Before I can tug off my robe, a knock comes to the door, and I know that it can only be one person. Beth is in Chicago with Spencer for work, and that means that Kit is at my door.
I walk slowly in that direction, trying to calm my pounding heart because as pissed as I was a few minutes ago, I’m ecstatic the man is here.
I tug open the door with a smile, but it isn’t Kit standing there.
I mean the man has his face, and all the tattoos match up. The eye color and haircut are the same.
But this man isn’t smiling. He isn’t looking at me with an ounce of the love I felt the last time he was here.
This man is mad, pissed, so fucking angry I’m almost certain I see steam pouring out of his ears.
His eyes sweep the length of my body, and although I see his pupils dilate with arousal, he still doesn’t smile.
He prowls forward, gripping the door once I release it to back away from him, slamming it closed.
The bang echoes around the room, lighting my skin on fire.
I should be scared. I watch enough crime documentaries to know that obsessive love can turn into something violent and sinister, but the heat running up my spine has nothing to do with fear.
I swallow and squeak, “Hi.”
His eyes narrow, his focus getting lost somewhere between my breasts and mouth. I bite my lip as I back away in hopes that’s where he’s looking. The man loves my mouth. He’s praised me for it every time I’ve used it on him, and God if I don’t want a good girl from him right now.
“Do you have a fucking clue what it does to me that everyone thinks my best friend has touched you, tasted you, been inside your body?” His words come out on a growl, the sound of it making my nipples furl against the silk of my robe.
It doesn’t go unnoticed, and his lips twitch, probably in pride for the way my body reacts to him.
I open my mouth to respond, but my brain can’t seem to formulate an answer. I just stand there panting instead, my body so heated it’s as if he’s already touched me, already slid inside of me.
My empty core clenches with need as a tiny whimper escapes my lips.
Slowly he reaches out, his fingers tugging at the knot in my robe, and the anticipation is killing me. Aggression and speed would seem more fitting for his mood, but the way he’s acting is classic Kit. He likes the tease, the thrill it gives him to do the opposite of what I’d expect.
My eyes dart to the formidable bulge in his jeans.
“That must be hard for you,” I say, wondering a little too late if taunting him about the pain he feels over everyone thinking the baby is Brooks’s is the right thing.
It makes me a rotten person, but I also know it’s not going to stop him from moving forward. He’s too far gone for that right now, and I’ll just have to worry about the fallout after he’s done with me.
“I’m so fucking tired of giving you exactly what you want, Jules,” he says, his eyes following his finger as he traces the line of silk between my breasts as the robe glides open.
I shake my head, his words enough to pull me from the moment.
“Kit, you can’t—”
In the next breath his hand is around my throat, the pressure just enough to get my attention.
“Who are you right now?” I whisper.
“I’m the man you created, baby girl. I thought you’d recognize the effort you put into making me crazy.”
Kit licks at my lips, pulling away before I have the chance to turn it into a real kiss.
“Please,” I rush out, not quite sure what I’m asking for.
Please fuck me.
Please don’t tell anyone.
Please let me please you.
Maybe it’s a wicked combination of all of it.
“No,” he says, his head shaking. “Your time for begging is over. From now on you’re going to take what I give you and say thank you. Do you understand?”
I have no fucking clue, actually. I don’t understand why my body is responding the way it is. I have no idea why I want to agree so quickly without hashing out the finer details.
“No,” I manage, my eyelids heavy as I feel my desire start to pool between my thighs.
“It means I’m here any fucking time I feel like it. It means I take what I want from you when I want it.” His free hand squeezes my breasts and I moan from the rough attention. “It means every inch of you is mine.”
His hand glides down my middle, the fabric of my robe tickling my skin just before his fingers slide through my slickness.