Naughty November

Chapter 6

SIX

JOOLS

The inside of my thigh has stopped tingling, which means my skin must have risen up around the last words Devin wrote. Most of the words and phrases are hidden from me, little more than a blur of red, orange, and yellow, like a sunset on my skin. But I know every word he wrote, and I hold them all within my heart. My heart quivers as he undresses slowly. I’m aching for him. I swear I’ll come undone the moment he touches me. Not that I want to. I want to feel him inside me. Want to savour every second of it.

He’s so damn gorgeous. So perfect. He kneels between my splayed legs and then leans over me, resting his hand beside my head as he kisses me, long and deep. I want to run my fingers through his hair, but the restraints forbid me from doing so. He’d free me if I asked him to, but it’s not what I want. I never thought I’d enjoy the sensation of being trapped, vulnerable, at someone’s mercy, but I do with Devin. I trust him completely. I always have.

“You look so beautiful, Jools.” His voice holds tender reverence.

I smile. “Thanks to you. ”

He rests his forehead against mine. His minty breath warms my skin. “You’re always beautiful.”

Coming from him, I believe it.

He squeezes lube onto his fingers and presses one against my hole, applying gentle pressure that makes me gasp and moan. I arch my back, press my head against the pillow, and chase his finger with my hips. I want him inside me so badly.

“You’re needy today. I don’t remember you being this needy in Amsterdam.”

“You didn’t keep me waiting then.”

He nips my bottom lip and then sucks the tiny note of pain away. “It’s sexy. You’re sexy.”

He plucks a toothpick from the pot and moves it to my neck. The words he wrote there earlier, towards the start of our play, must have vanished by now, mustn’t they? Surely, thirty minutes or more have passed. My awareness of time is fragile at best. I have no idea how long I’ve been lying here, bound to his bed, nor do I care. I’m safe, warm, and wanted. What more could I want?

He uses the toothpick to write a new word over my neck. My skin tingles and buzzes like a happy bumble bee searching for nectar.

“What does it say?”

It’s the first time he hasn’t told me.

“Needy boy.” He puts the toothpick down.

I half-smile. “You were always good at patting your head and rubbing your tummy.”

“What’s made you remember that?”

“You: writing on my skin and teasing my hole without missing a beat.”

He chuckles against my lips, a rumble that vibrates through me. I gasp, but he swallows the sound with a kiss.

“I—I could never do it.” I sigh as he pushes his finger inside me.

“You have other talents.”

He kisses me as he warms me up, his lips and tongue as attentive as the finger inside me. I turn to mush beneath and around him. I’m so relaxed I’m sure I’d float off the bed if I wasn’t tied to it.

“Devin,” I whisper whenever he gives me a chance to .

Each utterance of his name forms a link in an unbreakable chain that runs from my heart to his. Why did I ever think I could forget this man? That I could move on and be happy with someone else? My heart has always belonged to him, and it always will.

“Are you ready for me?” His husky voice sends a thrill through me.

“Yes.”

He gloves up his cock and slicks it with plenty of lube. He holds my hip with one hand and the root of his cock with the other. Playfully, he rubs the head of his cock around my hole. Is he tracing the path of the words he wrote there? What was it? I tug my brows together as I try to remember.

“Fuck me,” he says.

Yes, that was it.

He runs his fingers over ‘make love to me’ on the inside of my left thigh, pauses, and stares into my eyes. The warm lighting brings out the flecks of honey and amber in his eyes. Love pours from them, and I tremble under the weight of it. He holds my hip again and eases inside me. Slowly. Allowing my body to accommodate and squeeze around him.

“Oh, fuck, Jools, you feel so good.” He claims my lips before I have a chance to respond.

He rolls his hips. This is tender and beautiful, so different from our frantic fucking in Amsterdam, which was desperate and raw. Two men clinging to each other as if it would be the last time. But this feels like the first time, a promise of more to come. I can’t run my fingers through his hair or rake my nails over his back. I can’t do anything but lie, feel, and be loved.

He leans on one hand as he makes love to me and uses the other to trace hearts on my skin, making it tingle and buzz in short, heady bursts, which enhances my pleasure. How can he multitask like that, when I’m struggling to think a coherent thought?

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

“So are you.”

He is the most stunning man I’ve ever known, radiant inside and out.

He quickens his pace and puts his hand on my cock, stroking, grunting, grinding into me. My balls are heavy. Butterflies flit to and fro in my groin. I’m close. So close. My lips move soundlessly. I give in to the pleasure. Let my eyelids flutter shut and allow everything but him and me to drift away. It’s just the two of us floating. His hand on me, his cock in me, his breath on my skin, his lips on mine. I’m lost in him, so fucking lost I should be afraid, but I’m not. I could never be afraid with him.

I gasp and open my eyes as my orgasm spills out of me. I lock gazes with him, drowning in the brown warmth of his eyes. I’m home. Oh, God, I’m home.

He thrusts into me hard a few times before pressing his face against my shoulder. His body shudders, and he comes inside me. He trembles and breathes hard, and then relaxes, blanketing me and wrapping his arms around me.

“Oh, Jools.” He presses kiss after kiss to my hot, sweaty skin.

Shaking and still inside me, he pushes up, grabs the orange pen and writes four letters on my chest. Has he found a spare patch of skin?

“What does it say?”

“Stay.”

Devin eases out of me and removes the restrains. He rubs lotion onto each wrist and ankle in turn, taking good care of me, just as he promised. He covers me in a snuggly blanket, and offers me something to eat and drink. Once I’ve nibbled on a biscuit, we cuddle. Devin trails his fingertip up and down my spine, while I drift in and out of sleep.

“May I?” His words drag me out of slumber.

How much time has passed? Do I even care?

“Yes.”

He writes on my skin again, covering my back with words.

“Jools.”

“Mm?”

“Move in with me. ”

I suck in a breath. I’ve been anticipating this question since he wrote ‘stay’ on my skin.

“You need somewhere to live. I have a spare room. I don’t want to give it to anyone else.”

“We’ve never lived together before.”

“So? No one has until they do.”

I smirk. “I might have awful habits you don’t know about.”

“Do you?”

I think about that. “No. You know them all.”

He kisses my nape. “Exactly. I know you, Jools. You know me. Stay.”

My heart does a giddy loop-the-loop. “Okay.”

He writes something across the small of my back.

“What are you writing?”

“Our story.”

I raise my eyebrows and turn my head so I can see him from the corner of my eyes. “Our story?”

“Yes. I’m no poet, so don’t expect a sonnet or a love song.”

“I don’t need a sonnet or a love song. Anything you write will be beautiful.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it will come from the heart.”

He sighs and kisses a path down my spine. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Let’s never miss each other again.”

“Never.”

He puts the pen down, wraps me in his arms, and spoons around me. I put my hand over his and reach back to stroke his soft, fine hair.

“Do you want to shower?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to risk losing the words he’s written. Not yet. “Will you write on me again?”

He nuzzles my neck. “Whenever you want me to.”

I close my eyes and smile. “That might be a lot. I’ve never felt so sexy.”

“I’m glad.”

“Maybe—” I pause as my cheeks flush with heat .

“What?”

“Maybe we could explore some of the other things on that list.”

“I’d like that. Whenever you’re ready.”

I snuggle against him, content as a spoiled cat. After a while, he relaxes around me and his breaths become deep and even. I pluck the red pen off the bedside table, find a spot on the inside of my left arm and write, ‘I belong to Devin’.

He chuckles against my ear. “We should put that on a T-shirt.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Barely.”

“I don’t want it on a T-shirt.”

“No?”

“No. You can write it on my skin every day. Here.” I touch my fingers to my heart.

He hugs me closer and whispers, “Gladly.”