Thirteen #2
“If you’d be pierced here.” He slides his thumb over my Prince Albert, prompting me to let out a sharp hiss.
“I thought you hated my piercings? Last time you saw them you freaked out.”
“Only because I couldn’t stop imagining tugging on them with my teeth. Or sliding my tongue around them.”
Christ. I can’t seem to stop my hips from jutting forward in encouragement. “Well, if you want to slide your tongue around that one, I’m not going to stop you.”
Much to my disappointment, he releases my cock and gets to his feet. The feeling is fleeting, though, as he catches my eye, a look of challenge crossing his face. “I think I’d rather know what it feels like inside me.”
Okay, I’m officially dead. I press forward, walking him back against the wall and caging him there with my body. “Turn the fuck around, then.”
He arches an eyebrow at me but nevertheless accedes to my request, turning around to face the wall.
I retrieve my wallet from my jeans pocket and fish out a packet of lube before putting my wallet away.
Then I get to work prepping Devon’s arse.
I’m tempted to tease and torment him for a while, especially once he starts with all the groaning and pleading while I’m fingering him—honestly, who knew Devon Montgomery would be such a slut for butt play?
—but I’m too eager to get inside him right now.
Ultimately, self-interest wins out and I remove my hand so I can slick up my cock.
Devon lets out a little whimper at the loss of my fingers and I can’t help letting out a soft chuckle. “Aww, it’s sweet that you miss me, but don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
I can see Devon’s face flaming bright red in the reflection of the hallway mirror. “Fuck off,” he growls.
That prompts me to let out a bark of outright laughter.
I have no clue what he has to be embarrassed about.
Who doesn’t like having fingers in their arse?
Making a weak attempt to master my amusement, I put a hand over my heart and offer a pouty look in the mirror.
“Are you sure about that? I thought we were about to have some fun?”
Devon cuts me with a hard glare. “Just hurry the fuck up and put your cock in me, you prick.”
I grin and step closer behind him, positioning my cock at his entrance. “You might want to hold onto something,” I breathe into his ear. “I don’t do gentle.” Without further warning, I push inside, bottoming out in one thrust.
I dig my fingers into Devon’s hips, gripping tight as I fuck him in a hard, relentless rhythm. If he was vocal before, it’s nothing compared to the way he’s responding now, and hearing him moan and cry and beg for me is utterly exhilarating, and only spurs me on more.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve imagined doing this; I’ve imagined him bent over, on all fours, tied up…
you name the fantasy and, trust me, I’ve had it.
It’s a secret that’s been eating away at me for two years now—ever since my sister first brought him around to meet the family—so to say I’m making the most of what will no doubt be a one-off opportunity is an understatement.
I’m savouring every thrust into his tight hole, every grunt and groan he lets out, the way he’s grating out my name as though it’s been drawn from him against his will, the feel of his lean muscles under my fingertips, the taste of his skin as I kiss his neck.
But as much as I want to savour it forever, I finally get to the point where I can’t possibly hold back anymore. My climax rushes through me and all I can do is dig my fingers into Devon’s skin as I come hard into his arse.
“Fuck,” I groan, my breath hot and heavy against his neck.
I rest my forehead against his shoulder for a moment, giving myself a second to come down from the epic high.
“Did you come yet?” I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if he had, but I was so carried away there’s definitely a chance I missed it.
“Almost,” he grates out, and I realise his arm is moving, the implication obvious.
I pull out of him and bat his hand away. “Stop that. That’s mine.”
“Wha—?”
Before he has a chance to get the question out, I shove his body around, so his back is to the wall. And then I’m on my knees, my mouth around his cock.
Devon’s grip on my hair is merciless as I suck him, taking him deep down my throat. He wasn’t lying when he said he was almost there; it barely takes a minute of me swallowing his cock before he’s letting out a loud, strangled groan and coming in a rush down my throat.
I take my time cleaning up every last drop before releasing his cock and getting to my feet, finally taking a second to tuck my cock away and refasten my jeans.
“So…that happened,” he says, sounding completely confused by the whole thing. Hey, join the club mate.
I nod. “Yeah.” I avert my gaze from Devon’s because if I keep staring at him, I’m just going to end up kissing him again and then other stuff is going to happen.
As I glance around, I notice a little entry table that I didn’t see before because I was so busy sticking my tongue down Devon’s throat and my cock up his arse; it’s a small table with a couple of unopened letters sitting on the edge, what looks to be a fake potted orchid, and a silver picture frame.
And in the frame is a photo of Devon and my sister.
And if there was ever an automatic mood-killer, it’s that right there.
I know they’re broken up, and I know now the reasons for the breakup go far deeper than Emma’s decision to take a job abroad.
And I also know now Devon did not handle the breakup in the mature way he presented to our families.
But I have no idea what any of that means.
Why would he be fantasising about me if he were still hung up on Emma?
Why would he keep this picture in the hallway as though they were still a couple but then let me shag his brains out?
And why the hell do I even care? I don’t.
I really, really don’t. This was just a one-time thing.
Fantasy fulfilled. Cross that one off the list.
“Okay, so I’m going to go,” I announce, striding for the front door. I can hear Devon saying something behind me but I ignore him and just keep walking. Better to just split and we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming of hating each other.
It’s not until I’m halfway down the street and feel the cool October breeze on my skin that I realise Devon was probably calling after me to let me know I’d left my t-shirt behind.