Twenty-One
Devon
“I thought you weren’t home until tomorrow?” Wes murmurs sleepily as I creep into his bedroom.
I shrug. “I decided to come home tonight. Managed to get the last train.”
He rolls onto his back, a slow grin stretching across his face. “You missed me.”
I scoff. “I absolutely did not. I missed England. And sleeping in my own bed.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me. “So, the first thing you did was come to my bed?”
“Fuck, you’re annoying.”
He smirks at me. “You keep saying that, but I’m starting to think you don’t really mean it.”
I step back from the bed, feeling Wes’s hungry eyes on me as I undress.
I’m tempted to draw out the striptease and really work him up with my teasing, but the last four days feel like a lifetime and all I want is to have him inside me.
Waiting even a second longer for that just isn’t an option right now.
Once all my clothes are off, I step over to the bedside table and retrieve the bottle of lube Wes keeps there.
I squirt a little onto my fingers and then toss the bottle to Wes so he can slick up his cock.
I don’t take long with the prep; I’m too impatient, and it’s not as though I mind a bit of pain.
Right now, I’m actually relishing the idea.
Maybe the burn might wake me up from whatever haze has taken over my brain lately.
This thing between us is just sex. Great sex, yes, but still… just sex. I shouldn’t have missed him so much over the past four days. I shouldn’t have been mad at Natasha for taking his phone away. And this shouldn’t have been the first place I came to when I stepped off the Eurostar this evening.
“You know you should really lock your door,” I tell him. “I could have been anyone.”
“Actually, I was waiting for a booty call. So don’t be surprised if a guy named Lars interrupts us.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Lars?”
He nods. “Yep. Big Scandinavian bloke. Way hotter than you.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Lars will just have to wait his turn.” I climb onto the bed, pushing Wes down when he starts to move, and throw my leg over his body so I’m straddling his waist. He arches a curious brow at me, which is of course accompanied by his trademark smirk, but I ignore it.
I suppose he has a right to be surprised; I like being fucked and fucked hard, so it’s rare that I take a dominant position like this.
But right now, I want to take the reins for a while.
I grip Wes’s cock and line it up with my entrance, easing down slowly until I’m completely filled. As always, he feels incredible. The dildo I’ve been using for the past few days was definitely a poor understudy.
Wes lets out a long groan as I start to bounce up and down and swivel my hips.
I catch his eye and immediately regret it. He’s staring at me in utter captivation. His grey eyes full of hunger and a wanting I’ve never seen reflected back at me before. And I know this was a mistake. I’m not in control at all. I’m completely at the mercy of that mesmerising gaze.
“What’s wrong?” Wes grinds out when I stop moving, clearly agitated by the pause in proceedings.
“Nothing.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Have you forgotten how to do it?”
I punch him in the chest. “No, arsehole. I haven’t forgotten how to do it.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “Then what?”
“Just…you’re looking at me.”
His brows shoot up at that. “Babe, you’re literally sitting on my cock, displayed right in front of me like a bloody god. How can I not look at you?”
The words fill me with an intoxicating rush of warmth. But that just makes it worse. “Can we just…can we switch?”
He lets out a huff of agitation. “Fuck, you’re annoying. This was your pick, remember?” The question is obviously rhetorical because he doesn’t give me a chance to respond before taking a tight grip of my hips and flipping me onto my back, pushing deep inside me as he looms over me.
I let out a soft groan and allow myself to just enjoy being taken like this. But then I open my eyes to find Wes staring at me again, that same look of captivation, as though he really is in the presence of a god.
“You’re still looking at me.”
He groans in frustration. “I swear to god, Devon, if you don’t shut up and let me fuck you I’ll flip you over and spank you so bloody hard—”
“Okay, okay.” I grab the back of his neck and pull his face down, crushing our lips together.
I know I’m being utterly ridiculous; who wouldn’t like it when their lover looks at them like [?
]? But tonight was supposed to be about proving that the only thing between Wes and me is sex, not about giving myself ideas to the contrary.
I make the decision to shut my brain off and just enjoy what’s happening: Wes deep inside me, his mouth devouring mine, our bodies moving together.
I find myself clinging to him, my legs wrapped around his waist, one hand buried in his hair while the other skims over the flexing muscles of his back.
“ Devon,” he murmurs, scattering kisses over my neck. “ Dev…”
As though coming to some kind of decision, he pauses his movements and lifts his head to look at me again.
Propping himself on one arm, he takes a firm grip of my chin and tilts my face toward him, piercing me with his intense gaze.
“You’re going to come now,” he says matter-of-factly.
“And I’m going to watch you. And if you have a problem with that, I’m just going to take my cock and go finish in the bathroom.
Because if I can’t watch you, you sure as fuck can’t watch me. Got it?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Good. Now grab your dick, babe. Stroke yourself for me.”
I reach down between us and close my hand around my cock, stroking firmly as Wes resumes moving inside me, but with a gentler rhythm this time. His eyes are locked intently with mine, as though daring me to look away; I couldn’t if I wanted to.
“Wes,” I breathe out, a little desperately.
“Get yourself there, babe,” he encourages. “Let me see it. Let me see you.”
As though the words are unlocking something inside me, I feel the orgasm rushing through me and I’m helpless to hold it back. I arch off the bed with a harsh groan as I come hard all over my hands and stomach.
“Beautiful,” Wes murmurs, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come.”
I feel my face flame at the uncharacteristically tender words and gesture; I don’t have much time to be embarrassed, though, because only a moment later Wes has completely switched gears and is pulling out of my arse and clambering to straddle my chest, throbbing cock in hand.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and tugs my head back, his other hand rapidly working his cock, which is poised right at my mouth.
I’m hit with the sensation of whiplash, which, surprisingly enough, actually isn’t an unfamiliar feeling when it comes to sex with Wes; and it’s that sense of familiarity that helps to ease some of the internal tension that’s been building throughout this whole strange, intense encounter.
I try to reach his cock with my mouth, but his grip in my hair is too tight, so I settle for eager anticipation of the coming load. My hands roam his body, a couple of fingers slipping into his crease and teasing the edge of his hole.
“Fuck ,” Wes groans. It’s the only warning I get before he reaches his climax and hot cum is spurting partly into my waiting mouth but mostly over my chin and neck.
“You have terrible aim,” I say wryly, running my fingers through the mess and then slipping them into my mouth.
“You’re making the assumption that I was actually aiming for your mouth,” Wes counters.
I let out a soft chuckle and drag him down for a kiss, ensuring his face ends up just as messy as mine.
“Wait there for a second,” he tells me, before rolling off the bed and striding out of the room.
Before I have a chance to wonder what the hell’s going on, he’s returned with a washcloth and is making a beeline for the bed.
I hold my hand out, expecting him to pass over the washcloth, but he ignores me, instead cleaning the mess from my body himself.
Once he’s finished, Wes tosses the cloth into his laundry hamper and then climbs back into bed, pulling the covers up over both of us.
“Wes? What…?” I stutter out in confusion as Wes reaches behind him to switch off the bedside lamp. Isn’t this the part where I’m supposed to be leaving?
“Just shut up and go to sleep, Devon,” he grumbles, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me against him. “It’s late.”
Confusion gives way to exhaustion. It’s been a bloody long day and the last thing I want right now is to make the trek across London back to my place. Besides, this feels…nice.
“No one’s ever looked at me like that before,” I murmur.
“Like what?” The curiosity in his tone is evident; I can’t even begin to imagine how strange my behaviour must have seemed to him earlier.
I hesitate for a moment, trying to put my thoughts into words. “Like they’ve never wanted anything or anyone more than they wanted me in that moment.”
He’s quiet for a long beat before responding in a soft whisper.
“I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more than I want you.
” I can feel my heart beating in my chest at his admission, and it only thumps harder as he continues, “And I don’t mean just in that moment.
It’s all the fucking time. If that’s something that scares you, I’m sorry but you’ll just have to get over it because I’m completely, utterly addicted to you. ”
“They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem,” I say wryly.
I feel him nod against the back of my neck. “You’re definitely a problem. But I don’t plan on breaking the habit anytime soon.”
I feel a grin spreading across my face. “Thank god.”
“Now go the fuck to sleep, Devon,” he says gruffly, his tone belied by the soft kiss he presses to the back of my neck.
“You cuddled?”
I bring up a hand to rub over my face, mildly mortified to be having this conversation. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
Ryan shrugs. “Just checking. So…it was just the one time? After you got home from Paris?”
I avert my gaze, running a hand through my hair.
“ Devon.”
I wince. “Okay, fine. It’s been every night since.”
“That you’ve cuddled?” Ryan asks again.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“All night?”
“Yes,” I bite out.
“Every night this week?”
“Ryan,” I snap, glaring at my friend.
He holds his palms up to ward off my annoyance. “Just making sure I have the facts right.”
“Well, you do,” I grumble.
We’re interrupted as Lola comes whizzing into the room, making a beeline for Ryan.
She climbs up onto his lap and instantly goes for his phone, expertly navigating the screen until she’s found the video she wants to watch.
I shake my head in amazement; it’s genuinely scary how tech-savvy toddlers are.
“I thought you guys were just—” Ryan glances down at Lola and clearly edits what he was about to say— “ fluffing. What are you doing cuddling every night?”
I let out a weary sigh, lifting one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I don’t know. It just sort of…happened.”
“Well, if you’re uncomfortable with it then just stop doing it,” Ryan says reasonably.
I bite my lip, hesitating for a moment. “That’s…not exactly the issue.”
A look of realisation crosses Ryan’s face, followed by a broad grin. “Ohh…I see. You like it. And that’s freaking you out.”
“Of course it’s freaking me out,” I exclaim, throwing my hands up. “It’s Wes Holt. Why wouldn’t it freak me out?”
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know. You like fluffing him, so it’s not that great a stretch that you’d like cuddling with him.”
I send him an exasperated look. “It’s weird that you keep calling it ‘fluffing.’”
“Well, what am I supposed to call it? ‘The Wild Thing’? ‘How’s Your Father?’”
“Please stop, I beg you.”
Ryan just chuckles. He drops his head to give Lola’s mass of dark curls a kiss. “Hey baby, how about you go watch your video in the playroom?”
Lola peers up from the phone to glance between me and her dad. “Are you talking about grown up things?”
Ryan nods. “Yep.”
“Okay then, Daddy.” With a bright smile, she scoots off Ryan’s lap and bounds from the room, phone in hand.
“I can’t believe you let her use your phone,” I muse. “Don’t you worry she’s going to rack up a bunch of charges making calls to Argentina or something?”
Ryan just shrugs. “I have a pretty extensive phone plan.”
I roll my eyes. Yep, Lola definitely has her father wrapped around her little finger.
“So,” Ryan says, getting back to the topic at hand. “You and Wes are getting all snuggly, huh? Does this mean there might be some feelings involved?”
“No, of course not. Unless you count feelings of loathing.”
Ryan casts me a look filled with so much scepticism it makes me squirm in my seat.
And, okay, maybe he has a point. I’m still not ready to admit that I actually like Wes, but I can definitely allow for the fact that what I’m experiencing with him is different to anything I’ve ever had with anyone before.
I’ve never wanted anyone as desperately as I want him.
I’ve never connected with anyone else on the same physical level as I do with him.
And I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone else.
It’s absolutely mind-boggling to me, because this is Wes Holt.
I hate this guy. There’s no world in which I should feel remotely comfortable in his presence, let alone his bed. And yet…I do.