When Kit met his eyes, James blew a kiss.
Bishop settled between them. “How about we take you a little higher?” Bishop said, tweaking Kit’s nipple with loving force. “At least ninety five percent.”
“If you can,” Kit challenged, then squeaked at the next pinch. God, he really could come just from that.
But he didn’t complain when Bishop abandoned his nipples to seize his cock instead.
“Oh, fuck,” Kit hissed, and probably kept babbling more stupid shit, but he couldn’t hear himself over the rush. Bishop’s rough, slick calluses. Darius’s cock like a goddamn sledgehammer. James’s avid appreciation burning from the bedside. Holden clasping his hand, which was somehow the filthiest thing ever.
It was insane. It was perfect. Kit arched up, every nerve alight, like the phoenix on James’s back reborn in impossible flames.
As he came, his whole body clenched down. His blinding bliss was a catalyst. Darius ground to a halt inside him, swearing through his own release. Holden bit Kit’s shoulder, right above the tracking chip, and his choked whimper arrowed into Kit’s fucking soul.
Kit still smoldered as Darius kissed his forehead, then eased out. Cum spilled messily, the sensation almost too much against Kit’s oversensitive hole. More cum striped his hip, where Holden possessively massaged it into Kit’s skin. God, that was going to be gross later. But it was hot now.
Okay, it was still going to be hot later. Especially if Kit had help cleaning up.
Way later. Hours later. Kit didn’t intend to move for a very long time.
“Wow,” Kit said, dazed. “I’m like, a million percent fine.”
Someone chuckled. The world flipped again, resettling with Kit mostly on top of Holden. Their bare, sticky chests pressed together, and now Kit pinned Holden’s cuffed hand to the mattress.
Holden’s eyes glinted. “I’ll tell you where the key is.Afterwe’re done cuddling.”
“I don’t like how smart you are,” Bishop said, settling to Kit’s left. He stroked Kit’s arm and kissed his shoulder—where Holden bit him, around the chip.
“I don’t need a key to steal Kit for cuddling,” James said cheerfully. “I have wire cutters.”
Stretching out behind and to Kit’s right, Darius scoffed. “Those are my handcuffs. Do you think your wire cutters will work?”
Kit squirmed, getting comfortable in the pile of warm skin and sweat-damp clothing. “Let me guess. You have a spare key.”
“Of course,” Darius said. “But I’ll let Blondie have a minute.”
“Because it’ll piss me off?” James asked, draping himself over Darius, so he could reach over and grab Kit’s ass.
James didn’t sound pissed off. He sounded exactly how Kit felt. How they all felt, Kit knew in his bruised and mended heart. Fucked out, complete, trapped in the best way. They didn’t need chains to be bound together, now and forever.
Though the chains were welcome too.
Epilogue
Five Months Later
Leaves and wings rustled behind Kit. He flinched around to confront the—
The bird taking off from the front yard. Right.
Kit counted out breaths, hand poised behind his hip. Only when his pulse settled and nothing else jumped out did he let go of the gun. As he resumed his trek to the front door, feeling every scrape of his jeans through his briefs, bubbles of pride sparkled into his already-good mood.
Five months after Laird Renaker’s death, Kit was still jumpy. They all were, even Darius, who seemed so unflappable. But the shocks of fear were easier to manage now.
A year ago, Kit couldn’t have imagined describing himself as ‘coping.’
He couldn’t have imagined welcoming camera lenses either. But one of the lenses above the door rotated to face him with an obvious, kind of adorable whirring sound. Kit blew a kiss to whoever was watching, probably James, then tapped in the security code to open the door.
The foyer and living room were empty. Beachy music from the seventies or nineties or some other ancient era flowed fromthe backyard. Kit reset the security system and toed off his shoes.
