He thought of Knight sucking him off in the bathroom or vice versa, or them palming at each other’s hard lengths in a darkened corner of the faux dancefloor. Or grinding hard until they came right there in their clothes.
His fantasies soon morphed from scenarios of last night to events that had happened in his dreams. The thrill of the chase, of being caught, of fighting and eventually submitting, of Knight pinning him in place and filling him so good, so completely—
Saint pressed his forehead to the tiles as he slicked his left hand with some soap and reached behind him, feeling around his hole. He bit his lip hard to keep from whimpering, his hips rocking back and forth, his dick straining in his fist. He didn’t sink his fingers in even though he wanted to. He really fucking wanted to. It’d been so long since he’d properly fingered himself.
In real life, Knight would probably be too big. He’d have to take ages stretching Saint out. Perhaps he’d use that long, slick, dexterous tongue—fuck, perhaps he’d have to use his magic just so every inch could fit, stretching Saint the way he’d never been stretched before—
Saint sank his middle finger in to the knuckle and came with a muffled grunt, pumping his flushed length until he’d milked out every last drop.
“Shit,” he whispered, breathing hard, forehead pressed against the tile. He shivered when he eased his finger out, his asshole clenching around nothing, greedy for more. “Fuck.”
The water turned cold as he gave himself a thorough scrub after catching his breath. When he exited, he felt slightlyrefreshed. He wiped a hand across his foggy mirror so he could see his reflection.
What now?
His goal after last night had been to pretend none of it had happened come morning. Could he still do that now?
Or did he want ...
He let the thought trail off, his heart pounding. His hand fisted over the knot of his towel.
Knight was a demon; he needed to remember that. They couldn’t just—he couldn’t just—
Then again, whycouldn’the have Knight for as long as their contract lasted? Last night had done the one thing Saint had been afraid of when he’d first drawn a line between them; he was too curious now, too eager to know everything. Too filled with wanting for all the things he’d been afraid to reach for, even if it was with a demon.
Perhaps, despite it.
He left the bathroom, stopping in his tracks at the smell of something delicious, but unfamiliar. Slowly, he made his way over to the kitchenette, and stared with wide eyes at the spread that awaited him on the kitchen counter.
Pap and akara. Moi moi. Yam and egg sauce. English breakfast? French toast and pancakes? What the fuck. Saint was pretty sure the only thing in his cupboards that was breakfast worthy was a stale loaf of bread and his reliable pack of oatmeal.
Knight looked sheepish. “I asked Teresa what meals would help with a hangover and kind of ... went off the rails?”
And something in Saint just ... snapped.
He couldn’t go back to how things had been before last night. He wouldn’t.
Maybe last night had felt like something stolen, but Saint was done feeling like a thief, only allowing himself microscopic bites of hisownfucking happiness.
Perhaps he’d never get rid of this fear, this guilt, this shame, but he was done letting those feelings control his life.
“Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat when the words came out too rough.
“What did I say about thanking me?” Knight raised an eyebrow, completely oblivious of how he’d completely flipped Saint’s world on its axis.
Saint snorted out a laugh. “I’m sorry, Knight, but it’s going to keep happening if you insist on being so wonderful.”
Knight blushed, and Saint’s heart pounded a steady rhythm ofwant, want, want.
“Yes,” Knight hissed, spilling popcorn everywhere, when the main character didn’t simply stop at the people who’d wronged him, instead going for their entire organisation. “I was hoping he would understand that the system is the problem, not just the men who’d harmed what was his.”
Saint laughed softly. Knight didn’t look in his direction. Perhaps Saint wasn’t aware of it, but he’d been staring at Knight more than he’d been watching the “movies”. Knight, on account of avoiding his gaze, couldn’t read his expression, though his scent was soft and warm and sweet, like the syrup they’d drizzled on their pancakes that morning. His heartbeat was a little quick, but Knight attributed that to the movie.
They were sitting cross-legged beside each other on the bed, Saint’s old laptop propped up on the pillows in front of them. A wire connected the device to the nearest outlet.
Saint had told him he usually didn’t indulge; he didn’t have something called “Wi-Fi”, which apparently made watchingthe movies easier, and the “Wi-Fi” from his phone was only just enough to make his social media apps work, but they’d apparently needed some entertainment and he didn’t mind blowing some cash.
Something had changed since Saint had walked into the kitchen and spotted Knight’s overzealous breakfast mishap this morning, though Knight couldn’t quite put his finger on what. It made him feel almost self-conscious, too aware of his skin and how it fit over his body. His wings were pulled tight to his back, though he couldn’t quite wrest control of his tail, which kept trying to reach out, wanting to wrap possessively around Saint’s hips.
