“That wasn’t a question.” The heat of him surrounded Kit. “I know what fear tastes like.”
Kit’s breath caught. “You’re fucked up. If you aren’t going to fuck me, let me go.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re really here.”
“Are you stupid?” Kit demanded. Indignation burned through the cold fear. All Kit wanted to give up was his body—not anything important.
No truths. No explanations.
Bishop chuckled. “You have no sense of self preservation, do you?”
“You have no idea,” Kit snapped, wrists twisting uselessly against Bishop’s hands. “Stop acting like you can read me. You don’t know me at all.”
“Then explain it to me,” Bishop said, a dangerous smile in his voice. “Pretend I’m stupid.”
Kit slumped back, no longer trying to struggle. He didn’t want to fight, as if it would help anyway. He was too tired, too stressed, too overwhelmed by how much he was feeling after months of numbness.
Yeah, Kit was afraid. But he knew how to live with fear. “I thought I was pretty obvious. Fuck me. If you can.”
Bishop’s grip adjusted to hold Kit’s wrists down with just one hand. The other skated down to cover Kit’s throat. Fingers rested on his hammering pulse. “Of course, I could. It would be easy.”
“Is that the problem?” Kit laughed. “I could struggle.”
“Only if I let you.” Bishop’s grip didn’t tighten on Kit’s neck. Just shifted. A reminder, not a threat.
The awareness of how easily Bishop could strangle him was still exhilarating. No, terrifying. Kit was supposed to be terrified.
“Tell the truth, now,” Bishop said. “We both know you don’t want this. Why are you here?”
Fuck it.
Kit sighed, completely submissive and motionless. Staring past Bishop’s shoulder, he confessed, “You said you were done holding me hostage. But I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Bishop’s grip tightened, then loosened on Kit’s neck. “You’re trying to trade sex for a place to stay.”
Again, not a question.
Kit closed his eyes. Turned out he wasn’t too empty to feel shame after all. “I thought you were interested. Clearly, I misread you.”
“You have no idea how you’ve misread me,” Bishop said cryptically. He released Kit’s wrists and sat up, leaving Kit cold and uncovered on the bed. “Sleep in here if you want, but I’m moving to the couch.”
Kit shoved to his feet. “Keep your stupid bed,” he muttered, and retreated before Bishop could say anything else.
He half-expected Bishop to seize him as he fled. To pounce out of the darkness and drag him back. But he reached the guest room untouched and alone.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Kit shut his door, torn between humiliation, relief, and worry.
Obviously, Bishop would kick him out in the morning. Kit was lucky not to be on the street right now, in the middle of the night, after that misjudgment.
Fuck. He’d really thought Bishop was into him. But clearly Bishop’s interests only extended to toying with and threatening Kit. Some sort of psycho platonic bondage thing. Bishop didn’t want anything else from Kit, and Kit was an idiot to think otherwise.
Nobody would ever want Kit as much ashehad. And even he hadn’t wanted Kit enough.
Whatever. Kit curled up in the spacious, empty guest bed, not bothering to crawl under the blankets. Worth a shot. He would just have to find somewhere else to stay. He had always managed before.
