Page 83 of Kitty Season
I want to feel him open me up.
I want to feel him slide inside me.
And I want to feel him fill me.
There’s a tiny part of me that’s nervous with Quinn not being here. But there’s another bigger part, maybe the one leaking against my stomach, that knows this is an important step. Because as well as wanting Troye in all those physical ways, I’m desperate to show him how I feel. How he makes me feel. And that I want him and Quinn in my life. I want us. Permanently.
I wonder if he could hear all that in my pathetically whimpered yes?
Still kissing, we fumble our way to our room, shoes, my jeans, his shirt discarded as we go. “As much as I always enjoy you being dressed while I’m naked, I need to see you.” Like I did at the bar, I place my hand on his chest and shove. He falls, landing with a bounce and the same effortless grace that carries him around the rink. But something has shifted, he suddenly seems … I wanna say bashful.
“What is it?” I climb on the bed, my knees at his hips. “If you’re nervous without Quinn here, we can stop.”
“No, I don’t want to stop. It’s just … it’s my boxers. They’re …” Holy shit. Troye fucking Becker is blushing. “It’s stupid, but Quinn bought them for me. I haven’t worn them before and there may or may not be lace?—”
I cut him off with my mouth on his and my hands at his zipper. “Off. Fuck it Troye, get them off.”
Laughing, I yank and he wriggles until the denim slides over his raised hips. “Brades, if you want to see them, you have to open your eyes.”
“Oh, right. Yeah.” I do, and yep. Wow. That was worth it. Black lace cupping his hard dick. Miles and miles of lean, taught muscle. Thick, hockey-toned thighs. A broad, hairless chest. And those tattoos. Those fucking Tattoos. “Troye, I swear to God you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”
Giving into gravity, I let my body fall and shift till I’ve draped myself over him, my mouth seeking the three black swallows I’ve seen so often in my dreams. Whenever we’ve been together, no matter how much I craved to, I avoided them. It’s almost become a superstition—touching them equals severing the last remaining thread of my resistance.
I inhale, reach out. Shaking hands come to rest on his pecs then I lean down, and press my lips to his neck, tongue swirling over the intricate feather pattern you can only see up close. Like his body knows the significance, his back arches from the bed as I suck his flesh between my teeth and bite down, then lick, then bite again. It’s with the very tip of my tongue that I feel it.
Pulling back, I trace my finger over the biggest bird. “Why is this one so raised?”
Troye tenses beneath me, but doesn’t move away. “If I tell you you’ll make a big deal out of it.”
I feel like I already know the answer, but still. “Is it a big deal?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t. So tell me.”
He sighs and begins to shift but I push myself harder against him, pinning him to the bed. “Fine. Feel that one again, the big one.” He taps the largest bird, then sighs again. “Under the body and each wing there’s a scar. My dad. Each time the government men came to check on me, he’d put his cigarette out on my neck when they left.”
“Troye! What! Holy shit!”
“You said you wouldn’t make it a big deal!”
“And you said it wasn’t one, but it is Troye. It’s a really big freaking deal.” Again he moves to push me away and again I pin him down. This time, by snaring his wrists and hoisting them over his head. “You’re not using this to push me away. I refuse it.”
“But it’s too much. They really fucked me up, Brades, and I saw them. A few weeks ago I saw them on the train and they were homeless and filthy but it was them and they didn’t even know who I was.” He bucks beneath me, waves of tears streaming down his face.
“Troye.”
“I had a present for Quinn, some roses and a stupid pair of stupid earrings from stupid Tiffany’s I sold my favorite comic for and I gave her them. Actually I think I gave the earrings to Dad and the flowers to her, but I gave them to Mom and she didn’t even know who I was.”
I release his hands, and slide mine behind his back, holding him to me. Cradling him through his sobs. “It’s why I pushed Quinn away and never told her I loved her. And why I was a jerk and will never tell you, because how could you ever love me back when they never did.”
I’m not sure he’s aware he just told me he loves me, but in my mind, I snatch it from the air and clutch it to my chest like itwas a floating, blown kiss. Then, I do something I never thought I would.
“But I do love you. And Quinn does too. And what about your moms? They chose you, Troye. You turned up on their doorstep and they chose you. Just like Quinn and I will every fucking time, because all we need is you.”
We’ve been lying herefor what feels like hours. Quinn is still not home, and though hesitant at first, I’m glad we’ve had this time alone. Because of it, the final piece has fallen into place, what I once couldn’t get, I now got. I also can’t stop touching those birds.
“Moms said they represent hope, love, loyalty, and new beginnings. They were perfect.”
