Page 4 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

chapter three

The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get

“How was your birthday?” Mel sidled up to Aaron at the back of the lecture hall the following Monday, dumping her fresh new laptop on the desk in front, ready to take notes on the core module International Perspectives on Crime.

Guess who was delivering the lecture?

Dr Kenneth Lyons.

“Was all right.” Aaron kept his focus on his blank piece of paper, tapping the pen in his hand, and not on how his heart thudded at the expectation of Kenny walking through that door, back in professor mode, with their quasi relationship now done and dusted.

The lecture hall buzzed with that first day back energy. Aaron could already feel the itch of anticipation beneath his skin. Kenny’s first lecture of the semester had more of a draw than any other, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of Kenny himself or the pull of some twisted satisfaction in watching Kenny have to ignore him in front of everyone else. Either way, he was there, wedged between Mel and another second year, who looked so eager she was almost vibrating .

Mel nudged him with her shoulder. “Did Taylor take you somewhere glamorous for your twentieth?”

Dressed in a ripped, oversized black sweater with strategically placed holes revealing glimpses of the intricate tattoos winding along her collarbone and down her forearm, Mel was becoming more the goth than she’d been in her first year at Ryston University. With a black leather skirt, fishnet tights running down to her scuffed combats, silver chains dangling from her neck, layered over each other, some adorned with tiny charms, she had more confidence, especially with the inky black hair dye with subtle hints of purple styled into loose waves. That’s what happened at uni. People became themselves.

Aaron was still figuring himself out.

Hence his change in hair colour. He was starting over.

“No,” Aaron said, eyes betraying him by pinging to the lecture theatre doors every time they opened. He’d arrived early, so he didn’t have to walk in with Kenny already there. He wanted Kenny to have to do that. And another gaggle of second year psych students clambered in, relieved they’d beaten their professor to the punch, too. Although probably not for the same reason as Aaron. “He needed an early night as he started placement today.”

“Oh.” Mel pouted. “Boring. Where’s his placement?”

“The Ryston Gazette. Doing their social news. He’ll be digging up local stories and the first to shove them online for clickbait.”

“Nice.” She fished out her phone from her bag. “Wonder if he’ll be covering the random death of that netball girl.”

“What?” Aaron turned to her, but the doors clanged open in that demanding authoritative way Aaron knew belonged to Kenny without having to look.

Look, he did, though.

How could he not?

Kenny strode into the lecture theatre with the commanding presence of someone who knew exactly the effect he had on those watching. Dressed in his dapper three-piece suit, a dark, charcoal-grey paired with a crisp white button-down and black waistcoat cinched close to his body, bringing out the striking definition in his shoulders, finished with a tailored jacket, with his glasses on and hair pulled back, he was everything Aaron craved. And he could not control how much he wanted that man to lie on top of him in all that academic get up and crush him. Preferably while Aaron was naked. Aaron would rip his hair out of its tail, let it fall onto his face, and grip the strands while he rutted against him until he came, ruining the expensive fibres of that glorious suit.

Scanning the room, Kenny adjusted the stack of notes and papers under his arm, and he had a practiced detachment, a slight tightening at the corner of his mouth suggesting he’d rather be anywhere but here. Was that because he knew Aaron was here? That this was their official shunt back to student-teacher dynamics? Or was it just a case of the post-holiday blues?

Whatever it was, it had him moving with composed steps toward the front, and Aaron’s pulse racing in sync with each one. Kenny then set his things down on the desk, rolling his shoulders as if settling into the space, adjusting the papers into alignment, his OCD playing out for everyone to see. But only Aaron knew how badly he had it from having been in his impeccably ordered home. Then he looked up again, expression unwavering and unreadable. And, just for a heartbeat, his gaze stopped.

Settled on Aaron .

The noise in the lecture hall seemed to fade, and Aaron felt as if the world had narrowed to that single, charged moment. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and for a split second, Aaron could’ve sworn whatever tension simmered between them was written plainly on Kenny’s face. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as the corner of Kenny’s lips twitched, before he moved on, restoring his distant, authoritative demeanour and the world swung back into balance as Kenny unbuttoned his jacket with a quick, almost unconscious motion, shrugging it off and folding it neatly over the back of his chair. He then rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows, exposing strong forearms coated with dark hair that Aaron could still feel tingling against his lips, and tapped a finger on the desk once. A subtle gesture to quieten the last pockets of conversation before he finally spoke.

“Welcome back.” His voice carried an unmistakable note of command travelling effortlessly to the back row of the two-hundred-tiered seating lecture hall.

Aaron’s chest fluttered, watching Kenny take control of the room, the authority in his tone setting him apart. This was Kenny in his element, his words infused with a confidence that left no room for question.

“For those who were with me last year, I expect more from you now. For those who are new, you’ll find I don’t offer easy answers or simple explanations.” Kenny paced in front of the desk. “We’re here to delve into the darker side of human psychology. The motivations behind violent crimes. The mindsets of those incapable of feeling remorse and how that can affect survivors.”

He stopped, resting on the edge of the desk, fingers lightly tapping in a measured rhythm, as if counting each beat with absolute control. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he settled on Aaron once more, almost as if daring him to look away. Maybe to go away. Leave .

“We’ll explore cases that could make us uncomfortable,” he said, as if describing his own feelings right then. “Motives forcing us to question our own boundaries. Because understanding these impulses requires a willingness to confront parts of ourselves most people prefer to ignore.”

Mel tapped Aaron’s hand, pushing over her phone for him to read the WhatsApp chat she was part of detailing the sudden death of a third-year netball player called Connie. Poor girl .

“I’ll assume you’re using that phone to take notes, Melanie?” Kenny barked from the front. “Because I wouldn’t expect you to be sharing TikToks in my class. On my time.”

Mel snatched her phone back, offering an apology, and Aaron turned to meet Kenny’s gaze. It lingered. Just a little too long. Long enough for Aaron to recall the way he’d gripped his neck and called him baby .

“This term, we’re diving into the dark intricacies of criminal psychology.” But off Kenny went into what he was here for and not ripping out Aaron’s heart. “Specifically, the psychology behind serial killers. What drives someone to commit such repeated acts of violence, often with chilling precision? What motivates them?”

Ah. Shit. That’s why Kenny looked so concerned. That was why he longed for Aaron not to be here. Nothing to do with feely feelings. He worried this was too close to home for him. So Aaron gripped his pen and concentrated on note taking. Because it didn’t matter he’d lived with serial killers, was born from them, what mattered was knowing why .

“Our first topic will be motives. Why would someone kill, and keep killing, despite the obvious risk and consequences?” It was as if Kenny were directing the question to him. He didn’t fucking know. It was why he was here. To find out why his mother had shattered his entire existence by committing multiple homicide. “We often think of murder as a crime of passion. Spurred by anger, jealousy, revenge. But with serial killers, it’s different. There’s often something that goes beyond impulse.”

He paced back and forth along the front row, hands tucked loosely into his trouser pockets as he let the words linger. Then, turning back to the screen behind him which held his slides, courtesy of his PhD student aide, Kenny slipped a hand from his pocket to ruffle back a stray hair and Aaron swore everyone could see the pounding hearts in his eyes as he tilted his neck, staring at Kenny as if he was some lovesick teenager .

Fuck, he’s sexy a f.

All right, a lovesick twenty-year-old.

“Some killers act out of a need for power and control. Others are driven by a psychological urge that they can’t fully explain themselves. Then there are those who kill not for revenge or gratification, but to create a sense of intimacy they can’t find elsewhere. Does anyone know of a case where a killer’s motive might be tied to intimacy?”

The silence in the room deepened, his question pressing on them.

Aaron raised his hand.

So did several others.

Kenny chose someone else, as Aaron knew he would. “Roberts?”

“Dennis Nilsen.”

Kenny inhaled. “Yes. Well done.”

I’m proud of you. Aaron clenched his jaw. He wanted the praise. The recognition. The Good Boy .

“A man whose loneliness drove him to murder. Unable to form true connections, instead Nilson created them in death, using murder as a twisted way of ensuring no one left him. A relationship of sorts, preserved in his mind.”

Only Kenny could make these twisted motives sound so clinical, so fascinating. He knew, better than anyone, that there was a fine line between control and obsession. A line Kenny might struggle with himself. And he knew all about the preservation of relationships in the mind.

“In some cases, it’s not only about intimacy, but about making the act of murder symbolic. These killers want to imprint themselves, their twisted beliefs or grievances, onto someone else. They want to be remembered, if only in darkness. For example, we’ve seen killers use unique methods. Poison, certain injuries, even staging the body in particular ways.”

Mel nudged Aaron again. “You think he knows about Connie?” She angled her head to Kenny. “Another death on campus?”

Aaron didn’t want to think about it. It hadn’t even been a year since the last one. And he was still reeling in the aftermath of it.

Kenny’s voice drew him back. “Some killers use deception and manipulation to distance themselves from their crimes. They lure victims with trust, disguising their intentions until the very last moment. Imagine someone slipping poison into a drink, or transferring a lethal substance through something as innocent as a touch. Would we suspect such an act to be the kiss of death?”

Kenny’s gaze swept across the room, the intensity in his eyes making Aaron’s heart pound. It was the use of the word ‘kiss’.

“Kiss me.”

“I can’t, baby.”

“When we discuss these motives, it’s not just to understand the mind of the killer. It’s remembering that danger doesn’t always look like danger. Sometimes, it comes as a smile, a touch. Sometimes, the deadliest encounters are the ones that feel the most…ordinary.”

The lecture hall was silent, captivated by Kenny’s words, and Aaron forgot to take notes. He probably didn’t need them. He’d lived this stuff. Then a hand shot up from the front row and Aaron hovered his pen over his pad with intrigue.

“Questions are for seminar,” Kenny said, clutching his remote clicker. “But go on.”

“Will you be discussing the Howell case today? I read your book and I’m fascinated.”

Kenny froze. So did Aaron. Eventually, Kenny sorted himself out and pointed his clicker at the screen to move along with his presentation. “I will draw on it, but you’ll dissect that case fully in the seminar.”

Then off he went again. This time avoiding questions. Avoiding Aaron and avoiding discussing what was probably the biggest case of serial killers of modern time. He then closed the lecture after the hour and the class packed up, shuffling out of their rows to grab a coffee before heading off to the group sessions.

Aaron took his time, watching Kenny at the front take a seat at the desk, switching off the big screen to work through his laptop.

“I’m going for a smoke,” Mel said. “You coming?”

“Uh. No. I’ll see you in class.”

She was as shocked as he was, but eventually she shrugged and left, leaving Aaron the last one in there. For a long, charged moment, Kenny stayed absorbed in his laptop, the glow from the screen casting him in ghostly light. Silence settled, thick and stretching, as the doors all stopped clanging and footsteps from outside faded. Only then did Kenny peer up over his laptop, expression shifting on realising he wasn’t alone.

Aaron smiled. Sweetly .

Kenny hovered his fingers over the keyboard, then fell back in his chair. He didn’t say a word, but his stare was heavy, laced with all the unsaid things twisting between them, tight and unresolved. Across the empty lecture hall, with rows of seats and unspoken history separating them, Aaron dared him to break the stalemate first. He did. He glanced down at his watch, arching an eyebrow as if suggesting Aaron was out of place, that he had somewhere he should be.

Aaron snorted. “Fifteen minutes, doc. I got fifteen minutes.”

“Isn’t there a better use of your fifteen minutes than staring at me?”

“No.” Aaron stood, seat thudding back, then shimmied out of the back row, making his way down the side steps to the front of the lecture hall, Kenny’s gaze never leaving his. “Unless you’re encouraging the smoking now?”

“No. Very much not. Those things will—”

“Kill me.” Aaron approached his desk, clutching the strap of his bag. “We both know that ain’t true.”

“No? What will?”

“This.” Aaron inhaled, chest rising. “Not talking to you.”

“ Aaron …”

“Look, I just came to tell you that Dr Riley said she can’t do the next couple of weeks. She’s off for some conference thing. She’s given me homework, though.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “Swear you lot don’t want me to have any social life.”

Kenny rotated a classy silver fountain pen between his two fingers. “What’s the homework?”

“Would you believe I have to write down how I’m feeling? Put them into neat little columns. Find triggers and patterns.”

“Sensible.”

“Yeah. So far, I’ve discovered I have an aversion to my new first year neighbour’s grime choices. Get eye twitches and everything. Kids these days, eh? No one likes the classics anymore. What’s wrong with a bit of Dusty Springfield now and then, eh?”

Kenny tried to hide his smile, but Aaron knew it was there. Beneath the guarded layers he’d built up.

“So, yeah,” Aaron said, avoiding his heart telling him to jump in Kenny’s lap and not take no for an answer. “Just wanted you to know I’m not dodging the therapy. I’ll restart in November. Via bus.”

Kenny nodded, the hexagon pattern of the spinning pen catching the lights above. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome.” Aaron went to move toward the door. “And nice sidestep, by the way. The Howells? You’re gonna have to talk about it when I’m in here. It’s the reason I’m here, after all. Don’t omit it on my behalf.”

Kenny threw the pen on the desk, then rubbed his forehead. “Noted.”

Aaron turned to leave, but Kenny prevented him this time.

“How was your birthday? ”

Aaron twisted back. “Shit.” He smiled. “Like your holiday.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m having a party thrown in my honour at the weekend. But I guess it won’t match up to last year’s.”

It looked as though Kenny might say something, but the doors to the side swung open and in popped Kenny’s PhD student. “Dr Lyons?”

“Yes, Vinnie?”

“The police are here to see you.”

He obviously didn’t see Aaron from where he was, because he admitted DI Jack Bentley right inside. The suited blond Detective Inspector smiled at Kenny first, like he would an old friend—an old lover —then flinched with surprise at Aaron.

Kenny clambered out of his seat. “Jack?”

“Ke—Dr Lyons.” Jack nodded in greeting at Aaron. “Aaron.”

“Detective.” Aaron held up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t do it.”

“Ha. Yeah.” Jack tutted. “We’ll see about that. Have I interrupted something?”

“No,” Kenny threw out. “Just finished my lecture. Aaron here has his seminar now.”

“I do. Then I’ll be pole dancing in the corridor to draft the freshers into our club.” Aaron nodded to Jack. “You should hang around, DI Bentley. Reckon that’s right up your street. Fancy having a go? Bet you’d look sexy as fuck upside down.” Aaron rubbed his own nipples over his hoodie then stuck his tongue out with a suggestive wink.

Jack didn’t respond. He just looked at Kenny, who was stifling a laugh behind a balled fist. Aaron left them both to it with a smidgen of gratification lifting the corners of his mouth.