-Devon.
We barely made it through the door.
His mouth was on mine the moment the latch clicked, and I stumbled backward into the room, guided more by the pull of his hands than by sight. Bryce kicked the door shut behind us, the soft thud of it muffled by the sound of our breathing, rough and uneven, already caught in the rhythm of something faster than reason. His body pressed against mine, firm and insistent, and we moved together through the dark with the instinct of people who'd already decided nothing else mattered.
He kissed like he was still trying to convince himself I was real, his mouth seeking mine again and again, not letting more than a breath pass between them. I couldn't stop touching him. My hands were under his shirt almost immediately, palms dragging up the warm stretch of his back, fingers learning the map of his body with the kind of focus that bordered on reverent. I felt the slope of muscle along his spine, the twitch of his stomach as I tugged the fabric up, and when I pulled the shirt over his head, he raised his arms without breaking the kiss.
The shirt hit the floor in silence. My own followed, yanked off clumsily between kisses, my skin prickling as the air hit sweat-dampened skin. Bryce's hands were on my chest a moment later, warm and exploratory, fingers dragging along my ribs, up to my shoulders, then down again with the kind of pressure that left no ambiguity. He touched me like he'd wanted this for longer than he'd ever admit aloud.
We found the bed in a blur of motion. I caught the edge with the backs of my knees and sat down hard, pulling him with me. He straddled my lap in one motion, thighs bracketing mine, his weight grounding me, his mouth moving from my lips to my throat. The press of his mouth against my neck made my pulse trip, and I felt his tongue trace the line of my collarbone before he bit down lightly, enough to make my breath catch. I tilted my head to give him more and threaded my fingers into his hair, holding him there, savoring the heat that pooled low and steady.
His belt came undone under my hands, the buckle clinking once before I slid it free. He leaned back just enough to shrug out of the rest of his clothes, skin catching dim light, every new inch of him revealed like a revelation. I followed with mine, and the way his eyes moved over me as I peeled my jeans off sent a fresh rush of heat through my spine. He didn't look away. His gaze held mine, steady and sharp, and I saw it there—the want, the ache, the need threaded beneath the desire. I reached for him again, and he came willingly, mouth slanting back over mine with the kind of heat that made my fingers curl against his hips.
His body against mine was full of tension, the kind that vibrates under skin and doesn't let go. Every inch of him fit too well against me, skin to skin now, chest brushing chest, legs tangled, hands greedy and wandering. I pulled him closer until our hips aligned and the friction between us pulled a sharp breath from both our throats.
His hands were everywhere—my neck, my jaw, my sides, my thighs. He touched like he wanted to commit every part of me to memory. I felt the drag of his fingers down my spine, slow and deliberate, and then the press of his palm against the small of my back as he shifted his hips again, this time harder. The pressure, the contact, the heat—it built fast, but I didn't want to slow it. I wanted it all.
I guided him down with me, laying back as he followed, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the best way. Our lips met again, deeper now, slower. My hands cradled his face as I kissed him, no urgency, just depth. The kind of kiss that says I mean this. His hands were braced on either side of my head, elbows bent, his body fitted perfectly along mine, his breath syncing with mine like it was second nature.
When he rolled his hips again, the friction shot straight through me. We both gasped into each other's mouths, and I pulled him closer, hooked a leg around his waist, held him there. There was no space left. Just skin and breath and the way his body knew exactly how to move against mine, like he'd dreamed it enough times to get it right on instinct.
I kissed him again, softer now, then dragged my mouth to his jaw, down his throat, tasting salt and skin and the racing beat of his pulse. He let out a low breath, fingers gripping tighter at my hips as I kissed across his collarbone, down his chest, leaving nothing untouched. His body arched beneath my mouth, all tension and heat, and when I looked up again, his eyes were already on me, wide and dark and unreadable.
There was no rush in him now. No smirk. No façade.
He leaned down again, resting his forehead against mine, and for a long second we just breathed—close, tangled, held together by more than the heat simmering between our skin. When he kissed me next, it was slow and deep, like a promise passed mouth to mouth.
And I kissed him back like I believed every word of it.
Bryce shifted above me, his weight lifting just enough for his hand to slide along my side, slow at first, dragging his fingertips across the curve of my ribs as if he was still learning me in real time. His mouth lingered against mine for a final kiss, drawn-out and deep, his breath warm as he pulled back and let his gaze settle on my face. There was something different in his eyes then—less hunger, more certainty. Not a question, not a request. A decision.
He moved, deliberate and quiet, hands splaying across my chest as he shifted down, mouth pressing softly along my sternum, trailing lower. I felt every brush of his lips, every place where his breath ghosted against skin, hot and close. His fingers curled around my thighs, urging them wider, and I let him guide me open, my body already vibrating with the anticipation that followed the heat of his mouth.
When he kissed the crease of my hip, I couldn't help the way my stomach tensed, every nerve drawing taut beneath the softness of it. His lips parted there, tongue dragging across the dip of skin just beside the line of where I wanted him most, and he paused—just long enough to let me feel the ache swell, to let it settle into something deeper.
Then he wrapped a hand around me, slow and sure, the first touch enough to knock the air from my lungs. His grip was firm but unhurried, fingers curling with practiced ease, stroking once from base to tip before his mouth followed.
When he finally took me in, the heat of it made me groan aloud. His lips parted slowly, sliding down over the head, then lower, the wet drag of his tongue curling around me in a way that left my eyes fluttering shut. He sucked gently at first, drawing a long breath from my throat, and then sank deeper, lips sealed tight, the rhythm smooth and steady. He adjusted, one hand still curled around the base while the other braced on my thigh, keeping me grounded as his mouth worked.
The sensation rolled through me like a slow-burning fuse—pleasure thick and consuming, growing with every pass of his tongue, every hollow of his cheeks around me. I threaded my fingers into his hair, not pushing, just anchoring, needing something to hold onto as his pace deepened, jaw flexing with every downward motion.
I opened my eyes again, and the sight of him there undid me—Bryce on his knees between my legs, lips stretched around my cock, eyes half-lidded with focus and heat. He looked up when he felt my fingers tighten, his gaze catching mine in a sudden, searing bolt of contact that made my breath catch.
There was nothing performative in the way he moved. It was intent, distilled. He wanted me to feel this. He wanted to give it. His mouth took me in deeper, slow and relentless, and when his tongue pressed against the underside, sliding back with practiced pressure, my hips jerked despite myself. He didn't stop. He adjusted, pushed further, taking me in until his nose brushed skin, until I felt the soft scrape of his stubble against the inside of my thigh, and then he drew back with a low hum that vibrated through me.
The sound dragged a moan from deep in my chest. I was sweating now, muscles tense, breath staggered and ragged. His hand slid up my torso as his mouth worked, palm flat against my chest, grounding me. I could feel the press of his fingers between my ribs, the faint tremble in them as he moved faster, jaw working with a rhythm that made it impossible to think.
I could feel the buildup cresting now, heat tightening in my abdomen, a flush rising in my skin like fire licking up from inside. My grip in his hair turned desperate, my thighs twitching where he held them steady. I groaned his name, voice rough, warning thick in my throat, but he didn't slow. If anything, he took it as encouragement. He sucked harder, bobbing in long, fluid strokes, the tip of his tongue flicking just beneath the head on every withdrawal.
"Bryce," I gasped, broken, chest lifting off the bed, every nerve shot through with sensation. "Fuck, I—"
He gave me no space to finish, just dragged me over that edge with his mouth and the press of his hand flattening against my chest, holding me there, taking everything I gave. My hips bucked once, twice, and I cried out, loud and hoarse, as the orgasm crashed through me—hot and staggering, every muscle pulled tight, then loose, breath ripped from my lungs in shallow stutters.
He stayed with me through it, mouth gentle now, licking slow, drawing out the aftershocks until I couldn't take another second. My hand dropped from his hair, arm limp at my side. My chest was heaving, heart hammering a violent rhythm behind my ribs. I opened my eyes to see him watching me, lips swollen, breath fast, eyes dark with something I couldn't name but felt down to the bone.
He crawled back up my body with that same deliberate slowness, the heat of his skin against mine making every inch between us spark. He settled beside me, arm draped loosely over my stomach, his forehead resting against my shoulder, breath warm and unsteady across my collarbone.
I turned toward him, pulled him in, kissed him deep and slow, tasting the salt on his lips, the remnants of everything we'd just shared. There were no words needed then. Just the way his body curled into mine, the hum of his breath where it matched mine, the silence thick with everything that didn't need to be said.
His breath was still warm on my neck when I turned toward him, our legs tangled, skin flushed and slick from the heat we'd built between us. Bryce blinked up at me from the pillow, hair mussed, lips swollen, a lazy curve just beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth like he already knew what I was thinking.
I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, slow and lingering, then another just below his jaw, tasting the salt that had gathered there. My hand slid down along his side, over the soft lines of his stomach, pausing at the sharp ridge of his hipbone. He shifted beneath me, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again, and I could see it in the way he looked at me—want, yes, but also trust, the unspoken kind.
I sat up, shifting my weight to one arm, and glanced around the room with a frown starting to build between my brows. My hand skimmed along the edge of the nightstand, fumbling uselessly at the drawer. Empty. Just a phone charger and a receipt. I tried the second drawer—some cords, a paperback, nothing remotely helpful.
"Where do you keep the essentials?" I asked, turning toward him.
Bryce propped himself up on his elbows, a lazy smirk creeping across his face. His chest was still rising slow with the weight of everything we'd just done, his skin flushed, hair a mess, lips bitten pink. He looked far too pleased with himself.
"You're looking at them," he said, eyes flicking down his own body and then back up to meet my stare, smug as hell.
I gave him a look. "Stop fooling around. Lube, Bryce. Where's the damn lube?"
He grinned, head tipping back against the pillow for a second before he waved loosely toward the other side of the bed.
"Top drawer, left side."
I climbed over him, one knee brushing his thigh, and popped the drawer open. Inside was everything we needed—lube, condoms, tissues, neatly tucked like he'd actually planned for this. I glanced back at him.
"Organized," I muttered, half teasing.
"Prepared," he said, settling back with both arms behind his head, looking far too proud of himself.
I grabbed what we needed, came back down between his legs, and kissed the smug right off his face before either of us could say another word.
He was watching me, still impossibly beautiful, but quieter now, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face as he met my gaze. I bit my lip and shifted closer, kneeling between his legs, my free hand stroking along the inside of his thigh. The room had gone quiet except for our breathing, the thick, still silence of something about to change.
I kissed his knee first, then the line where his thigh met his pelvis, then looked up at him, hesitating just for a second.
"I'm doing this right, right?" I asked, my voice a little too low, not quite steady. My fingers tightened slightly where they rested on his leg. "You're… uh…"
He arched an eyebrow, clearly amused, and exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Yes, Devon," he said, voice dry but full of warmth. "I'm bottoming. Get to it."
I laughed, the tension in my shoulders cracking just enough to let it out. He grinned too, eyes bright now, something boyish breaking through the heat. It made my chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with sex.
"Okay," I said, muttering it more to myself as I opened the bottle, spreading a generous amount over my fingers. My breath came shallow as I looked down at him—his legs parted, chest rising and falling, face flushed and open.
The first touch was slow, careful, my fingers sliding down between his thighs, slick now, warm against his skin. He inhaled through his teeth, not in pain, just in awareness. I leaned forward to press a kiss just below his navel, letting my hand move with steady purpose. He spread his legs wider without needing to be asked, and that small motion did something to me—undid something.
"You okay?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
He nodded, biting down on the edge of a smile. "I'm good. Just… keep going."
I circled my finger once, easing the first knuckle in, and he tensed, then exhaled, his hips shifting slightly as he adjusted to the pressure. My free hand smoothed down his thigh, slow and grounding, and he nodded again, his jaw tightening for a moment before relaxing.
I worked in carefully, watching his face more than anything, tuned to every change, every breath. He didn't hide any of it—every little flicker of sensation showed in the twitch of his mouth, the soft huff of sound he let out when I slid in deeper, the way his hand curled against the sheets beside him.
"Fuck," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, his voice breathy now. "That's… yeah, that's good."
The sound of it shot through me, low and hard. I added more lube, eased a second finger in alongside the first, and he let out a broken laugh, one hand dragging over his eyes.
"Okay," he said, grinning through a sharp breath, "this is not a sexy face I'm making right now."
"You look good," I said, maybe too quickly, and then flushed as he cracked up, eyes crinkling with something halfway between arousal and disbelief.
"Sure," he muttered, but there was a softness in it, something real. He let his head drop back again, legs falling looser around me, his body slowly relaxing into the rhythm of my hand.
I kept going, careful but deeper now, curving my fingers just slightly until I felt his whole body jolt, his hips lifting off the bed with a sudden gasp.
"There," he breathed, voice low and tight. "Jesus, there."
I did it again, and his back arched, a flush rising over his chest, thighs tightening around my waist. He reached down, fingers curling into my hair, not pulling, just holding, needing something to anchor him while I worked him open.
My name slipped from his lips once—soft, wrecked—and I looked up at him, caught between wanting to drag this out and not being able to wait a second longer.
"Bryce," I said, voice thick. "Can I…?"
His eyes opened slowly, hazy and dark, and he nodded, the motion small but sure.
"Yes. Come on," he murmured, already shifting beneath me, legs wrapping around my hips, pulling me forward with a quiet kind of need that left no room for pretense.
I grabbed a condom with hands that weren't quite steady, rolled it on, then slicked myself up as he reached for me, his fingers brushing my chest, my stomach, like he needed to feel everything again. His eyes stayed on mine the whole time, and I could feel the tension building again, the air stretched thin between us.
I lined up carefully, exhaling hard as I pressed forward. The resistance was real, but so was the trust in the way he breathed through it, in the way his hands found my waist and held on.
The first few inches were slow. Measured. His jaw clenched, and I stopped, letting him adjust, kissing his shoulder, murmuring his name low into his skin. His legs tightened around me once, then loosened, his breath evening out.
"You good?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, blinking up at me, face flushed and open. "You feel good. Keep going."
So I did. I pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until I was fully seated inside him, chest heaving, the heat between our bodies insane. His hands dragged down my back, and he rocked his hips just enough to make me groan.
"You're shaking," he whispered, a little breathless, a little amused.
"You're tight," I muttered back, burying my face in his neck.
He laughed again, the sound soft and sweet and real, then curled one hand behind my neck, pulled me down, and kissed me deep while I started to move.
I touched him gently, sliding my hand between his thighs, coaxing him open again. He sighed, low and steady, his lashes falling, not all the way shut. His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw, a silent rhythm passing between us as I worked him open with patient care. He relaxed into the stretch more easily this time, his breath catching now and then, but never tense.
His voice came quiet. "You're being so… gentle."
"You want me to stop?"
"No. I like it," he said, a little too fast, and then, with a wry twist of his mouth, "Just making sure you're not gonna start serenading me next."
"If I did," I murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee, "it would be off-key and emotional."
His laugh was soft, breathless. "God help me."
I kissed higher, the warmth of his skin beneath my mouth grounding me. When I was sure he was ready, I reached for the condom, rolled it on with fingers that still trembled faintly at the edges. He helped me, hands brushing mine, not rushing, just present, eyes on my face the whole time.
I lined up and pushed forward slowly, every inch a slow slide, heat wrapping around me in a way that made my breath stutter. Bryce's head tipped back, jaw tight, his hands fisting in the sheets beside him, but he didn't look away. His eyes found mine again the moment I was fully inside him, and he let out a low breath like he'd been holding it all this time.
"Okay?" I asked, voice thick.
He nodded, eyes glassy now, and pulled me down into a kiss that was all softness and open mouths, his hands climbing my back, fingers curling into the space between my shoulder blades.
I started to move in slow, careful strokes, keeping us pressed close, chest to chest, skin gliding slick against skin. He met each thrust with a gentle shift of his hips, his body catching me with quiet grace, every motion full of trust. There was nothing frantic between us now, just the steady rhythm of heat and breath and the press of our mouths between whispered laughs and half-finished words.
At one point, I lost my balance slightly and shifted too fast—he gasped, flinched a little, then barked out a surprised laugh.
"Okay, okay, maybe not that angle."
"Sorry," I mumbled, kissing the side of his neck, trying not to laugh with him. "Too enthusiastic."
"I appreciate the spirit," he whispered, still smiling against my jaw, "but my ass doesn't."
We adjusted. Slower again. I kissed the bridge of his nose, then his cheek, then finally his lips, losing myself in the taste and feel of him. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as I rocked into him with gentle pressure, the tension winding up again in the quiet.
"I could do this forever," I said against his skin, meaning every word of it.
He answered with another kiss, and then another, deeper, needier. His body moved under mine with growing urgency, that sweet kind that built from trust instead of fire. I matched him, the pace natural, the sounds between us quiet and real.
When he came, it was with a shiver running through every inch of him, his mouth against my shoulder, breath catching in short gasps, fingers pressed hard to my back like he needed to hold something solid. I followed soon after, burying myself as deep as I could go, letting the warmth of him, the weight of his arms, the quiet beat of his heart carry me through.
After, we stayed tangled, skin still damp, breath still short. He didn't move, just nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck and exhaled a soft, spent sigh.
"That was…" he started, then paused, lips brushing my skin, "...very not bad."
I huffed a laugh into his hair. "High praise."
He kissed my collarbone in response, then reached blindly for the sheet, dragging it up over us with exaggerated effort.
"I might never walk again."
"Guess I did something right," I said, grinning.
He didn't answer, just tightened his arms around me and pulled me closer, his smile pressed to my throat.
And I stayed there, warm and wrapped in him, the night humming around us like we'd finally landed in the right place.
The room still smelled faintly of us, the quiet heat of bodies having lingered long after we stopped moving. The blanket was soft, heavy enough to cocoon us in its folds, though I doubted either of us needed the warmth. My skin was still thrumming, not with lust anymore but with the strange stillness that followed it. Bryce was lying so close his breath feathered against my cheek, both of us on our sides, our faces caught in that small space where silence wanted to linger but words kept threatening to tumble out.
"I can say, hands down, this was the best sex I've had in a long time," Bryce said, his voice smooth, still husky from the rasp of earlier.
I huffed a short laugh, my chest easing in a way it hadn't all night. "Thank you. I feel appreciated."
He grinned, eyes narrowing in play, and tapped the tip of my nose with his finger. "If you had an app, I would've rated you five stars. Let me even write the review for you: natural, unperformed, nothing polished or staged. Just… like this." He waved vaguely between us, his hand brushing my chest before falling back to the mattress. "It just happened."
I nodded, letting my gaze fall to the shadow curve of his jaw against the pillow. "I'll tell you a secret," I murmured.
He wriggled closer immediately, the blanket shifting over our hips, his knee bumping mine under the fabric. "Tell me a secret," he urged, eyes gleaming, too awake for someone who should've been exhausted.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes." His answer came so fast it made my lips twitch.
I exhaled through my nose, searching for the words. "I've… only really had sex with one person before you," I admitted, the words scraping their way out like stones. "And it wasn't good. It wasn't kind. It wasn't—what it should have been."
Bryce didn't move, didn't interrupt. Just listened.
"It was a coping thing for me, for both of us. A way of pretending I was close to him, the person I actually wanted. But it was only in that moment, only in the heat of it. That was all I could get. I knew it wasn't love. It wasn't care. It wasn't even intimacy. It was something primal, something I thought could fill me, but it just emptied me every time. It made me angry. I carried that anger into it, and I used it. I took it out in the way I touched him, the way I moved. He didn't mind—he liked it, he even wanted it that way. But I hated myself every time it ended. Every time I'd lay there after, I'd feel like I had let something rot inside me instead of cutting it out. I keep wondering if I left something broken in him too."
The quiet stretched between us, but Bryce never shifted his eyes away. His attention felt like a hand on my chest, steadying the stutter of my heart.
"This time," I said, my voice breaking softer, "it felt different. It felt real. Not me trying to send a message, not me trying to claw at something that wasn't mine to have. It felt like it was supposed to feel. I wasn't angry. I wasn't begging some ghost to stay. I only wanted you to enjoy it as much as I did. That was all. I hope that got through to you."
Bryce's lips curved with the faintest smile. He leaned forward, planting the lightest kiss on the tip of my nose, a kiss that undid me more than the ones that had come before. He pulled back to his pillow, his grin gentle now, tempered by something deeper. "It got through," he whispered. "I enjoyed it very much, Devon." His eyes glimmered like the words were etched with truth, not just courtesy.
He tucked his arm under his head, watching me as if he couldn't bear to look anywhere else. "And Devon," he went on, "please feel free to tell me anything about your past. I mean it. I'm curious, yes, but it's more than curiosity. I want to know you. Not just the you who walks beside me now, but the you who existed before all of this. Before this house, before this bed. I want to know that person too. Don't hold back thinking it might hurt me, or thinking I don't want to hear it. Knowing your past will only help me know you now. And I want to know all of you."
The words struck something raw inside me, the way they fell so simply, like he wasn't afraid of what he might hear. He wasn't shielding himself. He wanted me whole, even if I was jagged and bruised in pieces.
I swallowed, staring into his eyes, the blanket heavy over both of us, our legs brushing beneath it. "You're relentless," I muttered, though there was no real protest in it.
"Relentless?" he smirked, eyes crinkling. "Maybe. But I'd call it devoted."
I snorted quietly, but his grin made it impossible not to soften. The boy had a way of slipping past all my defenses, no matter how thick I thought I built them.
And for the first time in longer than I cared to admit, I didn't mind.