“Please, Holden! You fucking—”
Holden silenced his complaints with a deep, messy kiss. Falling into it was easy, especially when Holden finally reached for Kit’s fly. Quick fumbling drew Kit’s jeans to his thighs.
Kit expected Holden to get sidetracked at that point. Hell, despite Kit’s impatience, he really wouldn’t mind Holden getting sidetracked with his cock. But Holden was back on their accelerated schedule now, lifting Kit’s feet one by one to discard his jeans and briefs.
“Start the shower for us,” Holden said, stepping back. His gaze darted all over Kit’s body. Then he reached for his own shirt. “Get the water how you want it.”
Right. Showering. Kit nearly stumbled peeking over his shoulder to watch Holden strip. The blue-tiled shower was massive, big enough for… Kit’s mind filled in a convenient number of people. He wasn’t great at geometry, but he could be optimistic. One last peek at Holden’s long, lean body—lingering on the curve of ass and thigh as Holden bent to gather their clothes.
Then Kit concentrated on not freezing or scalding himself with unfamiliar faucet handles. Water hissed against the tiles, blurring the sounds behind Kit.
There was an art to adjusting any shower. Kit didn’t know Holden’s preferences, so regular warm seemed safest. James liked his showers scalding hot, while Darius preferred cold. They could never all shower together, or one of them would complain.
“Hey,” Holden said—rightbehind him.
Kit squeaked, spinning, but didn’t slip, because he spun right into the trap of Holden’s arms. “Sneaking up on me in the shower? Way to play up the psycho murderer thing.”
“Too bad the glass door is clear,” Holden said thoughtfully. “We should replace it with frosted glass, so I can watch your blurry outline, and you can’t see me coming at all.”
“Seriously fucking psycho,” Kit said, too breathless to be an accusation. Especially when Holden’s broad hands slid down his back, cupping his ass. “It’ll fog up anyway. I don’t take cold showers.”
Holden’s cock rested hot and heavy on Kit’s stomach.
Golden blond hair spilled around his shoulders, still creased from being tied up. It darkened, flattening, as Holden stepped into the spray.
“I had to sneak up on you,” Holden said, dragging Kit with him. “You were still thinking about other people.”
“Not my fault. You need to distract me better.”
Holden laughed, the sound blending with the falling water. Then he pulled Kit back against his broad chest. “As you wish.”
No thinking. No hurting. Just for right now.
Kit twisted in Holden’s arms, because he wanted to touch more of the strong, sleek body pressed behind him. But he also wanted Holden to pin him in place. To trap him. Holden obliged the latter desire, his arms a slick vise beneath the spray.
“Be careful,” Holden said, like the considerate boyfriend he was. “If you try to escape, you might slip and fall. Can you pass me the shower gel?”
A shelf cut into the wall was in reach. Kit squinted to tell the products apart, then passed the gel over. When Holden snapped the cap open, spearmint flooded the damp air.
“You can brace yourself on the wall for balance,” Holden said helpfully, before slick hands curved over Kit’s ass.
Kit swore under his breath, hands slapping against tile.
Showering had been Holden’s idea. Scrubbing off the feel of Terry’s corpse. He should probably wash and condition his excessive mane of hair, too. But Holden seemed way more focused on cleaning Kit.
Thoroughly.
Kit wasn’t complaining. Even if his nipples didn’t needthatmuch soaping down. Teasing pressure, alternating soft and firm, accelerated Kit’s need for more.
“Did you get this gel specifically for the scent?” Kit asked, arching into the slippery touches. That spearmint was bound to linger.
Holden cruelly abandoned Kit’s nipples—though the possessive grip around his waist had its own appeal. “You’re so smart, sweetheart. I want everyone else to smell it on you and know you were with me.”
Kit’s breath sharpened to a squeak as a slick hand fell to his cock. Holden’s hand was so big, Kit’s cock disappeared into his grasp. One firm stroke dragged Kit to his toes.
Holden’s other arm braced around his middle. Water hissed around them, and steam clouded the glass door. Warmth stole into Kit’s lungs.
“Don’t come yet,” Holden murmured into his ear. “I’m just cleaning you up. God, your cock is just like you. Small and pretty and perfect.”
