Three
When Kit said her place was
'cold,'
I figured she might've been exaggerating a tad. You know how it is with girls, always moaning about the cold and then pinching your hoodies.
But the second I step through that door, I know straight away any ideas of finishing what we started on that video call have gone straight out the window. Because, mate, you can't have decent sex if you're freezing your bollocks off. Let me tell you, with every step, mine hate me a bit more.
"Christ alive, Kit," I mutter, rubbing my hands together to get some feeling back in them, "It's colder in here than it is outside."
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad."
Not that bad?
Has she gone mental? This place is colder than a witch's tit in January. I'm being dead serious--I'm curling my toes inside my boots just to keep warm.
"I can
literally
see my bloody breath. How're you not an ice lolly?"
"I'm kinda used to it." She gives a casual shrug of her shoulders as she grabs a hoodie, pulling it over her head. "Been like this for two days already."
Two days? Where's her landlord? Letting her freeze like this--bloke needs to have his head checked.
But for someone sleeping in an igloo, she doesn't seem fussed. Just standing there, chatting to that cat--Simon--telling him not to piss on her stuff while she's out. Talks to him like he's a person, not a damn cat. Funny, that.
Oh, and she's barefoot.
Bloody barefoot. No clue how she managed to strip down for that show earlier--she must've been freezing her arse off the whole time.
I just stand there blinking at her, like she's just said beans don't belong on toast. She clocks my stare, and that little spark of trouble makes an appearance.
"I mean, if you're
that
chilly, I think I can find a way to warm you up."
She's gone all sweet, reaching for my belt as she takes a step closer.
Nope!
Don't get me wrong--balls are blue, but I'm not risking frostbite on my cock just 'cause she looks good in a hoodie.
I catch her hand before it can go any further, fingers wrapping tight around hers before she can even blink.
"Oh, trust me. You will--"
I'm not gonna fuck her here--
probably
--but I reckon I can get away with a kiss or two. So I dip down, nick one--because watching her earlier, putting on that filthy little show, but not getting to kiss her? Fucking criminal.
Like someone poured a pint and forgot the fizz.
One kiss turns into a few, and she's already trying to lick her way back into my mouth when I pull back, and she tries to follow me for another.
"--But not here," I say, grinning like a bastard.. "Grab your stuff. We've got proper heating waiting at mine."
"But you said--"
"-I'm
not
having sex in a bloody freezer," I say, cutting her off flat.
She's got that pouty look down to a bloody science. If it weren't arctic in here, I'd be flat on my back. One day, that look's gonna ruin me. Call it now.
"Go on, pack it in--or I'll give those lips something better to do." I can't decide if that's a warning or a preview.
"Promise?"
She's a menace. An
actual
menace.
"Kit," I warn, voice dropping low.
She backs off, hands raised like she's surrendering--but before I can even breathe, she's tugging me forward again, pressing her mouth to mine in a kiss that's soaked with all kinds of intention. Her tongue brushes mine in this slow, aching way that makes it damn near impossible not to groan.
Ah, hell, she can have this one.
I pull back, eventually, and there it is--that smug little grin like she's just nicked a sweet off the top shelf.
Alright, steady on, Ben. Can't have a stiffy on the Tube--
not again.
"Remember what I said about naughty girls, Kit."
"I remember..." She says in a little sing-song voice, tugging on her trainers.
Whatever warning I was about to give dies on my tongue the second I get a proper look at her--still wearing my shirt like it's some kind of personal trophy, hem barely skimming her arse in those tight black skinnies. Ripped at the knees--ladders and tears offering just enough of a peek at the fishnets underneath.
Because of course she'd go and layer sin under denim, and here I am, the poor sod who's meant to keep it together.
It's a cracking outfit--but the second we're back at mine, it's all coming off. Starting with that bloody shirt.
"Come on, let's scarper."
I take her hand, and we make for the nearest station.
Rain's coming in sideways now, bouncing off the pavement like it's trying for a second go--but that's standard fare this time of year. Don't seem to bother Kit one bit--her being from Seattle. They get about as much rain as we do. Won't be so bad once we're underground, but for now, we're catching splashes between shopfronts, and the nearest station's just down the way.
Not sure how it happens, but it turns into a bit of a game.
We start off darting under shop awnings and bits of scaffolding to dodge the worst of it--no hoods up, not an umbrella in sight.
We do a half-decent job of staying dry, but there's this buzz in the air--and next thing I know, we're laughing like loons, probably drawing a few looks.
Reminds me of that old game--pretending the floor's lava. Jumping off your mum's posh sofa while she's losing her nut at you--right up until she threatens to tell your Nan. And Nan? She's from that time when a good clip round the ear was standard. Don't mess with Nan. Grown men straighten up when she tells you it's time to go home from the pub.
That's what this feels like--reckless but sweet, like we're getting away with something.
I'm grinning like a right muppet while Kit's cackling behind me. Rain's got nothing on her.
We're just across from the stairs to the station now, huddled under the canopy of a shuttered offie--waiting for a lull in traffic to bolt.
"Ready to make a break for it?" I ask.
"Let's go!"
She's halfway into a run when I yank her back under. Can't help myself.
"Wait a tick."
She blinks up at me like she's waiting for me to say something funny, but there's no joke, mate. No punchline--just the urge to kiss her, plain and simple.
It's like something off the telly. I've got one hand in her hair and the other on her waist, hanging on to her like we're posing for a romance novel cover.
Her mouth's warm, velvet-soft. Tongue teasing mine just right. Cold, wet London falls away. Could be Paris. Could be bloody Mars for all I care.
I barely know this girl, and yeah, we've done this whole dating thing arse backward, but there's no denying the chemistry between us.
It's cinematic. It's stupid. It's perfect. I surprise myself sometimes.
"God, I love the way you taste," Christ--I sound like a sap.
Fuck, I don't care, her eyes are hazy and soft. I did that right there. I haven't kissed her in a week, but I missed it, that's for sure. Missed touching her, missed the way she kisses me back.
We're getting carried away. I don't even clock it until some geezer calls out from an open window,
"Oi! Take it home!"
I tip my head back and shout toward the old git,
"Get yourself a pint and mind your business, Granddad!"
He just mutters something under his breath and disappears back inside. Kit's half-hiding behind me, trying to stifle her laughter, blushing and grinning like mad.
Yeah, ok, maybe a full-on snog in the street ain't exactly standard round here. Makes people uncomfortable, hell--makes me uncomfortable most days--but with Kit? Yeah, I'm finding it hard to give a toss.
Besides, I'd like to see that old man try to keep his hands off a girl as gorgeous as Kit, if he could even manage to get one.
"Come on. We're already drenched--might as well go full tilt."
We dash across the street, feet slapping against the wet pavement. Kit nearly slips and shrieks, but I catch her round the waist, and we stumble down the steps, laughing like kids bunking off school.
We tap in and hit the platform just in time. The Tube's already pulling in--doors whooshing open with that familiar stale burst of tunnel air and a little something else.
Plenty of seats going, but we're both halfway drenched, so I don't bother sitting. No point soaking the moquette. Those things've seen more arses than a Soho burlesque lineup. Last thing I need's a dirty look when I leave a wet patch behind.
Kit clocks the seats too, wrinkles her nose, and stays standing beside me. Good girl.
The carriage isn't too packed--just a few scattered passengers. Couple of students; that'll be the extra something in the air--bit of Lynx Africa. Some suits, and the usual lot who look like they've got nowhere in particular to be. The air's already thick with that muggy, underground heat that clings to your skin the second you step below street level. I peel off my hoodie, already sweating like it's high summer--not March with the rain coming sideways. Up top, it's freezing; underground, it's like stepping into a sauna.
The fabric clings to her like it's trying to test every ounce of my patience. Her shirt's soaked through--just sheer enough in a few spots to mess with my self-control--and those skinnies? They look fresh out of the wash, a size too small and sticking in all the right places.
I know she's probably miserable, but damn if she doesn't look good. Unreasonably good. It's unfair, really. She rakes her damp hair into a clip, piling it on top of her head--then she catches my stare.
"What?"
There's this thing girls do after a kiss--like someone's flipped a switch and lit them from the inside--and she's glowing with it. That post-kiss, flushed, fuck-me shimmer.
I give her the old come-here crook of the finger, and she bites back a grin like she knows if she gets too close, I'll make a meal of her.
I will. Just not yet.
She looks around the carriage, like she's trying to remind me we're not alone--but I don't care. We've got three days ahead of us to make good on every carnal sin we can dream up. And I'm meant to keep my hands to myself?
Nah.
"C'mere."
She raises a brow like she's not sure if I'm up to mischief--
'course I am
. She finally steps close, and I reach up, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.
"You look good, all wet."
"I taste good too."
And there it is--that mouth.
Naughty girl.
I don't let the onlookers stop me. I lean in and nip at her ear--just a little bite--and she jumps with a soft squeak.
"Ben--what are you doing?" She gasps, all high and breathy.
