His mouth twitches, the anger gone from his posture but he's still standing in the middle of my room with his hands at his sides, caught between leaving and staying. I push off the door and cross the room to him, slow enough that he could stop me, and when I'm close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin I take his face in my hands, my thumbs settling against his cheekbones.
Kit's breath stutters as his hands come up to grip my wrists but he doesn't pull them away.
"Tell me to stop," I say.
His jaw works beneath my palms. "You know I'm not going to say that."
"I know." I tilt his face up and kiss him, slow enough that he makes a frustrated sound against my mouth because Kit doesn't do slow. But I hold the pace, one hand sliding from his face into his hair, the other settling on the side of his neck where I can feel his pulse slamming against my fingers. He tries to speed it up, fisting my shirt, but I don't let him. I kiss him until the urgencydrains out of his grip and his mouth softens against mine and the tension in his shoulders dissolves.
"You melt so easily, Kit." I murmur it against his lips, his weight shifting forward into me. "God, I love it."
"Shut up." But the words have no bite. His forehead drops against my chin and his hands flatten against my chest. His breathing has gone uneven and his scent is flooding the room as I hold him like that for a long moment, my mouth against his hair.
Slowly, I walk him back toward the bed. My instincts hum for more, to be inside this Omega again but I know it would be too much too fast. Instead, I just lay him on my mattress and then move in behind him, content to hold him against my chest. I lean in to taste his lips again, Kit opening up for me.
This is only a momentary crack in his armor but I’ll take it. Kit makes a small noise against my mouth and I pull back, the Omega curling into my chest, his cheeks red with embarrassment. I just chuckle, relishing the silence before the need to fill it outweighs everything else.
"What's your favorite movie?" I ask.
He blinks, tilting his head up to meet my eyes. "What?"
"Your favorite movie. I don't know basic things about you. I know your scent and what you sound like when you come and that you're terrifying when you're angry. I don't know your favorite movie." Suddenly, I needeverythingabout this Omega. I’ve held him twice in as many days and it’s like a drug, now that I have him. I needmore.
"That's the weirdest almost post-sex conversation I've ever had."
I snort, pressing a kiss to his forehead. My cock thickens in my pants a little but I tamper down that desire because it would ruin the moment we’re having. "It's theonlyalmost post-sex conversation we've had. The last time you fell asleep."
His nose scrunches up as he wiggles back a little bit. "The Princess Bride."
"Seriously?"
"If you make fun of me I will leave and I will take another pillow."
My mind wanders to where he keeps my other one but I don’t ask, relaxing further into the mattress. "I'm not making fun. I just didn't expect it."
"What did you expect? Some edgy indie film? I'm a romantic, Easton. I'm just mean about it." He pulls the sheet up to his chin. "What's yours?"
"Space Jam."
"The original or the sequel?"
"If you have to ask that question, I’m going to have to ask for my other pillow back." His gaze narrows at me and I just sigh. "The original, obviously. I'm not a monster."
A warm smile slips onto his lips. “You wouldn’t get the pillow back anyway. I threw it out.” Then he flips over and curls up into a little ball. I hate the loss of his warmth pressed against me but he’s staying.
It’s a start.
KIT
SixDaysLater
The thing about sneaking into someone's dorm room on Friday night and leaving before sunrise is that it works exactly twice before it starts feeling like a pattern, and patterns are the kind of thing Kit Peralta does not have with Easton Cole.
Except I'm standing outside his door for the fourth time this week with my hood pulled up and my phone in my hand, reading a text he sent twenty minutes ago that saysdoor's unlockedwith a period at the end like he's writing a formal invitation, and my feet brought me here before my brain had a chance to vote.
I slip inside and Easton is at his desk in sweatpants, his glasses reflecting the blue of his laptop screen, an anatomy textbook open beside him. He doesn't look up when I close the door but the corner of his mouth pulls and his scent thickens in the room, bourbon and cedar reaching for me before he does. I kick off myshoes, climb into his bed without a word, and pull the covers up to my chin.
"I'm not here," I announce to the wall. "This isn't happening. I'm in my own dorm having a normal Friday night."
