Page 69 of Last Rites

Kit gave another, fuller laugh. “I’m going to lose it if you keep wiggling. Your hair is longer than it was, but it’s still much shorter than a horse tail.”

My cheeks flamed as I shifted upright.

Kit chased me, though, pitching forward so he could place a kiss on the exposed side of my neck. The feather-light touch sent chills slithering down my spine, and I shivered, then ached.

Gods, I hurt. And it wasn’t fair for him to have his hands all over me when I still wanted so badly to hold him.

The clench of need spun me around, yanking the braid from Kit’s grasp and undoing whatever he’d accomplished. My bangs fell forward, curtaining my face as I dove into Kit, eyes closed and arms open, and tackled him against the arm of the couch.

His laughter rumbled against my ear, and I clung onto him, holding on the way I’d wanted to for days and relishing it when he returned my embrace.

He tucked me in tight, his arm banded firm around my ribs while the other cradled my head against his shoulder. My face found the hollow of his neck, where the scent of him was strongest. I breathed him in and let myself pretend. Pretend we weren’t at odds. Pretend these weren’t my last days. Pretend it didn’t feel like Kit was giving up—on Forstford, on me, on us.

For a long moment, it was peaceful.

Then Kit eased me back, his hand slipping away, and I reached up, fingers fumbling at the braid. The plait was already unraveling, loose tresses spilling down the nape of my neck. I tugged on the ends, cheeks warm with shame.

“I ruined it,” I murmured. “Now I look a mess.”

Kit’s eyes searched me, and I saw more than admiration in them. I saw the gleam of sorrow cutting through. At last, he reached out, brushing a single strand behind my ear. His hand lingered there, trembling faintly. His lips pressed tight like he was fighting to keep something from slipping through.

“You look lovely, Pen.” His voice was rough and deep. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

My throat tightened. I couldn’t stand another inch of distance. My sketchbook thumped on the coffee table, and I climbed onto his lap. His body was solid and steady beneath me, his heartbeat knocking against my chest as though it belonged to me.

I kissed him, lips open and inviting, and his mouth met mine just as fiercely, hands roaming, clutching, memorizing. Every brush of skin, every breath shared, carried a quiet, terrible knowledge: this might be all we had left.

Desire surged hot and fast, racing through my veins. A need for forgiveness. For connection. For closeness.

Kit’s hands tugged at my slacks, pulling at fastenings, shoving fabric aside, and I did the same to him. It was messy, graceless, and frantic, like every second still clothed was a second wasted. My breath hitched against his mouth, the air between us tasting of salt and want.

I freed his erection the same way he’d loosed mine, and he pressed his hips up to grind his length against me, generating friction that made us both groan.

My fingers wrapped around us both and I worked my hand along our shafts, rocking my hips to the rhythm. All the while, my lips stayed stitched to Kit’s and our hearts drummed a rapid beat.

We moved together, skin slicking with the fluid I gathered with my thumb then spread along our lengths. Kit cupped his hand around my backside, urging me into him at the same time his teeth pinched my lower lip.

I hissed and moaned and moved my hand faster. My tongue slipped between his teeth, savoring the taste of him. I would have taken his very breath if I could have—filled my lungs with his essence.

I loved him as much as ever. I told him so between kisses and gasps.

I told him I loved him, and he reminded me of the same.

My grip on us grew tighter and as frantic as I was. Every movement sang with urgency, and every thrust of my fist brought us closer and closer until we were all over each other. Chests crushed together, our shared release mingling and dampening our shirt hems.

Kit groaned, head tipping back, throat bared. Irresistible. I latched onto the curve of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin as I sucked hard enough to leave proof, then traced my tongue along the vein that jumped with his hammering pulse.

We were alive like this, and in that tangle of limbs and breath and sweat, I found solace. Perhaps more peace than even a god could grant. If Eeus or Paneus were watching, I could only hope they would understand. They were like us, after all. Lovers like Kit and me, and even if this was wrong, I could not wish it undone. Not when Kit was trembling beneath me and I could still feel the echo of him shuddering against my skin. Not when, for once, I felt whole.

26

Kit

Our fragile truce was a relief after too many days spent at odds.

We didn’t linger on the couch long, opting instead to move to the bath and take our time there. Afterward, I made a second attempt at braiding Penny’s hair. This time I got it finished and tied off before he turned and his arms snaked around my waist to crush himself against me.

I was as desperate for the contact as he was, so I wasn’t about to complain.