my legs, the rate of my heart speeding up, the desperatecravingI have for him.
I attempt denial. “How do you know I’m not thinking about Hudson? I’m sure you saw that memory.”
“We both know you’re thinking about me.”
My lips press together.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers before tracing a loose finger down over my breast.
I don’t say a word.
He unbuttons the blouse further, exposing the black lacy bra he has put me in again. He really likes that bra. His hands run over my breasts, fingers circling my nipples, which I can see harden beneath the fabric.
Instead of stop,I say, “I can’t feel that.”
He locks eyes with me in the mirror. “Would you like to?”
I bite my lip. “Yes.”
Kit smirks mercilessly, and suddenly, I can feel his hand on my breast. He has literally given me access to my boobs and boobs alone.Jesus. My nipples pinch beneath the fabric of my bra, and I desperately wish he had a mouth to put on them. I want his tongue to trace over my sensitive skin. I want him to suck them into his mouth, his teeth to scrape over them as I cry out. I want his mouth on mine, his tongue touching mine, his body wrapped around mine.
I settle for his fingers, which have dipped underneath the bra. He is pinching the bud, rolling it between his fingers. He moves his fingers to his mouth, licking two with a sly grin before continuing to massage my hard nipple. The moan I let out surprises me. And it does well to snap me back to reality.
“Stop,” I order.
Kit snatches his hand away.
“Sorry,” I say, covering my face with my hands, fingers parted so I can still see him, face blushing in the mirror. Is that his or mine?
“Don’t be. I have to get to that poker game, anyway.” I can’t feel my breasts anymore as he readjusts the bra and buttons the shirt.
Just as well. It’s been four months since I’ve had sex. Am I really so desperate that I’d let the demon invading my body touch me like that?
The simple answer is yes. Yes, because he isn’t some random demon. He’s Kit. I should hate him. Ididhate him, however that hatred hasbeen whisked away and replaced with something much more damaging.
Kit steals a car,because of course he fucking does, from the grocery store parking lot again. I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t care. It’ll probably be some random demon’s basement, filled with cigar smoke and poker chips and hairy men.
He screeches to a stop in front of an abandoned house that?—
“Hey! I’ve been here before. About a year ago. It’s hella haunted. Cool.”
Kit chuckles in my void. “That is cool. Did you make a video here? I’ll watch it later.”
“I did, but you don’t have to watch it.”
“I want to watch it. I liked the one of you at the mini golf course. And, uh, what’s the other one I just watched? That abandoned warehouse in Bridgeport? Hate that you went there alone, but you got some great footage. Like the collapsing stack of boxes? Incredible. Also, the one at the hotel in upstate New York? When your book moved on the side table while you were asleep. That was awesome.”
I simper under the praise, teeth gently sinking into my lip. “Thanks.”
