Kit

by S. M. West

  And he got out, not because I told him he had to but because he wanted to, because he was finally at a point, I guess, when he realized he could be so much more.

  Angry at myself and needing to drown my shame, I stride to the cabinet along the wall, figuring it’s where he keeps the liquor, or at least hoping that’s where it is. A faint smile crosses my lips as I pull out a bottle of Crown Royal. Alcohol isn’t how I typically deal with stressful, unpleasant things. Work or exercise are my usual numbing agents, but neither are possible.

  And earlier tonight, with the champagne bubbling through my veins, I felt good… no, I felt nothing. And it was fucking glorious. I screw off the cap, and it’s when I tip the bottle to my lips that Kit sees what I’m doing.

  “Fuck, Caro, don’t.” He rushes to my side but not fast enough to stop my first gulp.

  The liquor scorches my throat and tingles as it makes its way through my body. One of his hands grips the base of the bottle but he doesn’t take it from me.

  “Why not?” I want to get rip-roaring drunk.

  Agony and anguish are all around me every time I look at the man I so desperately want, have always wanted.

  He walks me backward until I hit the wall and raises his arms, bracketing either side of my head. Bending, he brings his face close, so close the tip of his nose nudges mine as he shakes his head back and forth. It can’t have been accidental.

  A kunik, the Inuit’s greeting for close relatives, much like Europeans greet others with multiple kisses to the cheek.

  His dark lashes flutter closed and warm breath rushes from him, bathing over my mouth.

  Oh, God. Yes.

  This is us. The intimate way in which we would show each other affection. Love. Our kisses were many and only for each other.

  A whimper slips from my lips. “Kiss me again.”

  His lips press together and I’m not sure if that’s to prevent himself from kissing me or from me reaching up to capture his mouth. He slides a hand down the wall, stopping to brush his fingers through my hair.

  “You don’t want this.” It’s a murmur in my ear.

  Yes, I do. My chest pulsates wildly and erratically, like someone’s taken a hammer to my heart. I groan, frustrated and greedy with an unleashed desire for him.

  “Don’t tell me what I want.” I fist my hand in his shirt. “You’re all I want.”

  He cups my cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth along my skin. “I know you better than you know yourself. I’m not good enough for you. You’re everything good in this world and you’ll regret this in the morning.”

  I’ve done such a good job of pushing him away, denying myself and him, that he can’t believe I want him. He believes he isn’t good enough. God, what have I done?

  “Don’t say that.” I tug at his shirt, heart thumping painfully in my chest.

  Everything he’s saying is some variation of what I said to him when we broke up. I’m such an idiot and a horrible person too.

  “You’re more than good enough for me. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” I press onto my toes, teeth capturing his bottom lip.

  His eyes flutter closed and he groans when I lick at his lips. But as soon as I release his flesh, he pulls back, pain lacing his soul-deep eyes. “Caro, you’re drunk.”

  The anguish in his voice lances my chest and I suck in a breath, regretting what I said and did to him many years ago. Can he ever forgive me?

  “I’m not drunk. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m sorry for what I said years ago. I was wrong. An idiot… There’s no explanation that will make what I did all right. I’m sorry.”

  Inadequate. My apology is inadequate. Nothing will ever make up for what I did. I’m the one who is less than. Am I too late to make this right? Our time apart was unbearable and futile, and I deserve his rejection or punishment.

  His hands cradle my head, fingers digging into my curls, and I lift once more onto my toes. Buoyed by his touch that I’ve dreamed of over the years, I reach for his lips with mine.

  My insides quake, nausea at the ready…he could reject me…and I’d deserve it.

  Then he slants his head, bringing me closer and giving me his mouth. An agonizing cry tumbles from my lips and my breath catches. We’re all tongues and teeth, probing, hungry, reckless.

  His throaty groan slides down my throat, grabbing at my hips and lifting my feet off the floor. Thank you, Willow, for the dress. The full front slit makes it easy for my legs to wrap around his waist.

  My pulse quickens, toes curl, and tears prick at my eyes. His need is like an effervescent warmth blanketing me. He wants me.

  One hand clutches at his shoulder, the other wrestles with the buttons at the front of his shirt, a needy moan building deep inside me. I need to feel his skin, have him as close to me as is possible.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” I mumble against his lips when he breaks the kiss for air.

  “Caro.” The reverence in his tone weakens my knees, and I’m glad he’s holding me up as his lips capture mine again.

  This is Kit. I can’t believe I’m in his arms. I truly thought this would never happen again. We’d never touch, kiss, and just be together.

  His strong confident strides carry us closer to his room and he’s everywhere. Hands, lips, and everything in between wander all of my body. The solace and ecstasy of being this close to him is dizzying.

  My desire for this man, bone-deep and neglected for far too long, is finally unleashed and consuming, something I can’t control and no longer wish to.

  Kit

  She nuzzles her nose into my neck and her soft lips linger there, hot and wet. Can she taste the salt of my skin mingling with my growing hunger for her?

  “Caro…we shouldn’t.” My words are in stark contrast to my true feelings.

  I don’t want to fucking stop but I can’t…I can’t stand to have her look at me the way she once did, with only pain and something close to disgust. It would kill me.

  We’re on the bed and she straddles my lap, and it takes everything in me to wrap my hands around her biceps and gently draw her away from me.

  Espresso-brown depths glimmer. “I love you, Kit.”

  A painful groan slips past my clenched jaw. “Fuck, you can’t say that.”

  She may still be tipsy and definitely horny, and all of that feels like she isn’t in her right mind. This can’t happen. Yet for someone under the influence, she’s quick to unbutton the first five on my shirt.

  Long slender fingers slide under the open fabric, roaming the expanse of my heated chest. Her touch is lethal. A quiver runs along my spine and heat pools low in my groin.

  This is both heaven and hell. I’ve dreamed of this, of having Caro, for so long, and I’m torn between right and wrong, hunger and honor.

  At the same time, a voice in my head shouts for her to keep going and another, for her to stop. Damn, I’m going to hell.

  “Kit, I want you. Always have, always will. I was cruel and wrong to say what I did. Can you ever forgive me?” Her warm lips roam my chest, indulgent and adoring.

  Every kiss, every touch is amplified by her words, her acceptance. My throat clogs, still processing the words I’d wanted to hear for so long. The words I’ll never tire of her saying—she wants me.

  A wet, hot tongue flicks at one hardening nipple and then the other. She licks and laves at the sensitive skin and then almost like a flipped switch, she pops up, sitting up straight upon me.

  A distressing prick of doubt rises in my gut—is this when she comes to her senses? When she realizes the alcohol has taken over and muddled her brain and I’m not who she wants?

  She grins from ear to ear, hair a wild mess as she fumbles to take off her dress.

  No, she hasn’t changed her mind. Thank fuck, no.

  Her clumsy fingers pull a spaghetti strap down her arm and one of her round, perky breasts, her nipple a dark pink, springs free of the gown.

  I watch it pebble and pucker into a hard little
nub. Fuck.

  My cock pulses with the need to be inside her, and like a kid who can’t resist licking the cake batter, my mouth and tongue shower her chest with open-mouthed kisses.

  I start from where her neck meets her collarbone, moving downward. My mouth draws in a nipple, and she shudders and gasps for breath. Her head drops backward and she grabs at my hair in a frenzy, trying to keep me in place.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  Suddenly, she wants her dress off and pulls back from me, struggling with the side zipper, grunting and cursing. If I wasn’t so turned on and desperate for her, I might find it funny.

  Putting us both out of our misery, I lift her off me, placing her feet firmly on the floor. I sit up and drop my feet onto the carpet, widening my legs to pull her in between them.

  Warm chocolate-brown eyes lock onto mine, and my fingers find the zipper, shaking with anticipation as I leisurely drag it down the dress. Mesmerized, she follows the languid trail of my fingers along the side of her body.

  I’ve craved Caro for so long, heart, mind, body, and soul, I can hardly believe this is happening.

  Once loose enough, the gown falls, pooling at her feet, and she stands before me in nothing but white lace panties. Dark hair tumbles around her in riotous waves, obscuring her face.

  My heart contracts and swells in equal measure, breath moving too fast through my lungs. She’s everything, the only thing, I’ve ever wanted. And now, standing before me, she’s giving herself to me. Utterly beautiful. Utterly cherished. Utterly mine.

  My hands brush back her hair and I’m struck with the undying need to spill everything with three little words. “I love you.”

  Her fingers wrap around my wrists and she bends to bring her mouth to mine, hovering, barely a breath away. “I love you.”

  The force of those three words nearly sends me to my knees. I’ve loved her to the ends of the earth even when I didn’t have her.

  Now, hearing her say she loves me only intensifies how much I would do anything for this woman. I would kill for her. I would die for her.

  And finally, she is mine once again. And this time, I’m never letting her go.

  She pushes my upper body onto the bed and straddles me once more, pressing her naked chest into mine. My hands run lazily up and down her back, and her teeth latch onto my earlobe.

  Hot air from her mouth sends a shiver down my spine into my balls, and I buck my hips up into her sex.

  A moan sails past her lips. “Kit, fuck me.”

  My cock is rock hard, pre-cum beading on the crown, and I’m so ready to take her. I tug at my pants and she lifts slightly so I can slide them down my legs, taking my boxers with them. At full mast, my stiff cock slaps onto my stomach and her fingers grip the base.

  At her touch, a low grunt comes from deep within me, and she lowers herself onto my erection. Fingers pierce my chest and she slides herself up and down. She feels fucking amazing and I’m dazed with pleasure.

  The sounds she makes, her shameless whimpers and moans, send shudders sweeping through me, and if I don’t get a grip on my control, I’ll come like some pubescent teenager.

  But she’s close, so I grit my teeth and drink in her climax. She tenses, muscles rock hard, arching her back and thrusting her tits into the air.

  She releases, screaming my name, then collapses onto my chest, hair covering part of my face and head burrowed under my neck. Boneless and euphoric, I tighten my grip on her. This woman is impossible not to love.

  A light sheen of perspiration coats her chest, and her quick, shallow breaths, more like pants, even out in only a few seconds until they slow and steady. We lie like that for more than a minute and she doesn’t stir.

  “Caro.” My hand brushes the tousled waves from her face, and my fingers cradle the back of her head, gently lifting her from my chest.

  Her smile is lazy, eyes hazy and heavy-lidded but no longer from desire and more from sleepy satisfaction. Long, thick ebony eyelashes flutter closed.

  “Kit, I’m so glad you’re here with me.” Her head snuggles back onto my chest, settling immediately, and I stifle a chuckle.

  In a few short beats, she’s asleep. Smiling despite blue balls, I’m happy, so happy to have her next to me. My arm snakes around her back and I turn onto my side, pulling the blankets over her.

  I slip from the bed and pad through the loft to turn off the light and check the door is locked before getting back into bed.

  Caro immediately rolls into me like a magnet, and I secure her in the crook of my arm and shut my eyes. I sleep soundlessly that night with a smile on my face, I’m sure.

  Loud, persistent banging causes me to wake from a deep sleep. The drumming of my pulse is deafening and my adrenaline spikes. Who the fuck is that? I jump out of bed and shove on my jeans.

  “Oh God, what is that?” Caro’s face is in the pillow, her voice muffled.

  “Go back to sleep, I’ve got it.” I stride to the front door, finger-combing my bedhead.

  My hand reaches for the door and pauses on second thought as I come out of my sleep-induced fog. I’m no longer in a hurry to open the door.

  No one called to get buzzed in and it can’t be Logan. He usually doesn’t rise before noon, which is still a few hours away. And it isn’t Nick—he’d have called first.

  I open the closet and wrap a hand around my gun, resting on the top shelf. “Who is it?”

  “Police,” says a deep male voice from the other side of the door. “Open up.”

  I curse under my breath and shut the closet, leaving the weapon where it is. Can I keep this quick and quiet so as not to wake Caro? My hand curls around the knob and I release the lock, opening the door.

  Detective Holman looks a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw him despite his perpetual scowl. He’s shaved, for one, although not today, possibly yesterday. His clothes are different and aren’t nearly as wrinkled. And of all miracles, he actually smells okay, like fresh laundry instead of a greasy spoon and stale breath.

  “Where’s Caro Archer?” He brushes past me as if he owns the place.

  “Doctor Archer, you mean.” I just can’t play nice with this guy and especially when he acts like a dick.

  Over his shoulder, he looks at me, and it’s meant to be nonchalant but his glare gives him away. He doesn’t like me either. Satisfaction blooms inside me and plays on my lips.

  “She’s sleeping. If you’d called...”

  “I’m right here,” croaks Caro from the bedroom door.

  She’s in sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She doesn’t look so good. Still beautiful, but I can tell from her pale complexion, hand resting on her stomach, and squinting that she’s hurting.

  “What can I do for you, Detective Holman?” She shuffles into the room, her steps slow and measured.

  “Are you all right, Dr. Archer?” He emphasizes the doctor and makes a point to throw a scowl in my direction.

  He’s quick to return his attention to Caro, examining her closely. What does he see? Does he guess she’s hungover? Or is he thinking something more nefarious, like she’s coming off drugs? If he’s aware of the Elliot connection, then that’s the logical conclusion.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” She lowers herself onto the sofa way too carefully for someone who is okay. “What do you want?”

  “You left out a few things in your statement.” The staccato taps of his pen against the notebook in his hand, slow and calculated, only make his sardonic tone blunter.

  “What are you talking about?” Her elbow rests on her thigh, holding up her head.

  “Aren’t you using the Jane Clinic to supply drugs to the street?”

  I open and close my fists, battling to keep my calm. This bastard.

  “What? Are you out of your mind?” She straightens, face twisted in fury followed by a wince at what looks like a stabbing pain in her head. “Where the hell did you come up with this crazy story?”r />
  He chuckles, wanting us to believe he finds this conversation amusing, and I’m getting bored with him and his games.

  “Do you know a Dr. Elliot Foley?” He ignores the question, and Caro doesn’t call him on it, rather she goes with him.

  “Yes. He used to work at the clinic.” She opens her mouth, most probably to say more but I shake my head no. He’s going to have to work for more information.

  “And weren’t you two dating at one point? Living together?”

  I shudder and my stomach clenches. Were they living together? Fuck, were things more serious between those two than Nick led me to believe?

  “We never lived together. We did date, but it was nothing serious.”

  My gut settles and I exhale a long breath, relieved.

  “You were in a relationship for more than a year, were you not? And you call that not serious?”

  “It wasn’t quite a year and no, we weren’t serious. Weeks would go by before we’d spend any time alone together.” She looks at me, maybe for some kind of reaction, but I keep my expression blank.

  The thought of her with him isn’t something I like to dwell on, and it’s over. That’s what matters. Elliot isn’t a threat to us, no matter how much I dislike the jerk.

  “A year is still a long time. But nowadays, no one dates anymore. It’s just sex, or what’s it called now? Hooking up?” He scratches at his jaw.

  Enough of this bullshit. Holman has yanked her chain long enough.

  “Do you have any more questions or are you just sharing your pointless opinions?” I step forward, widening my stance.

  “Were you aware that Foley is under suspicion for illegally obtaining prescription drugs and supplying them to known drug dealers?”

  “What? No, I don’t know anything about that.” She isn’t quick enough in feigning surprise, and as much as I’d like to think Holman is stupid, he’s not that stupid.

  He catches her moment of hesitation as captured in the crude slash of his mouth. My heart stutters, feeling like it’s physically seizing in my chest. He doesn’t have anything on us, on her, but he can make things difficult for us.

  “So you’re telling me you're not aware of shipments of oxy being sent to the clinic?” He pauses and I’m surprised he revealed the drug to us.