“Dev, please,” she begged, whining and spreading her legs. With herhand over mine, she pushed my fingers even lower, and together, we touched aplace I could hardly fantasize about.
I gasped at the heat emanating from her body, and withencouragement, I explored her arousal, feeling equal parts inadequate andblessed as hell that I could finally be the one to touch her, to hear her moanmy name. My open mouth hung above hers, my forehead against hers, and myfingers moved lower and lower still.
“What do you want, Kylie?” My voice was rough to my ears,unfamiliar. “Show me what you want me to do to you.”
“Oh God.” Her fingers fluttered over mine, positioned them overthe very source of her warmth, coaxing them inside. “This. I needthis.”
My groan was guttural, responding to the grip her body had around myfingers and my erection strained against the confines of my jeans, wanting sobadly to replace my hand.
With a shuddered moan, one hand coached me, while the other pushedinto my hair, gripping and pulling me back to her lips. She kissed me with anurgent desperation, scraping her teeth along my lower lip, sucking my tongueinto her mouth. The nerves had subsided and were pushed aside to make way forher animalistic need for pleasure and my eager desire to give it to her. Toplease her. To behave as the slave my heart had been to her for years.
And at the bittersweet end, my mouth mimicked the manipulations ofmy hand—thrusting, circling, stroking, teasing—and her hips rose to meet mypalm, until she erupted in a chorus of quivers and groans. Sobs and pulsations.
Elated, I smiled against her lips, my labored breaths matchinghers. I kissed her softly, at least a million times and wished there was timefor a million more. When her orgasmic daze subsided, she smiled. Sighing as shewrapped her arms around my neck.
“How wasthatfor a first kiss?” I asked, grinning withmore confidence than I knew what to do with.
“Fuck, Devin,” she sighed breathlessly, her eyes blinking lazilyas shelooked intomine. “It was everything.”
It really was.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kylie
There are momentsin my life I wish I couldwipe from my memory.
Thefirst time I realized my father had a problem. Walking in on him, snorting aline of coke. The sight of his bloody nose. The razor. The mirror. Hishorrified expression when he saw me, standing in the open doorway of the livingroom.
Themoment I learned he was dead. Never to recover. Never to be a success story.The blacked-out emotional outburst, the shattered glass, the cuts on my hands.Devin,Devin, Devin… Holding me, cleaning my wounds, sweeping my floor.
Butthis … Waking upwithhim for the first time, his sturdy chest againstmy cheek. His rhythmic heartbeat underneath my ear, playing the music of hislife.
Inever wanted to forget this moment. Knowing what it was like to blink myselfawake and see him above me, eyes closed and dreaming. What it was to feel hisarm draped over me, fingers intertwined with mine; afraid to let go, even insleep.
Iwatched him, unsure of if I ever really had. Years of living together, years ofbeing friends, and I wasn’t sure I had ever taken just a moment to watch thesteady rise and fall of his chest or listen to the slow, even breaths he pulledin and out of his lungs. The gentle, almost endearing way he snored throughlips that were just slightly parted.
LipsI had spent the night before kissing and learning.
Ichewed my inner lip at the memory.
Wenever did have sex. But, that delirious,deliciousmoment in which he firstkissed me, something had moved in my soul. Something that needed the utmostintimacy. Something possessive that needed to mark him with my body and myscent. Something that surprised me. I’d never been so bold before, with allthose dull boyfriends I’d had over the years. Guys who couldn’t bring me toorgasm with their hands alone.
Iclosed my eyes, reliving that moment when Devin, overcome by passion, clamberedfrom the floor and onto the couch. Lying over me, grabbing my wrists andpinning them above my head. Pressing his solid erection between my open thighs,hooking my ankles around his waist. Sliding and grinding as his tonguememorized every corner of my mouth, every curve of my throat. Teasing ourselveswith the imitation of something we both wanted but wouldn’t yet initiate—wasit too soon?
Alittle moan escaped my throat, remembering my hand, working between ourwrithing bodies, and grazing the length of his erection with the very tips ofmy fingers before unzipping his jeans. Sliding my hand under the waistband ofhis briefs, I had dragged my curious fingertips over him for the first time,closing my palm around him. Hot and hard, I tightened my grip as he thrust hiships. Assaulting my mouth, bruising my lips, as I returned the favor and broughthim to a climax that left him ragged and shuddering against me.
Andthen I smiled, recalling those powerful after-moments, when he had pressed hisforehead to mine. Holding my face between his hands and whispering my namebetween jagged breaths. Making claims that he would never be with another womanfor as long as he lived, and I believed him.
Itightened my arm around his waist and hooked my leg around his. He’d fallenasleep in his work clothes. Worn, spackle-stained carpenter jeans, a heathergrey t-shirt with his father’s logo. I burrowed my nose against his chest,inhaling his scent of sawdust and woodsy musk, and I sighed with one singlethought invading my sated mind:This is it for me.
“Mm,”he mumbled beneath me.
Iglanced up at him and wondered if I had ever watched him wake up, as his browsknitted together slightly, and his head jerked, before his warm brown eyesslowly opened to quickly glance around the living room. Piecing together thenight before in quick succession, and his hand squeezed around mine.
“Theworld is different today,” was the first thing he said as he glanced down at mewith a smile.
Inodded, returning the smile. “Yeah, it is.”
