She’d been straddling a new guy, clothes half off, the condom already on… but the moment he shifted into the shadow, something about the angle—the set of his shoulders, maybe—looked too familiar. Suddenly, all I could see was Malakai beneath her, the lines of his body overlapping with the stranger’s until I couldn’t separate the two. There was something in the way the man moved—confident, slow, like he knew exactly how to touch her—that pulled the image to the surface and wouldn’t let it go.
It wasn’t logical. The guy didn’t even look like Kai.
I’d told myself that, over and over.
But my mind doesn’t give a rat’s arse about logic. It cares about the way Kai’s hands looked on Sophie’s hips in the living room the other day. About how easily he makes her laugh. And suddenly, it’s seventeen years ago again, and I’m eighteen, staring at Kai across the dorm room floor, watching him sleep, wondering how much longer I can pretend.
And this past weekend, I’d used the safe word.
I’d only ever done it once before, when we first started down this road. Back then, I was worried that word would get out about our proclivities—aboutmyproclivity—or that Sophie would contract an STI. The anxiety exploded, and it took me a couple of months to try again—with safety measures and new protocols in place, of course.
For example, every man she sleeps with has to have been tested recently. A condom is nonnegotiable, and all parties sign an NDA that never expires.
Sophie had crawled off the guy and we’d very quickly and politely said goodbye. We’d talked about it—as we did after every scene. If there was one thing I could appreciate about Sophie and me, it was that we weresolid.I love her so fucking much, and I know she reciprocates my feelings.
But this recent experience had thrown me.
I was honest—I told her that I wasn’t quite in the right mindset. She understood—of course she did.
And I got to spend the rest of the night fucking her bare, like I always did.
Sophie’s laugh echoes through the room, pulling me from my thoughts. Kai is smirking as she places a hand on his arm.
His very muscled, corded arm.
An unknown feeling burns my chest, and I clench my jaw. I swing the hammer up and bring it down over and over as I get the foundation for the frame nailed together. Just as I slide my hand down the wood, the fleshy part between my thumb and index finger catches on a massive splinter.
“Fuck,” I hiss, pulling my hand back as blood trickles down my palm. I hear Sophie and Kai rush over to me. “Splinter,” I murmur, feeling woozy at the sight of the blood.
Sophie knows about my vasovagal syncope, aka how I can sometimes faint at the sight of blood. She got a paper cut on our honeymoon, and I went down like a sack of potatoes.
Now that I think about it, Kai knows, too. And that’s on two reckless seventeen-year-olds who thought smashing beer bottles against the side of an abandoned building was a good idea.
“Sit down. I’ll fetch the tweezers from my makeup bag,” she says quickly, placing a cool hand on my forehead. Looking up at Kai, she opens her mouth, but he holds a hand out.
“I know. I’ll make sure he doesn’t faint.”
I’d laugh, but my vision begins to swim as the blood creeps down my forearm.
Sophie jogs out of the bedroom, and Kai kneels in front of where I’m sitting on a nearby chair.
“Let me see,” he murmurs, taking my hand.
Kai’s fingers brush against mine, steady and sure, his touch unexpectedly gentle and exploratory. I feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips as they press lightly around the wound, and a weird jolt of calm washes over me, cutting through the dizziness. He’s always had that affect—grounding, without meaning to. His hands linger just a second longer than they need to, cradling mine like I’m something fragile, and it does something to the tightness in my chest.
My breathing steadies, even as my heart starts to pound for a different reason.
I know what’s coming before it happens. Kai’s always been like this—unapologetically physical. He used to sling his arm over my shoulders after swimming practice, drape himself across my bed like he lived there. He doesn’t even think twice about touching me, but I do.
God, I do.
“Here,” he says, bringing my hand close to his mouth. “I can get it out with my mouth.”
My lips part, but I can only nod as he takes my bloody hand and places his lips over the wound.
The suction of his warm, wet mouth goes straight to my cock.
I forget about the blood. I forget about Sophie coming back with tweezers. It’s just me and Kai—my hand in his mouth—and the weight of a thousand unsaid things between us.
