Page 9 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

chapter eigh t

Stay With Me

Kenny spent Saturday tending to Aaron’s every need.

He couldn’t help it. Everything that had happened, everything Aaron had told him, confided in him, had Kenny surrendering to his compulsion to care for him. Would he be doing this for any of his other students if the same had happened to them? No. Of course not. He wouldn’t have run them a bath, adding scented oils to soothe and calm, and whilst they bathed, washed their underwear, and ironed their clothes, laying out other things he could choose to wear if they wanted to be more comfortable than in the tight ripped jeans and fitted shirt they’d worn to party in. He wouldn’t have ordered them dinner. Wouldn’t have sat on the sofa with them digging into takeaway Thai food, allowing them to rest their head on his shoulder while scanning through mindless TV, watching them slowly drift off while Kenny dared not move, dared not disrupt the fragile peace.

But this was Aaron.

Aaron was different.

And Kenny did all of that and let him sleep in his bed. No kicking him to the spare room this time. Those walls, actual and metaphorical, never really worked to keep him at bay, anyway. And now Kenny wanted him next to him. Needed him there. Wanted him to stay with him, curled up beside him, nothing but underwear now their only barrier.

It was too intimate.

Too dangerous.

Too addictive .

But he justified it as temporary. Necessary for Aaron’s recovery. Telling himself that come Sunday, when Aaron was better, he’d take him back to his room and rebuild the boundaries he kept recklessly tearing down. Not for any professional reasons—those lines had long since blurred, if they had ever been there at all. But to protect his own heart.

Though Sunday came, and those boundaries dissolved further with every passing hour.

Because after breakfast and after Aaron had called in sick to his campus shop job, he was back wearing Kenny’s old joggers and tee and padding barefoot over to the piano in the dining room. Kenny had to halt his clearing up when soft, tentative notes drifted through the house as he was, once again, given a stark reminder of the anomaly that was Aaron Jones. The way he played his mother’s old piano, not taunting this time, nor just tinkering, but playing , soulful, gifted, made Kenny stop in his tracks to watch Aaron’s fingers gliding over the keys with hypnotic precision. Kenny didn’t move, didn’t breathe , just watched Aaron disappear into the depths of his soul, and the melody carried a naivety with it. An ache. Because it was good.

If Aaron had a different life, brought up and surrounded by love and affection, if he’d had people to nurture him and this talent, he wouldn’t be scraping the barrel, trying to survive. He’d be remarkable .

Kenny realised right then that to him, he already was.

Oblivious to his audience, Aaron transitioned from a classic into something more modern and it took a while for Kenny to grasp what it was, but when he did, his eyes pinched. Stay With Me by Sam Smith. Beautiful. Heartfelt. So damn tragic . And Aaron seemed to dive into the music, body fluid with the melody, and when he stopped, allowing the last note to fade and die, it was as though he startled himself with the silence.

“You play beautifully,” Kenny said.

Aaron tucked his hands between his legs. A sheepish shrug, modest and almost embarrassed. “It’s muscle memory.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s talent.”

Aaron smiled bashfully, as if he’d never had a compliment like it before. Then he glanced down, the sudden realisation of how he’d received that talent reminding him who he was and what he could never escape. Either of them. So he tapped a few random keys. “Needs tuning.”

“Can you do that?”

“No. Surely you’ll know someone from the uni who can?”

“Maybe. I sort of like it out of tune, though.”

Aaron furrowed his brow.

“Reminds me of Jessica. My sister. Mum taught her. She was on her grade six when she…” He didn’t finish that sentence. “She wasn’t as good as you, though.”

Aaron smiled, but the moment had to end there with Kenny returning to his obsessive cleaning, having had to cancel the usual agency he paid to do that for him while Aaron was here, and Aaron locked himself in the bathroom for a while, the power shower whooshing into life. But the day went on much like that. Easy. Comfortable. With Kenny ordering groceries online for delivery, so they could both tackle a roast together while Aaron put the old jukebox in the corner on shuffle, peeling vegetables whilst humming to old sixties and seventies classics from Kenny’s eclectic mix. Kenny couldn’t fathom how Aaron knew them. But his gentle swaying, tiny dancing, with a wink and a smile, had Kenny almost falling to his knees.

What started as an attraction based on lust had merged effortlessly into this. And Kenny couldn’t stop it. He’d said before, if he let Aaron back into this house, he might not let him leave.

He didn’t want him to.

Which was why, by the time Sunday evening arrived with darkness creeping in through the windows, Kenny still hadn’t suggested taking Aaron back to campus. Instead, they once again found themselves sprawled in the living room, Aaron stretched out across the sofa, legs draped over Kenny’s lap as Kenny balanced his laptop on the armrest and spread out the notes from Jack’s file on the floor, over Aaron’s legs, and the coffee table while Aaron half-watched a quiz show, shouting the answers with smug confidence.

“ Florence !” Aaron gestured to the TV, the University Challenge host having asked Oxford’s finest which Italian city is home to the Uffizi Gallery, one of the most famous art museums in the world. “Seriously, fucking hell. Even I know that, and I don’t do art. This numpty’s reading art history !” He poshed up his voice to deliver the last line.

Kenny peeked up from the headache inducing notes of Connie Bishop’s last moments alive and drank in the way Aaron squished his face into the cushion, eyes on the television, platinum blond hair tufty from the lack of products he usually used and how it caught the dim glow of the tall lamp behind him, making him almost angelic. Beautiful . Kenny’s heart ached. This . This was what he wanted. Quiet closeness. A sense of belonging. This normality .

But he couldn’t have it with Aaron.

“You ever been to Florence?” Aaron wiggled his bare toes to snap Kenny from his trance, the paper transcript of Connie’s friend’s interview falling to the floor.

He grabbed the pages, then clenched his hand around Aaron’s foot to stop him waggling it. “Yes.”

“Ow.” Aaron ripped his leg away, then dumped it back on Kenny’s lap. “Yeah? When? ”

“Long time ago.” Kenny tucked his glasses back up his nose to scroll through the toxicology report Chong had emailed him on his laptop.

“With whom?” Aaron tucked a hand behind his head, eyes wide with that faux innocence Kenny could see right through.

“Jack.”

Aaron scrunched up his nose. “DI Bellend?”

Kenny ignored him to return to his notes.

“Can’t imagine what that stiff’s like between the sheets.” Aaron wiggled his bare toes again. Desperate for a reaction. Probably wanting Kenny to touch him again. So he didn’t. “What’s he like? Does he have to read you your rights before he lets you come?”

Kenny slipped off his glasses, pointing one arm at the bookcase in the corner. “See that book over there? Bottom shelf. Big one. Yay thick.” He gestured the thickness of the textbook with his hands. “Blue.”

Aaron squinted. “Handbook of Psychology?”

“Yes. Forensic Psychology volume eleven.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you fetch it?”

Aaron sighed, then lifted his legs and rolled off the sofa. “Don’t know your own stuff yet, doc?” He bent down to scrape the book out from the shelf then came back, holding it out for Kenny.

“Now sit down and read it.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. But he twisted and fell down to the floor by Kenny’s legs, opening the book, ankle crossed over the other, and, strangely, did what he was told. Kenny put his glasses back on, resuming his notes and the comfortable silence for a while, where only the occasional scrape of turning pages filtered over the television.

Until Aaron broke it. “What was it?”

Kenny hefted out a sigh. “What was what? ”

“Between you and the detective? Fuck buddies? Passing fling? A relationship ?”

Kenny sloped forward, wrapping a hand around the back of Aaron’s neck, and squeezed. Not enough to hurt. Not enough to bruise. Just enough for Aaron to get the message.

“All right.” Aaron flipped another page on his lap. “I get it. You keep your private life private.”

“Good job, eh?” Kenny arched an eyebrow and Aaron peered back to catch the potency of the statement.

Aaron returned to his book, and Kenny kept his hand where it was, gripping the back of Aaron’s neck. Passing it off as him keeping Aaron in check from asking questions he didn’t want the answers to, but really, he couldn’t find the strength to let go. Why? Because he was weak. An addict.

So after a while, he didn’t just grip Aaron, he stroked him. Massaged him. Caressed slow, languid trails up and down the nape of his neck and Aaron froze, the tension in his shoulders exposing his reaction to his touch. But, gradually, he softened, leaning into him as if he couldn’t resist either. The way Kenny knew he would, and hated himself for having to prove it. Then, when Aaron dipped sideways, resting his head on Kenny’s knee, Kenny felt the faint shiver running through him.

Kenny shouldn’t have kept going. He’d proved his point. To himself and to Aaron. But he couldn’t stop, and so he let his fingers explore, stroking softly, brushing the back of his hand along Aaron’s warm skin, no longer testing his reaction but revelling in it. Because Aaron melted. Relinquished. Surrendered to him by tilting further into him, a quiet hum escaping his throat, a sound so wrenching it shot through Kenny to make his heart pound. And when Kenny grazed his fingertips along the fine hairs at the base of Aaron’s skull, Aaron all but purred. Those enticing small vibrations travelled through Kenny’s leg, igniting a primal instinct he thought he’d replaced with something else .

The mundane.

A life he didn’t want.

Aaron suddenly sprang up, the book hitting the floor with a thud, and Kenny lifted his startled gaze to him, gut sinking that Aaron was calling an end to his reckless teasing. Instead, though, Aaron stripped off his top, lean, pale torso exposed, and climbed onto Kenny’s lap, straddling him. Kenny’s laptop crashed onto the carpet but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it as Aaron clasped both hands around Kenny’s neck, face inches away and growled, rough and desperate, “Kiss me.”

“You know I can’t, baby.”

Not because he didn’t want to, but because when he did, this game of cat and mouse would end. And he didn’t want it to. He never wanted Aaron to stop chasing him.

“Then touch me. If you won’t fucking kiss me, just fucking touch me.”

Kenny’s already paper-thin resolve shattered completely then. Aaron was there—half-naked, burning with intent, skin glowing under the soft lamplight, nipples hardened, and the faint glint of his barbell pierced into Kenny’s craving. He was impossibly close, all raw edges and fierce beauty, and Kenny couldn’t resist. He moved his hands on instinct, gliding them up Aaron’s sides, firm, almost rough, before easing into a deliberate, agonising rhythm that had Aaron arching into him, a guttural groan spilling from his lips. It was so primal it shot straight through Kenny’s chest like a stab to the heart. And when Aaron shifted closer, grinding down, gasping and trembling, just enough for Kenny to glide his hands to his back, tracing his fingertips along Aaron’s spine, Kenny wasn’t sure he could ever let this go. Let Aaron go. Every muscle, every curve, every sharp breath Aaron took was intoxicating.

A high Kenny craved more than any of his other fleeting addictions .

“Like that?” Kenny barely recognised his own voice, hoarse and rough.

“Yeah.” Aaron gripped Kenny’s neck and buried his face in his beard, as though wanting the roughness to rasp his skin, ghosting his lips dangerously close to Kenny’s jugular. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Then he tipped back, beautiful lust etched on his face, and Kenny was in a daze, unable to control himself, more so when Aaron dipped his fingers inside Kenny’s collar and, with one fierce yank, split his shirt open. Buttons scattered everywhere and Aaron raked his fingers through the dark hair on his chest, his touch a maddening mix of rough and tender.

“You’re so fucking hot. ” Aaron dripped with a need unbound and he bit the curve of Kenny’s neck. “I could fucking eat you.”

Kenny hissed, fingers finding Aaron’s barbell, and he tweaked it with just enough pressure to make Aaron moan and shudder before he pulled back, tantalisingly close but infuriatingly out of reach, and Aaron bore those blazing blue eyes into his, daring him to cross the line they’d both pretended to uphold.

“Kiss me.” Aaron’s second demand was fiercer.

Still Kenny didn’t.

“Your kisses are toxic anyway,” Aaron panted, lips curling into a wicked, knowing smirk, as if to say he knew Kenny was keeping him at a distance and it was spurring him on.

Aaron could read him as well as Kenny could Aaron.

Then something snapped in Kenny and he held Aaron by his hips, dipping away. “What did you say?”

“I said your kisses are deadly. Poison . I don’t want them.”

Kenny held his gaze. “Liar.”

“Fuck you.”

Kenny tangled his fingers in the back of Aaron’s hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a swift pull, he guided Aaron off his lap, forcing him onto his back on the sofa. Aaron sprawled beneath him, chest heaving, eyes wide, the hypnotic blue darkening with intensity. Not with fear. Not with concern. Lust . And Kenny leaned over him, bracing one hand on the cushion beside Aaron’s head, lips dangerously close to Aaron’s, so close they shared the same unsteady breath. And Aaron stared up at him, trembling, body a live wire beneath Kenny’s weight, relenting to him, his vulnerability and intensity a potent mix ready to explode.

“I will kiss you.” Kenny glided his free hand up Aaron’s torso.

“You’re all talk.”

“When I’m ready to let you destroy my life.” Kenny then sank down beside him and bit around Aaron’s piercing, licking the warm metal of the barbell. And it took all his effort to clamber away from him, but he did and rushed around to gather up the papers spilled on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Aaron asked from his precarious position on the sofa.

Kenny clutched the papers in his hand, Aaron’s voice barely cutting through his racing thoughts. He turned back slowly, mind no longer in the chaos Aaron had caused, but delving somewhere far darker.

“Deadly kisses,” Kenny said, almost to himself.

“What?” Aaron’s smirk faltered, confusion replacing the teasing.

Kenny lowered to his knees, shifting through his hastily gathered notes, flipping through pages of pathology reports and scribbled observations. His pulse quickened, connecting dots he hadn’t seen before. “The toxin. Fuck, the toxin!” He almost laughed. “Quick-acting. No visible entry wound. No needle marks. Ingested somehow. Absorbed…”

Aaron swung his legs off the sofa, sitting upright. “If this is your idea of foreplay, I’m not sure I’m on board with it.”

Kenny turned to Aaron. “It’s this…” He waved the papers. “The case Jack asked me to look over. ”

“And now you’re mentioning your ex. Will Heather pop up too, in a bit? Hat trick?”

“Connie Bishop.”

“The netballer ? That’s what you’ve had your face buried in?”

“Metaphorically.”

“I should hope fucking so.” Aaron dipped to the edge of his seat. “I’m your only dirty little student, thanks very much.”

Kenny shot him a glare, then moved on. “There were other victims. Months apart. Died in similar circumstances. Both reports showed no evidence of how the toxin entered their systems. No struggle, no signs of them fighting back. One girl had an empty stomach. No food or drink ingested. But you said it…” He pointed a finger at Aaron.

Aaron furrowed his brow. “Please don’t say someone else is pinning shit on me again?”

“‘Your kisses are toxic.’” Kenny scrubbed a hand down his face. “What if the toxin wasn’t slipped into drinks or food? What if it transferred…during a kiss ?”

Aaron grimaced. “You’re saying… someone’s going around killing people by kissing them?”

Kenny’s mind spun with possibilities. “It would explain the lack of struggle. If the victims knew the killer. Or if it happened in a moment of perceived intimacy, their guard would be down. A kiss is disarming. It’s vulnerable. You don’t expect death to come from something so… intimate. Or quick.”

Aaron shivered, folding his arms. “That’s fucked up.”

“It’s methodical,” Kenny said, almost to himself again, and he stood, shirt flapping as he paced the floor. “The killer has to be meticulous. They would need a precise knowledge of the toxin—how much to apply, how quickly it acts. They’d have to be confident. Practiced. They would have tested this in several ways, finding one that worked for what they wanted. This isn’t impulsive. ”

“So what? This person just… kisses them and walks away, leaving them to die? Isn’t that sort of against the point?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, when you get roofied, it’s because someone wants you pliable. So they can do shit to you. But, what, none of them had anything physical done to them? Do you think maybe they’re an oversight? Ones that got away? Maybe he made them too pliable? Didn’t mean to kill them.”

Kenny paused mid-stride, turning to face Aaron with a sharpness that made Aaron straighten in his seat. His shirt billowed as he stopped, his pacing creating a restless energy in the room. Aaron’s words hung heavy, forcing Kenny to reassess the killer’s motive and method.

“That’s a good point.” Kenny waggled a finger at him. “If we consider this killer’s actions as methodical—and they are—it’s unlikely these deaths were accidental. But…” He furrowed his brow as he scrutinised the pieces over in his mind. “If we entertain the possibility that they were testing the toxin—finding the right dose, or learning the limits of its application—then maybe these victims were part of the learning curve.”

“You saying these girls were experiments ?”

Kenny nodded, the gravity of the thought pulling him deeper into his hypothesis. “The killer is refining their process. The victims weren’t necessarily ‘oversights’ as much as they were steps toward perfecting the kill. They wanted to ensure the toxin worked efficiently and without leaving physical evidence. The kiss is just a vehicle for delivery.”

Aaron scoffed, leaning back, his expression a mix of disbelief and disdain. “But why stop there? If it’s not about sex or control, what’s the point? Why go to all this trouble?”

Kenny turned inward for a moment, considering the killer’s apparent profile. “It’s about power.” He paced again. “Not the physical domination we’d associate with roofies or other drugs meant to incapacitate. This is intellectual power. Emotional control. The act of poisoning through something as intimate as a kiss—it’s calculated. Blurring the line between connection and destruction. It’s not just about killing; it’s about the narrative. The killer leaves their mark in a way that’s invisible but unforgettable.”

“So… the killer’s not impulsive. They’re careful. Practiced. But what kind of person does that?”

Kenny stopped pacing, locking eyes with Aaron. “Someone who sees people as objects in their story. Someone detached, who craves validation not through lawlessness, but precision. They’d likely be someone who blends in. Charming, even. They need proximity to their victims, after all. But they’re also someone who sees intimacy as a weapon, not a connection.”

Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “So they’re not trying to get caught, but they want the power. The recognition. Just not openly.”

“Exactly.” Kenny snapped his fingers. “This isn’t someone who wants to be notorious, at least not yet. Their victims don’t even have the time to acknowledge the killer’s power. So they’re perfecting their craft. Each victim is a step toward their ultimate goal, whatever that might be. They’d be intelligent, detail-oriented, likely with a background in science or pharmacology to understand how to manipulate the toxin.”

“And the kiss? What does that say about them?”

Kenny hesitated, the psychology of the act gnawing at him. “The kiss is personal.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s symbolic. Suggests a yearning for intimacy but a complete inability to handle the vulnerability that comes with it. The killer isn’t just poisoning their victims. They’re corrupting an act associated with affection and intimacy, twisting it into something lethal. It’s a statement, not just an act. A way to control something they might have been denied.”

Aaron’s lips twitched, almost smirking. “Sounds like a virgin. ”

Kenny’s stomach dropped at the suggestion, the chilling accuracy of Aaron’s instinct hitting him hard. “Highly likely. It could be someone who’s never experienced intimacy in the way they desired. Someone rejected, ridiculed, or shamed for it. That kind of psychological scar can fester, turn into something… dangerous.”

Aaron exhaled, slow and long. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“What?”

“This is great foreplay. Watching your mind at work.”

“You sit in my lectures.”

“Yep. At the back so you can’t see my boner. Then I go back to my room and wank off.” Aaron reached for the photo of Connie Bishop, checking it over as Kenny scraped a hand through his hair, working it all out in his head. “So, do they get off on it? On kissing them before death? Being the last to do it?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Kenny said. “It’s about validation. A sense of superiority. They’re playing God. Deciding who lives and who dies, using something as innocent as a kiss to do it. Something most of us take for granted.”

“Speak for yourself. Maybe when the person you want actually gives them, yeah.”

Kenny narrowed his eyes at him. “It’s a warped sense of artistry, of perfection. To them, it’s likely beautiful.”

“But why? What makes someone like that? Don’t killers want to see their victims die? If the killer walks away, what are they getting from it?”

Kenny’s mind sprinted through all the cases he’d ever read, all the victims, all the behaviour analyses he’d studied about people who had lasting problems. “Maybe they don’t walk away. Maybe they watch it play out. Both incidences happened among a crowd. They’re in the crowd. Reclaiming power through their actions, turning something they’ve been denied into a weapon.”

“Think you got this sussed, doc.”

“Not yet.” Kenny sighed. He should have been focusing on this, and not on the beautiful distraction in his home. “This changes everything about how we approach the case. If the killer’s using kisses, we need to identify a pattern. Someone who knew the victims well enough to get that close but stayed under the radar.” He picked up his laptop from the floor, hoping to God it hadn’t been damaged in the fall. “I need to write this report.”

“So…I’ll just wait?”

Kenny glanced down at him, laptop whirring back to life. “You could continue to read that book.” He kicked the thick textbook dumped on the floor.

Aaron snatched it with a theatrical groan. “I don’t think I’ve ever been rejected in favour of a corpse before.”

“Get used to it.”

Aaron’s smirk widened, defiance sparking in his blue eyes. “You saying we’re gonna do this again?”

Kenny stomped around the sofa, laptop clutched in one hand like a shield. “Read the book. I’ll go to my study.”

Aaron fell back to the cushions, flipping open the book as if it weighed a tonne. But before Kenny stormed out entirely, he stopped. Turned back. Then, holding the laptop precariously in one hand, he cupped Aaron’s chin. Aaron’s eyes widened. Dilated. And Kenny leaned down, face inches from Aaron’s. “Thank you.”

He then traced his thumb over Aaron’s lips, each touch sending an electric pulse through his hand, down to the thundering rhythm in his chest.

“You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” The raw, unspoken truth in Aaron’s tone twisted the knife already lodged in Kenny’s chest.

Because those lips, soft and inviting, promising everything and nothing, could shatter him completely. They might as well contain poison far deadlier than anything he’d read about in a pathology report. Because surrendering to Aaron’s meant destruction .

So he forced out his reply, “Not yet.”

Aaron’s eyes were a tempest of defiance, daring and dangerous and locking onto Kenny’s with an intensity refusing to surrender. Then, with a wicked smirk, he wrapped his fingers around Kenny’s wrist like a silken snare and, without a word, without breaking the charged connection in his gaze, he guided Kenny’s thumb into his mouth.

Kenny’s breath hitched.

Aaron’s warm, wet mouth closed around Kenny’s thumb, maddeningly sweet and dangerously seductive. Because he wasn’t crude with it, or rushed with abandon. Aaron was slow. Purposeful. Achingly tender. And his tongue curling around the pad of Kenny’s thumb burned into his memory, because Aaron wasn’t just touching him, or reminding him of their first encounter when Aaron had stretched that beautifully cruel mouth so effortlessly around his cock, but he was branding him. Owning every inch of Kenny’s willpower with every languid suck.

Kenny couldn’t look away and Aaron’s eyes stayed locked on his, bright with intensity, daring him to resist what they both knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t just a tease. It was a confession. A plea. A promise of what could be if either of them dared to take that final, irrevocable step. And when Kenny finally pulled back, sliding his thumb from Aaron’s lips with a soft, obscene pop, Kenny’s cock inflamed, telling him he wanted in that devilishly beautiful mouth. Now. Ever more so when Aaron flicked his tongue over his tip, an unspoken dare haunting the space between them.

Kenny was losing a battle he swore never to fight and Aaron was carving out the pieces of his soul he wouldn’t ever get back. Because Aaron was the only one who could ever fill them.

Falling back on the sofa, Aaron gazed up at him with a devastating mix of triumph and yearning, and Kenny knew then, with bone-deep certainty that when , not if, but when he kissed him again, he’d give permission for Aaron to destroy his entire life.

“Read the book,” Kenny said. “I’ll see you in bed.”