Chapter 28

Kendall

What a fucking mess.

I blinked, no longer feeling that weird kind of glee now that the urge to destroy Gage was burned out of me. Mum used to hand the lot of them a broom and a mop, making the boys clean up after they’d finished wreaking havoc, but I was the one to make myself deal with the aftermath now. But first, Gage. I found a roll of paper towel and then wet a bunch of it before hopping up on the bench and gesturing him forward.

“I can…”

Whatever he had to say, it was silenced by me pressing the towel to his face and wiping some of the mess away. He’d need a shower. That probably would’ve been a more efficient way of dealing with this whole mess, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to suggest it. He could get in there and scrub himself clean while I…

“I love you, Kendall Kennedy. I fucking love you.”

I jerked the towel away, and he just stared at me mutely, searching my face for a reason before angling his cheek closer.

“You didn’t mean…” I found myself laughing, an ugly bark of a thing, then shook my head, focussing back on cleaning him up. “Of course, you didn’t—”

A sticky finger was pressed to my lips, stopping me from saying another word right before he nodded.

“Didn’t expect you to believe me right away,” he said in a low rumble. “Not after… Not now I know what went down. It had to be Finn—”

“I know.”

I pulled back, but my lip still tingled from his touch before I went back to work, smoothing the towel down the harsh plane of his cheek, and that’s when all the other memories hit me.

Girls swooned over Gage Slater, and I knew why. Objectively I knew he had a strong face, all harsh angles without an inch of softness, but touching it? Even with the buffer of the paper towel between us, it didn’t seem to matter.

I could feel the heat of his skin radiating through the moisture in the paper towel, heating my fingertips to the point almost of pain. That wasn’t true, it couldn’t be, but that’s what it felt like. That he was searing me like a steak on a BBQ plate the minute I started cleaning him up.

Did he see that, what he was doing to me? Those eyes that seemed to stare right into my soul were doing a damn good job of cataloguing every movement I made, but that didn’t explain the fire that flickered within them.

I’d never noticed that before.

One that seemed to grow brighter as I worked, smoothing the paper towel down one cheek, then another, his head tilting slowly in response to my efforts. Presenting his cheek for me to clean more easily, thrusting his chin up as the paper towel scraped across the stubble, then went to wipe away the smear of sauce across his lips.

Girls had rhapsodised at lengths about this mouth, talked about the shape of his lips, their fullness, the only softness in his whole face. But they didn’t know what it looked like, to see that bottom lip dimple as I wiped it clean over and over.

Well beyond what was needed.

He was forbidden fruit, my tormentor, my jailer, my brother’s best friend, but if that was all in the past.

What was he now?

I looked up, finally meeting his gaze. And those same lips curved slightly, like he was so very happy with himself right now. Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one covered in honey and peanut butter. As if to remind him of that fact, a drop of honey fell free, sliding down his newly cleaned cheek, my focus unable to be redirected as it pooled in the line of his lips.

My spare hand moved of its own accord, my thumb brushing across his mouth, collecting up the honey, my own lips parting as his did. It was as if he wanted a taste, but instead, I shoved my thumb into my own mouth and sucked it clean.

“Tell me no again.”

I barely heard what he said, let alone understood its content, especially when he edged closer. My thighs were pushed wider, forced to let him in.

“Tell me no, Kendall.” His voice was low, and hoarse, and full of urgency. “Tell me that you don’t want this.”

I’d stuffed my responses down when I was dealing with them before, but it didn’t feel like this. Like the very reasonable rejection of him and everything he was offering was somehow stuck in my throat. I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want to tell him to fuck off. I’d shove him in the chest and send him stumbling.

But he’d come right back for more.

My fingers flexed as I let the paper towel fall as I had a sudden realisation.

“And if I don’t?”

For the first time ever, I knew I could do anything I wanted to Gage, but I had to hear him say it.

“Then you know what’s gonna happen.”

An arm snaked around my waist, tugging me to the edge of the bench, my legs forced to wrap around him or fall off. My hands slid through flour and sauce and mustard, but underneath it all, I felt him.

“The same thing that I dreamed of more nights than I can remember.” He moved in, close but not close enough, lips hovering over mine. His words feathered over my skin, leaving a tingle in their wake. “You and me, baby. Just like it was always supposed to be. Tell me you want that.”

I couldn’t. My throat worked, a small whine starting up at the base, but no actual words came out. It felt like my whole world had been turned topsy turvy, and I was trying to find my equilibrium again, which was perhaps why I did this. I didn’t have a very sensible discussion about what this all meant, instead pressing my lips against his.

The groan that came out of him, the way his grip on me tightened to the point of pain, as if he was scared I’d be snatched away. I fucking needed that so much. For his mouth to take over the whole damn process, kissing me hard, fast, claiming every inch of my lips as his. Forcing mine to open, his tongue flickering out, slightly tainted by honey and peanut butter, but mostly tasting of him. Dark, masculine, and more tempting than dark chocolate, my fingers sank into his hair as I chased more, right up until I was forced to deal with the sticky mess I’d made.

“Oh my god, what a mess…”

He blinked, stared up at me, seeming to struggle to come back to the here and now, before pulling himself together.

“I can have a shower, get clean, then we can…” We both looked down and saw my work shirt was now a mess too, having blotted everything I’d thrown at him with my clothing as our bodies pressed together.

“I think I need a shower too,” I said, holding my hands wide.

“There’s one in the en suite and one in the main bathroom,” he said, “or…?”

God, he’d never looked at me like that before. Completely vulnerable, he looked like he was awaiting a slap, not a reply.

“Or we could save water?”

Where the fuck had that come from? Why was I saying things like that? I knew why, even if it felt uncomfortable to admit. Because what I just described was a fantasy of mine that went back a really long time.

Adolescence was annoying and horrifying, and then it was just confusing, because developing a crush on the guys that made my life hell just didn’t make sense. I went from hating them with every breath in my body to following them with my eyes. Still hating them, but also noticing way too much the way their lean muscles flexed. One of them would push past me when I emerged from the shower, my towel clutched tighter as their skin brushed mine, and then right as I went to stare behind me, the bathroom door would be slammed shut and locked, making me wonder… What did they see, feel, when they got under the water? How did it feel to touch that hard body? Was that what had me suggesting a water conservation? I didn’t get to think too much about that as Gage picked me up.

“Whoa, what the fuck?” He froze mid-way out of the kitchen, holding me like I was nothing. “I’m too heavy—”

“The fuck you are.”

That growl was all the response I got as he carried me bodily through the house, kicking the door of the bathroom open then shut again once he got me inside. Never had I been happier that they had chosen to build an open plan bathroom so there was no cubicle to wedge us into. Instead, he pressed me against the wall, one hand going to the tap before he looked up at me.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.

“What?”

“Do you want this?” He studied my face so damn closely, reading every tiny micro expression in an attempt to work out what I’d say before I said it. “Kendall, I gotta know. Because if we have a shower together, I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.”

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the thought, but that just sent droplets of mustard and honey flying. I flinched back, something that made him go perfectly still.

“When you first walked in the door, all I wanted to do was key lock the damn deadbolt so you couldn’t leave me. I thought it’d get easier once we moved you in here, but it just got worse. I see you, smell you, found a hair tie you left on the bathroom sink, and I couldn’t stop myself from staring at it like it was a holy relic. If I…” His voice was choked off, but he tried to rally. “If we…” He set me down then, forcing himself to take a step back. “I won’t be able to stop myself. I won’t, so if you…”

I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. My mind was still struggling to digest everything he’d said, so I answered him the only way I knew how. My hands went to his buttons, popping one free with effort, the fabric swollen and sticky. Then another, and another, he watched me work, right before his hands covered mine and then used them to jerk his shirt free. I laughed as buttons went pinging across the floor, but what I saw in his eyes quickly sobered me.

The shirt came off, but the slow reveal of that massive chest was a whole lot different than the one in the pool. There was no Barbie to stare at me as I stared at Gage, nor a witness to see me raise a shaking hand. No one heard the low hiss of my breath at the first touch of his skin but him. No one saw him move closer, his hand covering mine right as his went to my cheek.

“If we get naked. If we get under the water together.” His brows creased and my fingers twitched, wanting to smooth that away. “Then I won’t be able to hold myself back anymore. I’ve wanted to kiss you, touch you, feel every fucking inch of you for too many years and—”

I pressed my hands to his lips, feeling the softness and the scratch of his stubble.

“I want that,” I said finally, smiling when I felt how true that was. “I want that a whole lot.”