Page 36 of Chasing Kit

By the time he slicked his cock and positioned himself at my entrance, I was trembling and overwrought with tears pricking the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity of being handled so carefully, while also feeling completely undone.

He pushed in slowly. So slowly I felt every inch, the stretch and burn, and the overwhelming fullness. He watched my face the entire time, stopping when I gasped, waiting until I nodded to continue. When he was fully seated, he dropped his forehead to mine, breathing hard, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding back.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Yeah, War. Move. Please.”

He pulled back and thrust, and the sound I made was embarrassing, guttural, and needy. He set a rhythm that built gradually, never rushing, each roll of his hips deliberate and deep. He adjusted his angle until he hit that special spot inside me with every stroke, and I unraveled, babbling his name, begging and praising until the words lost all meaning.

His free hand roamed my body, tracing my ribs and hip, before finally wrapping around my cock again. He stroked me in time with his thrusts, and the dual sensation shattered me. I came with a cry, my release painting our stomachs, my body tightening around him until he groaned, burying his face against my neck.

He followed seconds later, spilling inside me with a ragged sound that might’ve been my name. For a long moment he stayed there, still buried deep, his weight a comforting blanket I never wanted to lose. Then, he carefully withdrew, cleaned us both with a corner of the sheet, and gathered me against his chest.

I listened to his heartbeat slow down and felt the last tremors leave his muscles. He traced lazy patterns on my back, and I knew without asking that he was still awake and guarding, even in the afterglow.

“I love you,” I murmured into his skin. “It’s stupid and fast and everything’s falling apart, but I do.”

His hand stilled. He tilted my chin up and kissed me, soft and lazy and nothing like the desperate collision from before.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I think I’ve known for a while. Or at least that you were interested in me.”

It wasn’t the same words back. It was War, giving what he could, how he could. And lying there in his arms, I found I didn’t need the echo.

For now, I had him.

11

WAR

Kit and I were lying in bed, naked from our energetic sex session, when a knock came at the door. I tensed immediately, every sense narrowing on the potential threat. Kit was burrowed against my shoulder, but when the sound echoed around the room, he shifted and groaned. I laid a kiss on his temple and slid out from under him, earning a whine of disapproval. He was half asleep, watching me blearily as I grabbed my jeans and slid them on without my underwear, then zipped them.

I grabbed my gun from the bedside cabinet before I strode toward the door. I peeked through the peephole and relaxed a little when I realized it was room service. Staying alert, I unlocked the door and opened it. The employee greeted me with a cheerful smile.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Cassian, and I’ve been asked by Mr. Scalia to bring you the finest dinner anyone could ask for.” He moved with a beat in his step, nearly skipping into the hotel room. “We’ve brought you a choice of fresh oysters, rib fillet, beluga caviar, southern fried chicken if you prefer something more traditional, and a large range of vegetables and fruit.” He pulled the silver cloches from the food, and the aroma filled the space around us.

Kit grumbled into the pillow, mumbling under his breath as he wriggled into a sitting position. The covers pooled around his naked waist, and I tensed. But Cassian paid him no mind, moving to the table to set it with a white cloth and silverware.

“What’s this?” Kit yawned, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Dinner,” I grunted. “Courtesy of Scalia.” I spat his name with distaste. He’d put Kit in danger by sleeping with Sky behind his wife’s back, and my opinion of him wouldn’t change. I hadn’t met him, but I didn’t need to in order to dislike him.

“Mr. Scalia wanted to welcome you to St. Loren,” Cassian said happily as he wheeled the cart closer.

While Cassian was distracted, I snatched a pair of Kit’s pants and threw them at him. He dragged them under the blankets and yanked them on, much to my relief. I didn’t want to hurt a poor waiter. It wasn’t his fault I was feeling possessive over Kit. He’d said that I was his, and that meant he was mine. I wasn’t going to share, not even an accidental flash.

Kit glided out of bed, yawning again, and came over to the dining table. “This looks amazing.”

Cassian bowed his head toward him. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to the chef.” He pulled out a chair and gestured to it. “Please.”

Kit took a seat, and Cassian helped push his chair in. He tried to do the same for me, but I waved him off. I kept the handgun with me, not quite willing to put it away. Cassian added a bucket of champagne with ice to the table. He moved with professional ease, placing food on our plates. There really were a lot of options.

When he’d finished, he clapped his hands. “Is there anything else I can get you before I leave you to your meal?”

“No thanks,” Kit answered cheerfully.

Cassian grinned and bowed before pulling a sealed envelope from inside his vest. He passed the envelope to me, some of the shine in his eyes glinting dangerously.

My spine tensed.