“He liked that,” James said, low and almost awestruck. “Damn, you should see him.”
Darius groaned. “Send a photo.”
“No photos,” Kit said sharply. But he didn’t have time to really feel the fear behind that limit, because James kissed the breath from him again, rubbing his nipple through his t-shirt. The friction sparked electric through his entire body, down to where James still steadily stroked his cock.
“No photos,” James agreed, half-muffled against his lips.
“He’ll just have to see me in person next time,” Kit said, not fully realizing what he was saying.
Until James paused and murmured, “Will he?”
Kit blinked up at James, feeling suddenly uncertain. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to say, but was inviting another man to join them in person too much? Fuck. Kit had just been kind of going along with this, and James was the one who called Darius in the first place. Everything Kit thought before about them not being actual boyfriends and not agreeing to be exclusive was true.
But it was untrue, too, in a way.
Panting shallowly, Kit hadn’t even noticed his stockinged legs hooking around James’s hips, as James invaded his personal space. Kit knew in his bones that he was on the verge of something with James. They had a connection. Not just physical. The impulsive, selfish generosity of allowing Kit to move in with him so quickly. The straightforward desire. The passion and dedication James devoted to his career, his friends, his quest for vengeance—fuck, Kit even admired the way James murdered people.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
A therapist would have a field day if Kit ever felt safe enough to be honest with one. Whatever his issues, Kit wanted James’s passion and attention turned on him, bruised into his skin, just like this.
There was something real here. At least, Kit hoped it was real. He hoped he could seize it without ruining either of them.
And he didn’t want to lose his chance by fucking around with other people.
But as crazy as it was, he felt a connection with Darius too. Newer, more tentative, but no less real. Darius met him bruised and chained to another man’s stair rail, and the next time, kidnapped him at gunpoint–
Then talked to Kit. Listened to him. Darius made Kit feel more in control than he had in a long time. Even when Darius restrained Kit. Even when Kit was technically powerless, helpless to escape, Darius agreed to Kit’s demands about hiding the hit.
Without even knowing why.
And fuck. Kit had eyes. The man was hot. All that raw power filling out perfectly fitted suits, and those intense eyes—an entirely different intensity than James. Where James was fire, Darius was ice. Kit wasn’t sure how he would choose between them if he had to.
Right now, at least, he didn’t have to.
“You want a threesome, babe?” James asked, a grin lighting up his stunning face. “I’m down. Darius, what do you think?”
Instead of an answer, there was a scraped, scratchy sound, then a muffled, high-pitched screech.
Definitely not Darius’s voice.
“Are you with someone?” Kit demanded, stunned. Should he be jealous? Mortified that someone else could hear—
A muffled gunshot cut through the line.
14
the knife’s edge of arousal and fear
Kit froze on the knife’s edge of arousal and fear, and James’s hand stilled on his cock.
For an instant, James looked just as worried as Kit felt—but his voice was steady when he asked, “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Darius said, calm as ever. “Just working overtime. Tell me more about this threesome. Do you want his mouth, or are we taking turns on his ass?”
Relief crashed over Kit at the sound of Darius’s voice, followed swiftly by pleasure. Darius was all right, and James resumed jerking Kit’s cock, hard and slick.
Relief and pleasure somehow unsullied by the shock that Darius just killed someone.
