And Kit… he’s sitting on the big couch near Selina and Aria, curled up with his knees drawn up. He looks small, quiet, and still a little flushed from earlier. I can’t stop watching him. Even from across the room, my eyes keep drifting back to the way he tucks his hair behind his ear, how he winces slightly when he smiles too wide and pulls at the healing scar. I clench my jaw; that scar shouldn’t fucking be there. Every time I see it, the rage flickers again… not at him, but at the fact that I let it happen. I want to go over there. Want to pull him onto my lap and feel him relax against me like he did earlier. But I stay seated.
This need I have for him… it’s getting dangerous. I’ve never been this full-on with anyone. Never wanted to possess someone so completely. And yet here I am, a man who’s built an empire on control, losing it over one quiet, curly-haired boy who still flinches when I move too fast sometimes.
Ray glances over at me mid-chess move and raises an eyebrow, like he can read exactly what I’m thinking. I just glare at him until he smirks and looks back at the board. I take a slow sip of my whiskey, eyes returning to Kit. He hasn’t looked at me once since we came in here.
I wonder how long I can actually manage to give him this space before I break and drag him back to me.
???
I’m still watching Kit from across the room when Ralph walks over with a little grin and taps me on the shoulder. “Boss,” he murmurs quietly, leaning in. “Your folks are at the gate.”
I sigh heavily and give him a single nod. “Let them in.”
Ralph heads out, as I stand up and clap my hands once, loud enough that the whole room falls quiet and turns toward me.
“My parents are here,” I announce, voice firm. “Behave. You all know the rules.”
Kit’s head snaps up instantly, his face going pale. I can see the panic flicker across his expression.
“Kit,” I say, locking eyes with him. “Come with me.”
He blinks. “What? Why?”
“Now.”
I don’t wait for more questions. I turn and walk out, hearing his hurried footsteps behind me a second later. The second we’re out of sight; I scoop him up into my arms and jog up the stairs with him.
His clothes have officially been moved into our room now. This is his space too, whether he’s fully accepted it yet or not. I’m hoping he’ll stop hiding in that damn living room and actually sleep up here with me every night soon.
Kit clings to my shoulders, voice confused. “Uh, Soren… are you hiding me?”
I laugh under my breath. “No.”
I set him down once we’re inside the bedroom and head straight to his side of the wardrobe. I pull out a crisp black button-down and a pair of dark trousers.
“Arms up,” I order.
“I can dress myself,” he protests weakly.
I ignore his weak protest. My hands move with purpose as I reach for the hem of the oversized sleep shirt he’s currently wearing. I tug it slowly up his body and over his head, careful not to catch the fabric on his face. The shirt drops to the floor behind us, leaving his upper body bare. Kit’s breath catches, his cheeks are already flushed.
I run my hands down his sides, thumbs brushing over the fading bruises on his ribs, before I pick up the button-down. I hold it open for him. He slips his arms through the sleeves without argument. I step in close and begin buttoning it from the bottom, taking my time with every single button. My fingers deliberately brush against his skin with each one, possessive and slow.
Kit’s face is burning red. “Why am I dressing up?”
I don’t have time to explain that answer to him.
“Put your trousers on, gel your hair, put some shoes on, and choose a watch,” I tell him.
Downstairs, I hear my mother’s bright voice call out, “Soren!”
I give Kit a once-over, my eyes lingering on how the black shirt sits on him, before I turn and leave the bedroom. I pull the door shut behind me with a soft click and jog down the grand staircase, running a hand throughmy hair to tame it back into place just before I reach the bottom.
“Hello, Mother,” I say, voice even.
She immediately wraps her arms around me. I inhale and hug her back, never particularly comfortable with parental affection. Truth is, the only person I seem to want touching me these days is Kit.
My father steps forward and gives me a firm handshake. “Good to see you, son.”
