Page 73 of Devilry

With one hand still holding us together, he throws an arm over his head, hiding his face as he tries to regulate his breathing.

Releasing my grip on us, I move away, sitting back on my haunches. I wait for Elijah to look at me, wanting to make sure he sees just how much I enjoyed what we just did. My fingers swirl around and through the sticky, thick liquid on his skin.

Slowly, his eyes come into view, just as I raise two coated fingers and stick them into my mouth. There’s no way to differentiate which taste is whose and I love it. No beginning. No end. Just us.

I reach out and swipe at some more, but just as I’m about to bring them to my mouth, Elijah’s hand circles my wrist, halting me.

Sitting up, he moves my hand to his mouth and opens wide for my fingers. Slipping them past his lips, he licks them the exact same way I remember him licking my cock.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, before going in for another taste. “I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“And did it live up to your expectations?”

“Even better.”

Leaning back over his body, I give his mouth a quick, chaste kiss. “I’ll be right back.” Untangling myself from him, I walk into the kitchen and search for anything that can be used to clean us up.

I open and close drawers until I find one with a few dish towels. This will have to do. I run half of it under some warm water and head back to Elijah.

When I return, he’s lying there, content and sated with his eyes closed. I use the wet cloth to wipe up the sticky mess that sits on his stomach. When I’m finished, I throw the towel on the coffee table.

“I’m not ready to put any clothes on just yet.” I hold my hand out for him to take. “Want to shower with me?”

Together, we head to the stairs, naked and completely unfazed. As he takes each step up to the bathroom, I'm captivated by the bare sight of him.

He's with me, and he's comfortable in his own skin. It warms up every part of me to be able to witness him like this.

“Switch on the water and I'll search this place for towels, and maybe find some soap,” I tell him.

The likelihood of there being anything around to dry us off later is very slim, but even if I have to fucking drip dry, I’m not giving it up. I may have had no intention of doing any of this with Elijah tonight, but I'll be damned if I'm not grabbing all the opportunities with both hands.

I return to the bathroom with my findings, but take a quick look under the sink for something to wash ourselves with.

Bingo. Thank you, universe.

Elijah’s already in the shower. Standing under the spray, he hangs his head back and lets the water run over his face. My gaze follows the line of his profile, the tight cords that grace his arched neck, the array of droplets that run and land on every inch of his skin.

My eyes stop on the crucifix that sits still and proud in the middle of his chest. Stepping in the shower, I stand in front of him and hook my finger on the chain.

“Why do you wear this?” I ask, intrigued and confused.

He tips his head down to look at the necklace and then back up at me. “I know my dad’s Baptist, but there’s something about the symbolism of the cross that I love.”

His answer is so matter-of-fact, nonchalant enough that I realize he’s misunderstood the question.

“I don’t mean like that,” I clarify. “I mean, after everything you’ve been through. Why doyouwear this?”

His calm and serene expression disappears as understanding settles over his features. I’ve said something wrong and I have no idea what it is.

“I said my relationship with my dad was bad, I never once said anything about my relationship with God.”

“I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I just assumed considering how your dad used religion to practically disown you—”

He puts his hand on my mouth, silencing me.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Cole.” His eyes are hard and his voice is firm. He’s almost a stranger. “If you don’t understand it,” he continues,. “That’s fine, but I don’t need to defend it.”

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