Kisses feathered his face, tasting his tears. Bishop rolled to the side and pulled Kit into a hug. Finally, Kit shattered, sobbing into his chest.
41
overdue surrender
Kit drifted awake, his head floating but his body weighted down. A duvet tangled around his legs. His cheek pressed against a muscular thigh, and blunt fingers toyed with his hair. Everything felt so familiar, except the duvet had a slightly different texture. The man Kit cuddled up to had a different scent than the men Kit usually woke up next to.
Bishop. Kit slept with Bishop last night.
Because Dad broke out of prison.
“You’re all right,” Bishop murmured, as the reminder speared Kit awake.
No more drifting. Kit dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m never all right.”
The complaint was a sign of security. Stupid Bishop making him comfortable. Kit shouldn’t forgive him for that. He struggled free of the duvet enough to sit up.
Bishop set his laptop aside—the bastard was fully dressed and doing things already—immersing himself in the world Kit would prefer to forget—
Strong fingers tightened in Kit’s hair. A slow kiss seared away all Kit’s complaints. For a heartbeat, Kit forgot his worries.
They were back the next moment. But that brief reprieve tingled like a miracle. Breathless, Kit faced the full force of Bishop’s attention.
“Thank you,” Bishop said, a small smile tugging his lips.
“For what?” Kit asked greedily.
“Everything.” Bishop’s grip loosened on Kit’s hair, but his eyes still held Kit captive. “If you decide you’re tired of my bullshit, I’ll respect that. For my part, I’d like to keep doing this.”
Need flushed hot across Kit’s chest. He still wore James’s much-abused shirt, but he felt fully naked. Typical Bishop, offering reassurance before Kit asked.
Teasing retorts danced behind Kit’s lips. Sincerity won out. “I want you, until you’re tired of my bullshit, too.”
“No chance of that,” Bishop said. “Now, you probably still want to spiral about everything, but we should get breakfast first.”
“Smart man,” Kit agreed, wriggling out of bed. “I need coffee.”
“You need food,” Bishop corrected sternly.
Kit stuck out his tongue. Now, where were his… right, he didn’t keep any clothes in this room. He’d have to change that going forward, unless Bishop picked another room. Assuming Bishop wanted to stay. Kit shouldn’t make assumptions…
Right. Save the spiraling for after coffee. Or food or whatever.
“Don’t put shoes on,” Kit ordered, because walking out in his rumpled boxers and borrowed shirt was fine. As long as Bishop wasn’t fully dressed either.
Bishop laughed and left his jacket behind, too. He held the door open for Kit. “Lots of morning people in this house.”
“Jesus Christ,” Kit muttered, and braved the living room—where everyone else waited expectantly.
Darius stood up from an armchair and headed for the kitchen. Holden appeared from seemingly nowhere to drape himself possessively around Kit’s shoulders. “Morning, darling,” Holden said cheerfully, as if nobody else was in the room.
James lounged on the couch, surrounded by a laptop, two tablets, and three phones. Dressed in rumpled pajama pants and wielding his World’s Best Cock coffee mug like a shield, he was nevertheless awake enough to scrutinize Kit and Bishop.
“So, Bishop, when are you moving in?” James asked with a smirk.
“Shut up,” Kit groaned, burying his face in Holden’s chest. He and Bishop hadn’t had that conversation yet. Bishop wasn’t insanely impulsive like Kit, James, and Holden. He probably needed time to think about—
“As soon as I find a realtor who isn’t stalking us,” Bishop said, shockingly calm. “I’ll still need a separate space for meeting clients, but I can find an office closer to here.”
