Page 29 of Slaying for Santa
BELL
My body achesunder the hot spray of the shower, some places even stinging from the scratches marring parts of my skin. Bruises are already blooming, and probably the sorest parts of me are my lips and nipple, where the fucker bit me last night.
My pussy is a whole other story. She’s swollen from the beating she took, and hell, it’s the best feeling. I even love the burn I get from the slight tear when I pee.
I’ve been hiding in here way too long, anxious about seeing Kit after the things he said last night.
He claimed me. Like a barbarian. Like we live in a world where that’s acceptable.
So why do I get stupid butterflies at the thought?
That’s barbaric on its own, because this can’t happen. Kit and I can never be a thing.
Hell, what we did has already crossed the line.
We fucked three times after the initial first time, and that was after a deep throat and a fisting session.
Hell’s bells, did all of that really happen?
He’s a fucking savage, and he matched me in every way.
Every time I went to get out of his bed, he wrestled meback in and proved that he has the power to claim me all over again.
I tried to point out that just because he’s physically stronger than me, doesn’t mean he wins, but the guy is delulu, that’s for sure.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep in his bed. That’s one thing I try to avoid when I hook up with guys, but one moment I was awake, having just come, and the next minute I was out like a light, only waking when the sun had risen and his side of the bed was empty.
I found my bag in the room at the foot of the bed. He must have fetched it while I was sleeping, although I don’t know why. But I decided it was easier to shower in his bathroom instead of carting my stuff back down to the second floor with my thighs painted in his dry cum.
Shit. He really is a filthy fucker.
Who knew?
The smell of bacon has me hurrying, and I get out of the shower, drying off and dressing in another black summer dress, this one with little green skulls on it.
Grabbing my bag, I leave his room to go in search of the bacon… because… it’s bacon, and I descend the first flight of stairs, wheeling my bag back into the guest room.
As I start down the second flight of stairs, my heart starts to race in my chest, and I rub at it feeling unusually nervous.
Shit… Bell Bishop doesn’t get nervous. What the hell is going on?
Jesus fucking Christ. If Tillie was here right now, she’d read my betrayal all over my face.
I bet she’d hate me. Hate that I took my toxic traits and lured her big brother with them.
Shit, is that what I did? I can’t even remember who made the first move. Everything after putting Libi to bed is a blur.
It has to be a post orgasm haze type of thing. Likeweaning off a bender or getting hit with a hangover after a big night of drinking.
Apparently, I have a Kit Hall hangover, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
Downstairs, I find Kit in the kitchen, standing at the stove as he cooks, wearing only a pair of grey shorts, his top half completely bare.
Shit. His tanned skin and ink combination has my mouth watering to lick him.
Maybe I should go back upstairs, get my bags, and leave now.
“Libi!” Kit yells from the stove, his booming voice startling me, and he gasps at my gasp, spinning to face me.
