Then James planted a cum-slick palm on his back and sat up behind him. James hadn’t come yet. He was still rock-hard inside Kit’s trembling body.
“How was that, beautiful?” James asked, and fuck, that smug arrogance shouldn’t be so hot. “My turn now.”
Any response of Kit’s was lost as James began moving again. Every thrust into Kit’s oversensitive nerves was a pleasure so sharp it nearly hurt. It had only been seconds, but Kit’s cock tried to respond to the stimulation. He couldn’t, and instead, sensation rolled again and again as if James was fucking into his very soul. Relentless. Transcendent.
Like love, a word that bit like cold metal around Kit’s wrists.
Whatever James said, it was nonsense. Exaggerated pillow talk. But as James ground to a finish inside him, then dragged him sideways to collapse onto the mattress, Kit let himself pretend that love wasn’t the most dangerous feeling in the world.
“Hey,” Kit said eventually. “Should we like… change the sheets before Darius gets back?”
James chuckled into his hair. His arms were heavy and solid. “No way. We’re cuddling for five minutes before I abduct you back to my house for another round. Darius can do the laundry—and explain his little assassination contract to Bishop.”
“Wow,” Kit mumbled. “You’re the worst houseguest ever.”
James just laughed again and held him closer.
Kit expected more of an interrogation when he slid into the passenger seat of Bishop’s car. Either about Darius’s assassination contract or Kit’s coffee shop freakout or everything, anything about James.
He didn’t have any hickeys right now. None visible, at least. But Kit still felt like James’s touch was painted in neon all over his skin. James had stayed in the house today, stuck on a conference call as he worked from home, but Kit would bet five dollars he was watching them leave through the outdoor cameras.
Creepy or comforting? Both, because Kit had no sense of judgment.
But Bishop just glanced at him, and asked, “Do you know how to drive?”
Kit curled one leg on the seat as Bishop pulled out of James’s driveway. “No, I just freeload. Tell James to pay my share of the gas.”
Bishop half-grinned at that. He was dressed up nicer than Kit had ever seen him. A blue button-up shirt under an only-slightly-rumpled blazer. The blue brought out his eyes, andwhen Kit inhaled, he smelled the sweet spice of Bishop’s aftershave.
The change was disconcerting. Like a wolf in casual-nice sheep’s clothing. Kit couldn’t help thinking this was like getting picked up for a date. Except he had been picked up from his boyfriend’s house. And the man picking him up was the guy who rejected him.
Not that Kit was bitter about that.
“Make him pay for driving lessons instead.” Bishop accelerated onto the main road. “Public transit is shit around here, and you don’t want to be stuck in an emergency.”
Kit tilted his head back against the headrest, considering. He wasn’t sure about being in a car alone with a stranger right now. What if his driving instructor was a—Kit glanced at Bishop. Okay, what if his driving instructor was a worse, less reasonable murderer than Kit was getting used to?
“Maybe James could teach me himself,” Kit said.
“Wouldn’t recommend that.” Bishop grimaced. “He’s not a bad driver. He’s just not a good example.”
“Who should teach me instead?” Kit asked.
The car fell silent, and no matter how shallowly Kit breathed, all he could taste was Bishop’s presence. There was a shift of tension between them—like now that Bishop wasn’t pushing for answers, Kit was compelled to push in turn.
“Let’s figure that out later.” Bishop pointed at the briefcase near Kit’s feet. “Pull that up, and let’s go over the plan for today.”
Unsure whether he’d won that conversation or not—unsure why he was thinking of the conversation in terms of winning and losing—Kit did as Bishop said.
Bishop was right. They were heading to the candlelight vigil for Marco Fernandez, and Kit needed a plan to quell the butterflies in his stomach.
Kit had suggested that Bishop drop him off a few blocks away, so it wouldn’t be obvious they arrived together. Bishop flatly refused, saying it wasn’t that important to be stealthy. Kit hadn’t been part of the conversation, but Bishop, James, and Darius had clearly all agreed to keep constant eyes on him.
Sweet. Stalkerish, but sweet.
So, instead of separating blocks away, Bishop pulled up at the far end of the campus visitors’ parking lot and said, “Here, take this.”
Their hands didn’t touch, but missed anticipation still shivered through the air as Bishop dropped something into Kit’s palm. The steel-rimmed black coin was heavier than it looked. Kit turned it over. “What is this?”
