Page 65 of Beautifully Devoted

As soon as our lips made contact, I knew I’d opened the door to falling in love with my best friend. The way he kissed me, with need and passion and desire, made me want to ignore all reason and let it happen. Yet part of me was still determined not to give in to temptation since—for all intents and purposes—Jagger still falls into the bi-curious category, and he has a potential NFL future that might be hindered by labeling himself as anything other than straight.

Then he went and said he was kissing me for him, not to prove some point, and he’s been almost brazen about it. Like he wants this to be more.

I’m almost glad we’re at a party instead of at home so I have some time to process before it’s just the two of us.

“We’ve only been here an hour. Finish your beer, then we’ll go. Don’t slam it.” I squeeze his ass in warning, which no one can see since our backs are to the wall as we watch a game of beer pong.

There may be some rumors swirling around about our make-out session earlier this evening—mostly having to do with whether it was real or staged—yet this spot against the wall allows me to keep my hand in the back pocket of his shorts without confirming or denying anything, to myself or anyone else.

Conveniently, having my hand stuffed in there keeps Jagger’s waistband taut, so the boner I know my hand is giving him is trapped against his stomach. And I get to keep a solid grip on his ass which, now that I’ve allowed myself to appreciate it, is exquisite.

Yeah, I said it. Exquisite, since perfect doesn’t quite do it justice.

I take another sip of my beer, a big one that’ll empty my cup sooner rather than later without chugging, and try to keep a level head about everything that’s transpired this evening. It’s virtually impossible though. Turns out sucking your best friend’s dick is way less intimate than sucking his tongue, so if I’m brave enough to be honest, I’m pretty sure that line I was trying to keep between friends who fuck and falling for my best friend is fading fast.

In fact, it’s likely gone altogether.

I’ll probably figure out which it is when we’re alone and get a chance to talk. I’m guessing that’ll come after sex though, because I have a feeling the two of us are way too horned up to do anything other than get naked as soon as we make it home.

I’m actually cool with that. No good can come from a conversation that occurs with a hard dick. It just isn’t possible. Better to fuck all the lust out of our systems before we attempt to figure anything out. If we’re too spent to get sidetracked, we might actually find some answers.

“Done.” Jagger holds out his empty cup, so I finish my drink, let go of his ass, and take both our cups to the trash. Then we navigate through the crowd that parts like the Red Sea, curious eyes searching for clues, until we get out the front door.

“That entire party is speculating about whether we’re actually fucking,” I tell Jagger as we start the walk toward our house.

“You heard Bennet earlier. Even he thought we’ve been doing that all along, so they probably did too.”

“That really doesn’t bother you?” I guess talking before sex is on the agenda since we have at least five more blocks until we’re home.

“When it comes to sex, the only thing that bothers me is people thinking I use it as currency like my old man did. I don’t care if people speculate about who I’m fucking.”

“But you don’t use sex as currency, so no one would ever accuse you of that.” The quiet of the night gets louder the farther we get from the party.

“Maybe not, but a one and done policy doesn’t always leave the best impression, so I’ve always been worried that could come back to haunt me like it did tonight.” We’re quiet for a few blocks before he asks, “Does it bother you that people think we’re fucking? It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I realize now I outed you without permission when I was trying to get out of hooking up with Anna. That was pretty shitty.”

“I didn’t think of it that way,” I assure him, which is true, although he makes a good point. He did out me, in a way, but it wasn’t malicious, and he did it to himself, too. “And I don’t care if people think we’re fucking. I look pretty good in that scenario.”

“What do you mean?” Jagger looks genuinely lost, which is both endearing and comical.

“You’re a ten. I’m a seven at best. People will say I scored while you settled.”

Jagger stops so abruptly I get four steps away before I realize he isn’t next to me. “You okay?”

His normally smooth skin is etched with distress, jaw locked so tight it makes his already angular chin look almost pointy. “You’re not a seven, Camelot. You’re not even a ten. You’re double that. Triple. Hell, you’re more like a hundred.”

“The scale doesn’t go that high.” Jagger’s indignation makes me chuckle. “But it’s all good. I’m totally comfortable being a seven.”

“You aren’t, though. Not to me. To me you’re off the chart.” He closes the four steps between us in two and crushes his mouth to mine, kissing me so long and deep I’d swear every moment in my life up until this one has been lived in a fog, and now it’s clearing. Colors look sharper. The air smells crisper. My heart beats stronger. It all points to one glaring truth. Jagger doesn’t make sex better because he’s a man, he makes it better because he’s Jagger. And I’m not me without him.

“Take me home, Camelot,” he mumbles against my lips. “I need you.” His plea is so sweet and sexy I’m half tempted to pull our dicks out right here and stroke them until we both find release. But I figure one make out video is enough for the day, so I clasp his hand in mine and practically run the last two blocks to our house.

Once inside I pin him to the door as soon as it shuts, rutting my body against his as lips and teeth and tongues collide in a tangle of primal lust.

Hands roam over chests and clutch at asses. Fingers sift through hair. Cocks press against one another as hips piston, straining and searching for relief that we won’t find clothed, but we chase it anyway out of control and incapable of stopping.

Our exploration is rough. Uninhibited. Driven by a hunger I’ve never felt before, one that consists of not just desire but a bone deep need for more.

I’d call it beautiful if it weren’t so feral, but even our urgency reveals a level of passion I’ve never known. One I don’t think I could feel with anyone else.

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