“That’s very thoughtful, thank you,” Kit said politely.
“Not that you have to use it.” James kissed Kit’s head again, then moved to gesture dramatically through the kitchen. “I’m happy to fetch anything you want, if you’re comfortable on the couch or tied up in bed. Okay, I’d probably make Holden fetch things.”
“Good luck with that,” Darius said, still playing with the ribbon. The glossy shift of fabric was mesmerizing.
“I just thought the ladder would be useful,” James continued. “Because you’re so cute and tiny and small… perfect to wrap my hands around…”
Kit braced his hands on his hips. “You’re making this stepladder sound like a fetish thing.”
“Everything about you is my fetish,” James said, without missing a beat.
“Speaking of fetishes,” Darius said, folding the ribbon in two. “Are you done looking at the kitchen for now? Anything else you want tosee?”
Clear emphasis on the last word.
Kit fixated on the ribbon in a new light. “Yeah, I think I canseethe rest later.”
“Perfect.” Darius moved behind him. “Close your eyes.”
Silk fell across Kit’s eyelids. First light and airy, then darkening as the second layer pulled taut. The pressure felt reassuring, like a warm palm over his eyes, as Darius knotted the ribbon behind Kit’s head.
“Never thought red was your color,” James said, his voice closer than Kit remembered. “But you look good in everything, pretty boy.”
Kit stretched his arms. His left hand was caught by James, whose touch would be recognizable even if Darius wasn’t still clearly behind him.
“I look good in nothing, too,” Kit said, without subtlety.
Darius’s laughter warmed the shell of Kit’s ear. “I know you wanted to break in the kitchen, James, but what if we took this upstairs? I have an idea that would be more comfortable in bed.”
James’s hand tightened around Kit’s wrist. “What we talked about?” Silence traced goosebumps down Kit’s spine. “Yeah, let’s see if he can take it.”
23
“I want you to be able to say no for this.”
The blind journey through the house was delightfully bumpy. Kit found himself pressed against unfamiliar walls, opening his mouth for teasing kisses. Clothing shed, shoes tugged off. Darius and James undressed him, with no help from Kit—he was too busy holding onto whoever was in reach.
Always grasping, always greedy.
Wooden bars pressed into his back. The stair railing. Kit arched against Darius, whose body felt far more substantial than mere wood. All Kit had on were his briefs, strained with his aching cock. Darius was still fully dressed, clothing rubbing against Kit’s bare skin.
Breath heated Kit’s lips. Dizziness jolted his heart. How many steps had they taken up? How far a drop was it, if Kit leaned over the edge?
But Darius’s hands were too firm around Kit’s waist to let him fall.
“You’re taking too fucking long,” James complained.
Darkness lurched. Kit yelped as he was hoisted onto James’s shoulder. No protest from Darius, just a low chuckle. Kit scrabbled to brace himself on James’s back, while strong hands massaged through his briefs.
“Don’t fucking drop me,” Kit warned, breathless.
James tugged the edge of Kit’s underwear. “You’d land on Darius anyway.”
“Don’t use me to murder Darius,” Kit amended, trying not to wriggle.
Both of them laughed, and James’s steps evened out. They were safely upstairs.
“Thereisa bed, right?” Darius asked.
