Page 67 of Devoted

“Hey.” His head shoots up and his eyes goes wide, followed by his smile as he watches me walk towards him.

“Damn, Jess. You look incredible.” He throws his phone to the side and then straightens his spine.

“You like?” I ask as I twirl around so he can enjoy the entire view, glancing over my shoulder so I don’t miss his reaction.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips and I count that as confirmation. “You have no idea, baby. Come here.” He directs me over with a curl of his finger, my feet following his command as I arrive between his legs. His hands land on my hips and then slide down over the curve of my ass, grabbing my cheeks and giving them a slight squeeze.

“I want you, Brooks. All of you.”

Our eyes bounce back and forth between one another for a moment while he searches for clarification. “Are you sure? You know I have no problem with waiting, Jess.”

I nod enthusiastically. “I know. And you’ve been so patient. But I’m sure, Brooks. I want you. I can’t wait anymore. Not after today…”

“Thank fuck,” he mutters before crushing his lips to mine and pulling me into his chest. Our arms wrap around each other and then I move to straddle his lap on the bed, my knees framing his hips. As I rest my core over his legs, the thick outline of his erection presses against me, warming me up in record time and dampening my thong quickly.

We continue to work each other’s mouths until Brooks flips us over so my back lands on the bed with finesse. He breaks our kiss and starts trailing his lips down my throat, over my collarbone, and then stops just at the swell of my breasts slips further out of my bra from me lying down.

“Do you like your nipples played with?” He asks, peering up at me while he hovers above my chest.

I nod, struggling to find words as my entire body shakes with anticipation.

“Use your words, baby. Talk to me. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you want.”

“I… I want you to suck on my nipples, Brooks.”

“Damn,” he growls. “That was even sexier hearing it from your lips.”

I giggle and then push up on my elbows so Brooks can reach behind and unclasp my bra, pulling away the lavender lace from my body. Even though we’ve fooled around, he hasn’t seen my breasts yet, which makes me slightly nervous—ironic, I know since he’s eaten me out. However, by the way he’s studying my chest, I’d say he approves and that squashes my nerves.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, Jess.” He bends down and palms my chest, caressing the skin and trailing his thumbs lightly on the underside, but never touching my nipples. “When did you get this?” He asks as his fingers trail over the butterfly tattoo on my ribs, the only ink I have on my body in remembrance of my mom. Since Brooks has never seen my upper body before, I understand his surprise.

“When I was twenty-two. I’ve always loved butterflies,” I offer as an explanation, even though the image holds much more meaning than that.

My mother and I used to spend hours outside in our backyard when I was a kid while I helped her work in her garden. She loved plants and flowers, and I loved listening to her tell me about all the different kinds there were. She’d let me pick out which ones we should plant when we went to the store, and of course I always picked the pink and purple ones. But my mom didn’t care. She filled our entire yard with pink and purple flowers, which happened to be the same colors I chose for the wings of my tattoo.

“Why are there so many butterflies, Mommy?” I’d asked her one day, watching them flit through the air and travel from bloom to bloom.

“Because butterflies love flowers, but they also remind us to embrace life, to keep hope, and to accept change. Some say that seeing a butterfly is a sign from an angel in heaven.”

As Brooks traces the lines of my ink, I soak up the words my mother spoke and remind myself to embrace the changes happening in my life, a notion I’ve been fighting for a while now.

Maybe I was just waiting for Brooks to help me see it and accept it.

This feeling—of this man telling me how much he adores me, wants me, needs to be with me—it’s overwhelming. He’s honest and pure, regardless of waiting to share aspects of his life with me. If anyone understands what he’s going through, it is me. So I want to make sure that he feels the reciprocation, that he knows that although it’s taken us a while to get here, it’s all been worth it to me.

As Brooks slowly lowers himself over my chest, I hold my breath as I wait for that first stroke of his tongue on my nipples, the buds already harder than glass from the chilly air in the room and the readiness coursing through my body.

“It’s beautiful,” he says before placing a soft kiss over the image inked into my skin.

“I love the way you touch me, Brooks,” I exclaim as the wet heat of his mouth closes over my nipple next and I gasp at the contact.

“Mmmmm,” he moans before releasing me from his mouth and then pinching my nipples between both thumbs and forefingers. “I couldn’t stop touching you right now even if I tried, Jess.” And then he’s back, this time with more fervor as his mouth laps, sucks, and nips at my chest, spreading the wealth between both of my breasts while the ache between my legs builds and sharpens to a throb.

With one final pop of my nipple from his mouth, he stands and then reaches behind his neck, drawing up his shirt to expose his chest to me, a part of him I’ve yet to experience as well. At this moment I realize we may have done things a bit backwards in our exploration of each other’s bodies, starting at the bottom and working our way up.

I sit up on the bed, crawling towards him before propping myself up on my knees, my hands connecting with his torso to draw feather-like touches all over his chest and abs. Brooks is toned and broad, a stark contrast to me. He’s light and I’m dark. He’s big and I’m small.

But together, we somehow fit.

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