The Sugared Game (The Will Darling Adventures, #2)

by K.J. Charles

“We can get the bus from here, can’t we?” “Not in that frock,” he said firmly. “You deserve a taxi.” Plus, if she showed that much leg on public transport, there might be a brawl. A riot, even.

They didn’t belong together—Will was a plain man with a knack for violence, while Kim was a twisty upper-class bundle of nerves—but they’d fit.

Only, while he was around, he’d given Will a taste for starlight.

“The best defence is a good offence,” Kim said. “And I am nothing if not offensive.

“I know you’ve thought about this,” Will said. “But there are men in the world who aren’t queer or arseholes. Have you considered marrying one of them instead?”

The blood-red uncivilised streak of his nature that had blossomed in the war didn’t want them. That streak wanted someone who would ask him to infiltrate night-clubs and kick people’s heads in. That streak wanted Kim, who offered none of the things that appealed to Will’s respectable ambitions and everything that fed the wolf.

“What do you want?” “You,” Kim said. “In my mouth, if we’re doing this. I have thought about you fucking my mouth on a near-nightly basis since November.”

“I keep thinking about the way you look when you suck me. The way you sound.” “How do I sound?” “Desperate.”

“I love watching you do this,” he whispered. “Knowing you love it. Knowing it’s making you hard.”

“Do you like being sucked off?” “Don’t be kind to me, Will.” “I’m not. I want to make you beg.” “Oh. Well, then.”

“Scars are always beautiful,” Kim said. “They’re proof we lived.”

“I used to cut myself,” Kim said, quite calmly. “When I was fourteen, fifteen. It...how can I put this? It let certain feelings out that would have been worse if they stayed in.”

“You have beautiful hands,” he murmured. “I’m sure I mentioned this.” “You did. You’re wrong, but you did.” “I’m not wrong.” Kim kissed the inside of Will’s wrist. “I’m never wrong.”

Will moaned. Kim lifted his head away. “Can I suck you off?” “No. Don’t.” He didn’t want Kim kneeling between his legs, face hidden, feelings unreadable. He reached for the dark head. “Stay up here with me.”

“If what you believe in goes wrong, either you let go the belief, or you believe even harder.”

“Tell me again,” Will said, hoarsely. “Let me hear it.” “I want you to fuck me. I want you in me and all over me.”

“You’re hard for me. For this. You know how much that makes me want you?”

“You want this,” Will told him. He pushed a little further, feeling the muscle around the digit. “And I know how much you want it, and that is driving me out of my mind. Tell me again.” “I need it. I need you. I want you to fuck me till I forget my own name.” “What, all of it?”

“God, you love this. You should be ashamed of yourself, how much you love this.” “Oh, I am,” Kim assured him breathlessly. “Utterly. Now embarrass me till I can’t walk.”

“What’s your name?” “Who fucking cares?” “You love it. You’re going to come with every inch of me in you and love it.”

“Tea?” he said, because the kettle was on and he was furious but not a monster.

“I think—I flatter myself—that you want to know if I care for you. No: you must know that I do, so what you want is for me to say so, and I do, Will. I care for you far more than makes me feel safe. I want you, but you’re well aware of that. I feel at peace with you, and I don’t often feel at peace. And without excusing the trouble I have given you, it brings me to my knees that you’re strong enough to bear it. I wish I were worth you, Will.”