Almost enough to melt the anxious chill. If Kit grasped for more and more, maybe it would be enough.
“Is this your room now?” Kit asked, as Holden tugged him into a bedroom.
This was one of the ones still furnished by the staging company. The wallpaper was a series of tiny blue pastorallandscapes, and the bed had a solid reddish frame. Not really Holden’s style. A couple moving boxes sat unopened at the foot of the bed, while a couple leaned empty and flat next to the closet. Already unpacking—clear psychopath behavior.
“It’s closest to your bedroom,” Holden said, like it was obvious.
Kit stumbled. “I haven’t picked a room yet.”
Holden grinned. “You want the attic room, with the best view of the driveway.”
Something scarier than lust shivered down Kit’s spine. The glorious unraveling of being seen. “I should pick a different room, to prove you wrong.”
Holden’s grin widened. “But you won’t.”
Fucking asshole. “But I won’t.”
Holden crowded him into the spacious bathroom. Blue and white tiles echoed with Kit’s quickening heartbeat. The room suddenly felt too big. The whole house felt too big, just the two of them not enough to fill the place.
Questions itched, so maddening Kit wanted to cut them from his arms and thighs. More pain to muffle imaginary answers. What the fuck was Darius doing? Did he hang up on Kit because he was in danger? What were James and Bishop running into? When would Kit know if they were—
“No, no, no.” Holden shoved Kit against the counter. His voice deepened to a growl. “Think aboutmenow, darling.”
“Sorry,” Kit managed, before Holden stole his breath in a ravenous kiss. Frantic thoughts coalesced into the present moment. Kit was here. He wasn’t alone. This was better than pain.
Holden tugged Kit’s sweatshirt and murmured against his lips, “I want to see you.”
“You’ve seen me before,” Kit said, unwinding his arms from Holden’s neck. He didn’t remember putting them there.
“Never like this.” Holden’s smile was small, his brown eyes bright and earnest. “Never all of you, just for me.”
Right. They hadn’t been alone since the grimy bathroom at Cicada. Before that, the last time they were truly isolated and unobserved was in the basement of Ed Addersen’s house. When Holden drugged and kidnapped Kit, planning to kill him.
Kit shivered at the memory. He’d kept his clothes on that time, but he’d exposed far more vulnerable parts of himself than skin.
“You’ve seen things nobody else has seen,” Kit said, because he wanted—
There. That possessive smirk.
Holden wagged his finger, though. “Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about past Holden. Think about present Holden. The Holden who’s right here in front of you, desperate to wash you clean and fuck you filthy.”
Kit swallowed, blood rushing downwards. “Then take my fucking clothes off.”
Holden, still grinning and smug, did just that.
Eager hands shoved Kit’s sweatshirt aside, then blazed insistent paths beneath his shirt to discard that too. Holden wandered the contours of Kit’s ribs with enthusiasm verging on frantic. Thumbed the soft flesh along Kit’s hip bones, the firmer muscle along his spine, like Holden couldn’t decide where to linger next.
“Gorgeous little angel,” Holden purred. “I want to take forever with you, but I also want you naked now.”
“What part of ‘take my fucking clothes off’ did you not understand?” Kit wriggled from Holden’s grasp, reaching forhis own fly. The zipper strained against his needy cock. “Take forever another time. Please, Holden.”
Holden yanked Kit’s wrists aside. He pinned Kit to the counter in a comfortable, unbreakable grasp.
“Say that again,” Holden said, low and intense.
Kit licked his dry lips. Tugged his wrists, just for the proof that Holden’s hands wouldn’t budge. “Please, Holden.”
“Again.”
