Part of Kit desperately wanted Darius to tie him up and fuck his brains out. Wring his body free of every thought or fear.
But Darius seemed in silent agreement with the part of Kit that wanted tenderness. The part that wanted strong arms around him, and every breath flavored with soap and sweat and lingering aftershave.
And a few more truths.
“The first time I fucked you was in this house,” Darius said above Kit’s head. Each word rumbled between them. “I noticed a mark on your arm.”
Kit tensed. Exhaled. Relaxed. “You were very observant.”
Darius ran slow fingers through Kit’s hair. “When I checked the photos later, the mark wasn’t there. What really happened?”
Even after everything, Kit’s first instinct was resentment. How dare Darius ask. How dare Darius be concerned.
The toxic self-defense faded.
It was kind of nice Darius had noticed. Kit understood, in a visceral way he wouldn’t have understood a few months ago, why Darius had to ask now. Because if Kit had seen that burn on any of his men, he would have to ask too.
Ugh. Caring about people sucked.
“It was an accident,” Kit said quietly. It was true, even though it sounded like another lie. “The water in the bathroom sink gets really hot. I zoned out for a while.”
Darius didn’t pause petting his hair. “Was it really an accident?”
For a moment, Kit doubted himself. It just sounded so stupid. What if he’d told so many lies over the years, one had finally slipped into his memories?
An accident wasn’t better. Just different.
“I’ve hurt myself on purpose before,” Kit admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “But not that time.”
Darius kissed the top of Kit’s head. “Someday, I’d like you to feel okay telling me when you’re upset. You don’t have to tell me why. You just don’t have to hide.”
Kit melted against Darius’s chest. “I’d like that too,” he said, which wasn’t a promise. But it was true. So was this: “I’m not upset right now.”
Which was victory enough.
The next morning, Kit was lounging on the couch, his head in Holden’s lap, when the others arrived. The security perimeter alerted a few minutes in advance. Darius headed downstairs to get everything in order. Kit had time to finish up a level on a match-three game as the car pulled up.
Despite the ample warning, it was still a shock when James kicked open the door. “Honey, I’m home!”
The door bounced off the wall. Kit watched, fascinated, but James caught the rebound before it hit him in the face.
“Hi,” Holden said.
“Not you,” James said cheerfully. He bent over Kit, as if Holden wasn’t sitting right there.
The kiss was shallow. Teasing. At odds with the intense determination in James’s eyes. Kit sat up as James pulled back, stomach twisting.
“Where’s Darius?” James asked. “We need him in the garage—Bishop’s still outside with the hostage.”
Kit wasn’t used to being on this side of an abduction. Not that he was doing much. He and Holden ate apple slices as James, Darius, and Bishop moved Melissa Vespers’s unconscious body from the garage to the basement. After that, James and Bishop would conduct the interrogation, while Darius stayed upstairs to keep an eye on security. Kit and Holden would just sit around.
‘Stand by’ was how Darius had put it. But Kit knew Darius was just being polite. Kit was useless here. Holden was potentially useful, but nobody trusted him.
Bishop had tried suggesting that James should handle security, and Darius should help with the interrogation. One look from James had killed that suggestion.
“I can finish cutting the apple,” Holden offered.
“You’re still not supposed to have knives,” Kit pointed out. He split the second half of the apple into slices, the knife rapidly thunking against the cutting board. Then he jumped up to wash the knife.
