Twenty-Two
Wes
There are glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars on the ceiling of Devon’s study. If that’s not the most random thing I’ve ever come across, I don’t know what is.
I’m not entirely sure what possessed me to come in here earlier.
I was on my way back from the loo when I noticed the door to this room was ajar and, what can I say?
Curiosity got the best of me. So now I’m stretched out on the office settee, still completely starkers but relatively comfortable with a thick throw blanket covering me and the central air blowing warmth down from the ducts in the ceiling.
I should definitely get back to bed and warm myself up in a far sexier manner, but if I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that Devon does not appreciate being woken early on the weekends.
And as fun as it is to make him mad, I’d like to avoid any more kicks to the shin if I can help it.
I must doze off, because it feels like barely any time has passed before I hear his husky morning voice speaking from the doorway. “I thought you’d left. What are you doing in here?”
I crack my eyes open, once again seeing the ceiling covered in stars. The glow isn’t as bright anymore now that daylight is creeping through the cracks in the closed blind. “Just looking up at the stars. Bold design choice, but I think it works.”
Devon lets out a little breath of laughter and steps into the room, coming to sit on the floor beside the couch.
“Thanks, but I can’t take the credit. This was here when I moved in.
The couple I bought the place from had a little girl who died from brain cancer not long before they sold the place,” he says solemnly.
“I just didn’t have the heart to take them down. ”
My breath leaves me in a sudden whoosh . “Shit. That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. I know it’s pretty silly to keep them. I mean, I didn’t even know her.”
“It’s not silly,” I assure him. I can’t tell him it’s basically the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. No way am I admitting that to Devon Montgomery. Instead, I opt to change the subject. “Why on earth would you think I’d gone home?”
“Well, you weren’t in bed, or in the kitchen, or in the bathroom,” he reasons. “Of course, I should have known I’d find you sleeping naked on the settee in my office.”
“I’ve been discovered sleeping naked in weirder places.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Devon says wryly.
I roll onto my side, getting my first good look at Devon since he entered the room. I let out a harsh gasp when I see what he’s wearing—it’s my red Freddie Mercury t-shirt, which I wore over here last night. “ Thief!”
He just shrugs and offers me a wry smile. “You weren’t wearing it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I suppose this means I get to wear anything of yours that you’re not wearing then?”
His brows creep up in consideration. “I suppose…”
“Excellent.” I throw the blanket off and climb up from the settee, striding naked from the study and into Devon’s bedroom. I make a beeline for his walk-in wardrobe t and select a pair of his uber-soft jogging bottoms, tugging them on.
I’m about to open his t-shirt drawer when I decide to mess with him a little, instead choosing the thin drawer at the top that runs twice the length of the ones below it.
I open it to reveal an array of at least thirty luxury watches, each one pristine and gleaming.
There’s also a smaller collection of leather, gold, and platinum bands displayed in a separate partition.
Reaching out, I select a vintage Tag Heuer with a black leather band, bringing it closer to better examine the face.
“Uh…when I said anything, I didn’t really mean—”
As adorable as his sudden panic is, I decide to put him out of his misery. Setting the watch back in its place, I let out a soft chuckle. “You can relax. I don’t need to walk around with twenty thousand pounds strapped to my wrist to compensate for something.”
Devon arches an eyebrow at me. “And you think I do?”
I cast a meaningful glance at his crotch. “Not anymore. Which begs the question—why do you have all of these?”
“Because I like them,” he says simply. “And I’m fortunate enough to be in a position where I can afford them.”
“But why so many?” I ask curiously. “Surely one is enough? Or maybe two…”
He offers a wry smirk as his eyes travel up and down my body. “A lot of people would say the same about your tattoos and piercings.”
I scoff. “My ink and piercings didn’t cost me hundreds of thousands of pounds.”
He nods. “True. But as sexy as they are, they’re never going to go up in value.
My watch collection will.” He reaches out and selects a Rolex from the drawer, eyeing it reverently as he runs his thumb over the platinum links of the band.
“This one’s already worth double what I bought it for ten years ago. ”
I stare at him, stunned. “You’re shitting me.”
He lets out a soft chuckle and sets the watch back in the drawer. “Nope. Some people invest in the share market, or in property, or vintage cars. I have my watches.”
“Why the fuck aren’t they under glass, with a lock and a laser beam security system?”
“Convenience. I wear them every day so a fancy security system would be a ridiculous hassle,” he explains with a shrug. “Besides, they’re all insured.”
I shake my head as I close the drawer with the watches, still a little bemused.
I bend down and open the bottom drawer, finding a stack of neatly folded t-shirts. I select the first one from the pile, and when I unfold it, I’m shocked to see it’s another one of mine—the Kaiser Chiefs one I’d been wearing the night we first hooked up. “Have you stolen all of my t-shirts?”
Devon just shrugs, looking all innocent. “You left it here. Completely fair game.”
“Uh huh.” I tug the t-shirt over my head and exit Devon’s closet. “I’m on to you Mr. Sticky Fingers.”
“What are you doing?” Devon asks, peering up at me with sleepy eyes.
It’s Sunday morning and we once again spent the night at Devon’s.
We seem to have gotten into a bit of a routine, spending most weeknights at my place and the weekends at Devon’s.
It makes perfect sense; my flat is close to work for both of us, and his place has a massive TV and a fridge and pantry that is way better stocked than mine.
“Drawing you like one of my French girls,” I say with a quirk of my lips. I adjust the pillow behind my back and grip my digital sketchbook tighter to prevent it from slipping off my knee.
Devon lets out a loud chuckle, his whole face lighting up with a broad grin. “Can I see?”
I shrug and tilt my sketchpad so he can see what I’ve drawn so far, which is basically just his arse and upper thighs.
“Nice. I like how you’re really focusing in on my best feature.”
I smirk. “Well, I’d draw your head, but I don’t have a canvas big enough.”
He reaches out to shove playfully at my shoulder. “Arsehole.”
“Lie still and let me finish.”
“That’s what he said,” Devon mumbles, prompting me to let out a sputtering laugh.
He nevertheless settles back onto his stomach, his chin propped on his hands as he stares up at me with a pouty face. With his hair all messy from sleep and the flush to his cheeks I can already tell this sketch is going to be amazing.
“How come you decided to do tattoos?” Devon murmurs after a while. “Why not some other kind of art?”
A couple of months ago I would have bristled at a question like this, assuming he was looking down on my chosen profession; now I know he’s simply asking out of curiosity. “It started off as a freelancing job in uni,” I tell him. “You remember my friend Adam, from the pub in Limehouse?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, his uncle—Larry—used to own my shop. I was looking for work and he liked my art, so I started doing some casual design work for him. By the time I finished uni I’d become pretty obsessed with tattoo art, so I asked to apprentice with him.”
“How did you end up owning the business?”
“About five years ago Larry retired and went to live in Portsea. I bought the business and moved into the apartment.”
We’re quiet for a little while after that, until I finish up the sketch and turn the tablet around so I can show it to him. “Here you go.”
“Wow. You’re really talented, Wes,” he says with a soft smile.
“Well, it helps to have such a beautiful subject.” My mouth curves into a smirk as I reach over to run my hand over Devon’s backside. “And this arse…it’s spectacular.”
He starts to roll over, but I don’t let him, holding him firmly in place as I move my body closer, dropping kisses over his creamy skin.
“Wes…”
I run my lips down his lower back and over his arse. I’m just about to get to my true destination when Devon’s stomach gives a rumble that could rival a train pulling into a tube station.
“Okay, we definitely need to do something about that,” I say, drawing away from him. “Can’t have you starving.”
“We can eat later,” he all but whines.
I grin. “Love your enthusiasm, but you’re going to need some sustenance, babe. Trust me—I’ve got big plans.”
He rolls onto his back with a huff of resignation. “Fine, but can you bring sustenance here? I’m knackered.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Fuck, you’re lazy on the weekends.” I don’t argue, however; the sooner we eat, the sooner we can do…other things. So, I simply bound out of bed and make my way downstairs, figuring some bananas and a juice box will tide us over for the time being.
“Argh! Oh my god!”
“What the fuck?” I let out an incredibly unmanly yelp at the sound of the unexpected yet somewhat familiar female voice.
Glancing around, I quickly realise that Devon’s sister, Kira, is standing in the kitchen, her head turned away from me, her face screwed up, and her arm outstretched, no doubt attempting to block my junk from her view.
I quickly grab the closest thing I can find—the fruit bowl sitting at the end of the kitchen island—and cover myself up.
“Hey, Devon!” I call up the stairs. “Can you toss down some joggers or something—your sister’s here.”