Page 69 of Thief Taker

“Don’t call me that.” Kit nuzzled the words against his neck. “Please.”

Elias was a breath away from turning his head into the nascent kiss, his blood pounding in his ears. Kit’s thumb moved over his wrist, their fingers tangling together. Elias was afraid that, if he let go, if he moved, it would be to cup Kit’s face in his hands, to kiss him with a lover’s tenderness.

And that wasn’t what this was; it couldn’t be. So he turned his head away, feeling Kit’s breath hitch. “Elias…”

In answer, he ran his hand over Kit’s hip to brush across his crotch instead. That—That he could do.

Kit shivered. “What are you…?”

“Let me.” Swallowing to keep his voice from cracking, he pressed his palm down in a long sweep and felt Kit hardening under his touch.

“Elias.” Kit’s breath was still warm against his neck, the kiss hanging unanswered between them. “I wanted you,” he murmured. “I want you, Elias. God, I don’t even know what this is.”

I do, Elias thought with a frantic beat of his heart. It’s dangerous, that’s what this is. It’s doomed, disastrous, and bloody irresistible.

He ached so hard to turn his head into the kiss that it terrified him. So instead, to keep himself from it, he unbuttoned the fall of Kit’s breeches, pushed aside the linen of his shirt and took him in hand.

“Oh…” Kit breathed hot against Elias’s neck.

Leaning forward, Elias pressed his lips into the soft skin of Kit’s stomach, feeling his muscles twitch as he sank back against the chair. Open mouthed, Elias nuzzled closer, grazed his teeth over his hip. He could kiss him here—here it was just business.

But then Kit’s hand was caressing Elias’s face, a tender sweep of his thumb across his cheekbone. And his heart swelled fit to burst.

He longed to tell Kit all would be well. That whatever the fate of his crack-brained brother, he would be all right. That Elias would make sure of it, keep him safe.

Nonsense, of course. The likes of him protecting the son of an earl? Romantic nonsense. Yet his heart yearned for it until it hurt, until the press of his lips against Kit’s skin became soft, loving kisses.

With a gruff noise he wrenched away and took Kit into his mouth instead, smooth and hot and hard. It had been a while, but Elias did this well enough to drive everything but pleasure from a man’s mind. From his own too, he hoped.

Kit hissed a surprised breath, his tender fingers clutching at Elias’s hair instead. “God,” he choked. “Jesus.”

With one hand he held Kit’s hips still; with the other he undid his own breeches and sought his own relief. He didn’t want Kit offering to return the favour.

It was fierce—he made it fierce—and unrelenting. The feel of Kit, hard and slick in his mouth, the salty taste of him. And, God, those small guttering gasps in the back of Kit’s throat… They overwhelmed Elias’s senses. Everything was Kit. He took him deeper, harder, and it didn’t take long before Kit was tugging at his hair with urgency. “I’m going to… I’m… Jesus. Cole!”

But Elias stayed where he was to the end, Kit’s hips bucking off the chair as he spent with a stifled cry. Elias pulled off while Kit was still gasping and muffled his own groan against Kit’s stomach as he finished with a blinding flash of release that left him boneless and dangerously adrift.

“Elias…” Kit’s hand was in his hair again, gentle against his face. His touch was unbearably affectionate, his voice soft.

It was too much. Emotion tightened his throat and Elias was forced to press his face into Kit’s hip and hide until the feeling had passed, until he could pull himself together.

After a few moments like that, with his fingers stroking Elias’s hair, Kit murmured, “Oh hell.”

Elias risked a glance. He almost lost his fragile composure at the sight of Kit’s flushed face and rueful smile as he lifted the hand that still held his brandy glass. There wasn’t much brandy left but his fingers and shirt cuff were soaked with it.

“Should probably have put that down first,” Elias said with an unsteady smile.

“You took me by surprise.”

Elias hummed his agreement and took the glass from Kit’s hand, swallowing the remaining brandy to wash the musky taste from his mouth. And then, because he was helpless and giddy, and possibly mad, he took Kit’s hand in his and drew each finger into his mouth one-by-one. “Waste not, want not,” he murmured as he sucked the brandy from Kit’s skin.

“My God,” Kit groaned and let his head sink back against the chair, his eyes fluttering closed. So beautiful, so sated. All Elias wanted to do was crawl into his arms, kiss that flushed mouth, and hold him close. Be held close. Instead, he pressed his lips against the palm of Kit’s hand, not quite a kiss, and let go.

He scrambled to his feet to clean himself up and readjust his clothing. God, he wished he could pour himself a brandy to blunt the raw edges of his feelings.

Perhaps Kit felt something similar, because once his clothing was straight, he headed directly to the sideboard. He poured a glass for himself, and then another which he offered to Elias in silence.

He took it in equal silence, letting their fingers brush. There was so much to say and none of it possible. Kit licked his lips and Elias yearned anew to kiss them. Neither of them moved. After another long moment of mute staring, Kit knocked his glass against Elias’s and downed half his drink in one go. Elias took it a little steadier, watching the expressions chase across Kit’s face as he stared down into his brandy.