Page 3 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

Chapter tw o

Kiss Me

Kenny was livid.

And he let it be known by slamming the car door then thumping the steering wheel.

His frustration, his anger , wasn’t just about Aaron’s complete lack of punctuality, though. Nor his flippancy about it. It was because Aaron had planned this. Was making Kenny work for it. For him . Three weeks of distance, the exact distance Kenny had prescribed himself to get over this, over Aaron , and untangle himself from his growing obsession with the man he couldn’t have, and the second he saw him, it all unravelled. He’d considered the call to deliver the keynote at the conference in Crete as a Godsend, adding a holiday tacked on the end to give himself time to recuperate, yet it had tumbled them into this .

He punched the steering wheel again, then rubbed his fingers over his forehead.

Fully aware he had a problem here, that knowledge didn’t solve the problem. The really fucking huge problem. All those hours of sun-drenched calm in Greece, to let the sun and sand dilute this relentless pull…none of it had worked. He’d tried compartmentalising. Shoving those insistent thoughts and gn awing feelings into little boxes inside his head to create some semblance of peace. The idea to go away by himself had been so he could recoup without distraction to figure out what he wanted. He’d decided he wanted to hold on to his career .

Until he’d laid eyes on the pink-haired troublemaker.

Except Aaron didn’t have pink hair anymore.

He knew it wasn’t the colour of his hair attracting him, but every single tiny little thing about him. All of it. The whole fucking package. From the downright insufferable wretch he could be, to the fragile vulnerability hidden beneath. And how fucking sexy he knew he was.

It all had Kenny in bits and pieces.

But he tried to steady himself, rolling his shoulders as Aaron stepped out of his Halls of Residence, strolled up to the car, now platinum blond hair catching the last hints of daylight. Aaron looked older somehow. The summer months leaving a faint tan on his skin, his features sharper. It had only been three weeks. But it had felt like a lifetime. Kenny swallowed, turning to look out of the window. He shouldn’t have come. Should’ve left Aaron stewing and called it a lesson in accountability.

But there was no going back now.

The passenger door opened, and Aaron fell into the seat, his familiar, intoxicating scent filling the cabin, fighting over the new hanging air freshener and wrapping around Kenny to make his pulse spike.

“We’re over an hour late,” Kenny snapped, irritation sharpening his voice to mask the jealousy simmering beneath.

Aaron raked a hand through his hair, checking his reflection in the wing mirror, and adjusting the blond strands into a casual quiff. “Didn’t think we were doing this anymore.”

Kenny gritted his teeth. “You know damn well it’s not over.”

“You went on holiday.” Aaron slapped his hand on his thigh, the rips in his jeans not stopping at his knees anymore but torn all the way to just beneath his boxers. Kenny could see the tight fitting cotton of his trunks poking out, his entire legs practically on show between stretched threads of denim. He could slide his fingers inside those cracks and feel the smooth skin beneath scattered with fine blond hair. He could do it. Aaron would let him. “You’ve not been around for three fucking weeks. How am I meant to know when you were back?”

Kenny clenched the steering wheel, willing himself not to rise to the bait. “I told you exactly when I’d be back and when we’d continue your sessions. I put it in your calendar.”

“Forgot.”

“Jesus Christ.” Kenny started the engine. “Dr Riley might not fit you in now.”

Aaron shrugged, completely unfazed. “Maybe that’s for the best. Pretty sure I’m cured.” He shot Kenny a sidelong glance. “Save your pennies.”

“You don’t get cured of arrogance.”

Aaron’s laugh was sharper this time. “Evidently. Cause you must have been trying for forty-one years to rid yourself of that.”

The silence falling between them was thick, tense, with only the hum of the car’s engine to dilute it. Kenny pulled out of the car park, trying to ignore the itch Aaron’s presence left on his skin.

“You still need to do this,” Kenny said, softer, calmer, after he’d told himself his temper came from his unwanted yet relentless attraction.

“Then maybe you don’t need to drive me there anymore.” Aaron’s voice was low. Weak. And it tugged on Kenny’s heart.

“What? Why ?”

“Because I can’t stand it, Kenny!” Aaron stamped his boot on the back of the footwell so hard, Kenny feared he’d made a hole right through to the engine. He’d learned over the past year how Aaron snapped from cool cucumber to fucked-off firecracker within milliseconds. He spent his life forcing his emotive responses into his shoes, but there was always a trigger setting him free. “You left me!”

Kenny tightened his grip on the wheel, heat rising in his chest, and his next words came out unexpectedly. “And you have been with him !”

Since they’d made the agreement to be platonic, to remain at a professional distance, they hadn’t talked about how they really felt. Kenny threw himself into work and Aaron did what freshers did—got himself a boyfriend. A fuck buddy. Kenny didn’t want to think about what Aaron’s relationship with the third year Taylor was about. And so they didn’t mention it. Nor talk about it. They undertook these weekly car rides, or the classes Kenny lectured, or the occasional group and feedback sessions for Aaron’s degree, desperately trying not to move any closer to each other. To block out this unrelenting thing they had.

The three weeks apart had supposed to create distance, a deliberate effort to untangle their lives. Instead, it had heightened the pull between them, as if the separation had made the idea of staying away unbearable .

“You think I’m not also struggling with this?” Kenny took his eyes off the road for a second too long, ready to let Aaron know how he really felt. If only to appease Aaron’s angry outburst. But also because he wanted him to know. “He opened your door to me naked .”

“I didn’t expect you to knock.”

“Then answer your fucking phone.”

Kenny knew Aaron’s radio silence was no accidental oversight. He was a Doctor of Psychology, for fucks sake. He’d studied behaviour all this adult life. Aaron’s deliberate intention was a carefully deployed avoidance mechanism. Crafted to elicit a reaction in him. An obvious example of displacement and provocation, meant to throw Kenny off balance, forcing him over boundaries he knew better than to cross.

Kenny knew all that. Yet he was still mad at him for doing it .

And having Taylor there? Well, that was Aaron taking things a step further, moving from subtle manipulation to overt psychological sabotage. Deliberately positioning Taylor to answer the door, barely dressed, was a blatant act of territorial display. Aaron’s way of asserting his autonomy and control over a relationship that existed in the grey, undefined shadows. Classic Freudian defiance. By engaging in a dangerous mix of psychological projection and boundary testing, he was eliciting a warfare most would consider masochistic. Self-sabotage disguised as flirtation and rebellion.

Kenny wasn’t certain he had the emotional fortitude to resist it.

Because Aaron wasn’t merely battling for affection. It was a desperate attempt to feel seen, to feel important, to subvert the invisible power dynamics between them. A psychological paradox: Aaron craved Kenny’s attention while also testing the resolve of their roles, oscillating between rebellion and longing.

Experience told Kenny that as soon as Aaron won, he’d bore of the game.

Of him .

That alone fuelled Kenny to keep up their boundaries. Because the thought of Aaron not wanting him anymore tore deeper than Kenny not allowing himself to have him at all. Not to mention how keeping a barrier between them was the right and noble thing to do for Aaron .

“So maybe we knock this on the head,” Aaron said, eyes down. “It’s killing us both.”

“You need to keep going.”

“I’ll learn to drive.”

“And how will you afford that?”

“My local authority pay for me to have lessons and do the test. Perks of being a poor little care kid.”

“Then the car? Insurance ?” Kenny was clutching at straws. And Aaron .

“I’ll get Taylor to take me.”

“I thought he was starting his placement this year.”

Aaron slammed his head back on the seat rest. “Then I’ll catch a fucking bus.”

“Will you?” Kenny peered back.

Aaron closed his eyes. “How long can you keep pretending?”

Kenny opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Because Aaron was right, and they both knew it. Every part of their arrangement, every car ride, every hour spent together, blurred lines he shouldn’t have crossed, yet couldn’t resist. And he couldn’t keep holding this together without breaking something, or someone , in the process.

Kenny left the conversation there to navigate the winding lanes to the out-of-town therapy centre he’d been taking Aaron to for his weekly sessions for months. Complex trauma like Aaron’s required more than sporadic or cursory sessions. It needed a process of gradual unpacking. A layered journey addressing deeply rooted issues that wouldn’t unravel or fix in a matter of months, years even.

Aaron’s psyche bore scars of complex developmental trauma. Patterns of attachment disruption, parental betrayal, and early exposure to emotional and psychological harm that shaped his worldview. Such profound early wounds resulted in distorted core beliefs. Deep-seated convictions about self-worth, safety, and trust affected all his relationships and interactions, consciously or unconsciously. Therapy wasn’t just about curing Aaron; it was a long-term strategy to help him learn to self-regulate, to reframe, and eventually to trust.

So yes, Aaron needed to keep coming. Not because there was a simple solution, but because the path to healing was long, iterative, and essential. But that was the psychologist in him.

The selfish man in him just wanted to keep seeing him.

Alone.

Like this .

Kenny parked, lifting the handbrake and as Aaron moved to open the door, Kenny reached out, grabbing his arm before he could slip away. “Wait. I’m sorry.”

Aaron paused, hand still on the door handle, turning back to him. “For what?”

Kenny searched for words that felt wholly inadequate. “A lot of things,” he said, voice strained. “Let’s start with barging in on you and your boyfriend.”

“What else?”

Kenny swallowed hard, heart pounding at having to utter the truth. “For being jealous.”

Aaron settled back in the seat. “How was your holiday?”

“It wasn’t a holiday. It was a conference.”

“In Greece. By the beach. Where they had a heatwave.”

“And I spent much of it inside the University of Crete. So in that respect, it was shit.”

Aaron snorted. “Got a nice tan, though.”

Kenny drifted over Aaron’s features, recommitting each detail to memory and checking if the dreams he’d had of him while lounging beachside or locked in a hotel room had been right. They had. He was still infuriatingly stunning. “And you changed your hair.”

“Back to natural.”

“I like it.”

Aaron dropped his head back, heavy-lidded gaze drawing Kenny in until his restraint felt like a thin thread, fraying and snapping. “Didn’t do it for you.”

Kenny ran out of things to say. Because there wasn’t anything he could say to make this any easier. For either of them. They couldn’t happen. For more reasons than being professor and student. Their shared history was muddy and devastating. They would rip each other apart. Yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to sever their connection completely .

Aaron reached for Kenny’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Then, after a moment of stillness, he lifted their combined hands to plant a delicate kiss to the back of Kenny’s, pinching the fine hairs between his lips and Kenny could have wept.

More so when Aaron said, “I can’t do this, doc. It’s too hard.”

Kenny dipped over the middle of the car to drag his free hand through Aaron’s hair, down to the back of his neck, and drew him close enough that he could taste the vape flavouring on Aaron’s breath. Peach . “I know.”

A silence settled over the car, neither rushing to fill it.

Then, stark and fragile, Aaron said, “Kiss me.”

God , Kenny wanted to. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone more in his entire life. But how could he? How could he open all that up again when they’d worked so hard to bury it? When he knew his career would be in jeopardy. And how Aaron would consume him completely, take his fill, before eventually tiring of him and leave. There was more than age and authority against them.

So he choked. “I can’t, baby.” The endearment slipped out, and he dug his fingers into Aaron’s neck to prove how desperately he wanted to do what he plead and how cruel it was he couldn’t. Because the moment he did, Aaron would destroy him. “You know I can’t.”

Aaron fluttered his eyes closed. Then, with one sharp inhale, Aaron pulled away from him, opening the car door, pausing only to glance back with a faint, broken smile. “I’ll get the bus back.”

Aaron got out, the door slamming shut, leaving Kenny with only the quiet hum of the engine to temper his thudding heart. He gripped the wheel, every muscle in his body straining as he watched Aaron disappear into the building.

This separation felt like a wound, more painful than anything he’d experienced before. Fiercer than when Jack had left him without a word. And more so than leaving on a plane by himself to get over it all.

Yeah. He was fucked.