Page 34 of Beautifully Devoted

“Now I think it’s something we both want to try.”

Cam traps his lips between his teeth, which seems fuller when he finally releases them. “ Are you asking… So you were giving me sex eyes in the shower last week, you sly fuck,” he accuses.

“You were looking at my ass.”

“Technically I was looking at your back. Your ass just happened to be where all those suds were falling to.”

“Mmm.” I smirk, not willing to say anything more just yet. It’s a good sign that he hasn’t said I’m crazy, right?

“What are you suggesting here?” Cam rubs his palms along his thighs, those chocolate eyes of his broadcasting a mix of wariness and wonder from beneath the hair that’s trying so hard to hide them.

“I don’t know, Camelot,” I tell him honestly, since my head is a confusing jumble of thoughts that range from this makes perfect sense to what the fuck is wrong with me? “Maybe I’m suggesting I have some questions that need answered.”

“And you think I can help with that?”

“I think you’re the only person who can help with that.”

“How?” His swallow is louder than his question.

He’s still not objecting, so…

“Show me your dick.” I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll do, letting it out by degrees when he does nothing, literally nothing, and the stillness in the room becomes excruciating. Seconds turn into minutes, then turn into… a lot of minutes as I wait for him to do something—anything—to prove he’s not stroking out behind that astonished gaze.

Did I break him, or…?

Slowly—and I mean sloths move faster slow—Cam uncrosses his ankles and unzips his pants. The fingers I know as well as my own reach inside, and even though I can’t see anything but the back of his fist, my mouth waters as I lean forward in my chair.

The sun-kissed skin of Cam’s hand slides up and down his shaft once…twice…and comes to rest next to his thigh, giving me a clear view of the long, thick wood standing proudly between his legs. And by standing proudly, I mean the damn thing must be pushing eight inches, all of them reaching for the sky like a good little soldier standing at attention.

Fuck me, that’s hot.

Hotter than any of the ones I’ve seen during my prostate research, which could be thin, or overly thick, or even curved. Cam’s is the perfect length and girth for his body, with a nice pink, cut crown.

I tighten my grip on the arm of the chair so I’m not tempted to take things too far by touching it.

“Good?” Cam rasps.

Too astounded to speak, I lick my lips as I bob my head methodically.

“I need words, Kitcat,” he grits, his tongue gliding over the sharp edges of his teeth.

“Take your shirt off.” I’ve never been shy. I’ve never been unsure, that is, until now. I can’t hide the waver in my voice if I tried.

Still, it’s safe to say those aren’t the words Cam was expecting since he hesitates a few seconds before whipping his shirt over his head, revealing the abs I helped sculpt, which make a stunning background for his engorged cock. Especially the transverse abdominus, which is so well defined it’s like an arrow pointing the direction to treasure.

Fuck, I just labeled my best friend’s dick as treasure. Well, it does sorta feel like there should be a light coming down from heaven or a choir singing to mark this occasion. Something beyond my cock’s attempt to give his a standing ovation.

Cam must see, or sense, the activity behind my zipper since he mumbles, “Your turn.”

I’ve never been shy about my body—I’m pretty fucking proud of it under most circumstances—but since reciprocating will leave no doubt as to the question of whether I like dicks, Cam’s dick in particular, it takes me a second to get my arms to move.

Once I peel them off the arm of the chair, I tug my shirt off and unzip my pants, pulling out my cock, which stands tall without any encouragement from my hand. Not even the cool air in the room has the power to make it wilt, my swollen, red tip so full of desire it threatens to break free of my foreskin.

Mirroring Cam, I hold my arms at my sides to give him an unobstructed view of my length, which twitches slightly under his hooded gaze.

“Now what?” he asks with an uncharacteristically scratchy voice. “Do we just sit here and stare at each other?”

“You don’t like the view?”

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