Page 44 of Beautifully Devoted

Realizing I have the makings of a semi, I cut off that train of thought to focus on the fight.

Cruz fakes left, but Cam doesn’t take the bait. Instead of dodging right into the strike he hangs back to let Cruz commit right, and goes in for a hit of his own, connecting without having to sacrifice a point by making a block.

They trade blows back and forth for another few minutes, and as much as I try to focus on the action, my mind keeps drifting to how hot Cam looks as his muscles tense with the effort of staying primed to pounce.

I shake my head to clear the thought, not because I don’t like it but because I really don’t want to pop a boner right now. I’d never hear the end of it, and worse, I’d have to explain why it’s there. While I can acknowledge to myself that I’m going through something, a phase or evolution or some shit, I’d rather not share that with anyone else until I get through it and understand what it means.

Liam counts down the final seconds as Cruz and Cam both try in vain to get in a last point. Bennet and Liam compare notes, both coming up with the same result. Cam wins by two points.

I rush him and jump up, just like I do on the field, knowing he’ll catch me. He wraps his arm around my waist as I lock my legs around his back, and find his free arm, lifting it over his head in victory. “Winner!” I shout.

“It’s a pillow fight, not a championship game.” Cruz shakes his head at our antics.

“Jesus you two are ridiculous,” Bennet mutters.

“A win’s a win.” I gloat as Cam drops me back to the floor and swats my ass, which he’s done at least a hundred times over the years, though this time I feel it everywhere, not just where his hand hit.

And I don’t think it’s from the memory of what we did so much as the anticipation that we’ll do it again.

Cameron

“Why do they repeat the same names for muscles that are in totally opposite parts of the body?” Jagger tosses his pencil down on my desk with a heavy exhale and rubs his forehead. “I mean, why is it called biceps femoris in the back of your leg when the bicep is in the front of your arm?”

We’re studying for a test on the muscular system in anatomy, and while some of the names are ridiculously long and impossible to pronounce, others aren’t so bad as long as you don’t mix them up. Or dive too deep into their meaning, like my best friend is starting to.

“Maybe they perform a similar function?”

“Like they both pull instead of push?”

“Yeah.”

A tiny crease forms between his brows as he considers that. “Huh, I guess that makes sense. So, where were we? Origin and insertion of the biceps femoris?”

“Do you want the origin for the long head or the short head?”

The corner of Jagger’s lip ticks up in a sly smile, which to be fair would’ve happened even before our little hook up session last week, but now has a charged air to it. “The long head. If you can show me where it is.”

I reach for the printed diagram we’re using as a study guide, but Jagger puts his hand over mine to stop me. “Show me on your body.”

I should’ve seen this coming. We’ve been dancing around what we did in his bedroom for days, never specifically referencing it but trading knowing looks every time dating, dicks, or fucking has come up in conversation, which between our roommates and the rest of the football team is several times daily. Since there were other people around, the knowing looks never amounted to much, but now that it’s just the two of us, it seems Jagger’s ready to push the boundary again.

I’ve been both dreaming and dreading this moment.

Obviously, I’m on board with the idea of having another mind-blowing orgasm, but I also feel like there’s only so many of those I can have with Jagger without it turning into something more on my end. I have no idea if that number is one or five or ten, so every time I consider this it’s a risk. Despite knowing that, my hand drifts toward my sit bones to point out the origin, since my body has determined the risk is worth it before my brain has the wherewithal to stop it.

“And where does it insert?” Jagger’s voice is huskier than it should be, which only makes it easier for my hand to trail down my leg toward my knee as his eyes track the movement with rapt attention.

“Origin and insertion of the rectus femoris,” I join in his game.

Jagger’s hand starts to drift toward his side, but before he makes contact, he changes course and instead drags a fingertip over my hipbone. His touch is slight, but it’s firm enough to leave a trail of goosebumps on my skin as it travels from the front of my hip, over my thigh, ending atop my knee. Predictably, it also makes my cock wake up, which Jagger registers by licking his full, pink lips.

“Adductor longus,” he rasps as he pulls away and leans back in his chair, giving me a brief reprieve from my growing lust that lasts only as long as it takes me to one up him.

“I can’t show you with your clothes on.”

The heat in Jagger’s green eyes makes the temperature in the room rise by at least five degrees, and I have to hold my breath to keep from groaning aloud as he stands. With a swift motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing that fucking delicious torso, before tugging his athletic shorts so low that I get a full view of the V leading between his legs.

Since there’s a liner in his shorts, he doesn’t have any underwear to take off, and with the waistband slipped down to mid-thigh, his rigid cock pops up and smacks his abs once it’s free of the material. Now, it’s my turn to lick my lips as I watch his perfectly proportioned length beckon me. But I refrain from touching it as I draw a short line along the base of his pubic bone, right between the base of his dick and his sac.

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