Second Chances Page 3

Fuck that. I close the distance between us, ripping off my gloves and grasping the front of his coat, and kiss the rest of that sentence from his lips. Devon should never feel like he’s not good enough.

  He stiffens, but only for a second, then his hands cover mine and he leans into me, his lips parting. His tongue tastes amazing and desire sizzles through me like a live wire. I want to take him apart, want to watch him writhe and buck under my touch. Want to show him all the things he’s been missing.

  Even if I’m the last person he should let in.

  But then what? The storm will break, and we’ll be on our way. If I’m lucky, I’ll see him at the settlement come spring, and we’ll nod and smile like acquaintances.

  I could stay.

  The unbidden thought pops into my head and I shudder. Stay. Build a new home. A new family.

  Is that what Devon would want? What if he’s so open because he knows I’ll be gone soon. I’ll be the college fling he never had, the “gay experience” he was robbed of when the virus snuffed out ninety percent of the population. I’m no stranger to being someone’s good time, but the thought of being Devon’s one-n-done leaves me hollow.

  I sober up and break the kiss with a groan, my forehead rolling against his. I inhale until my lungs hurt, then let the breath out slowly. Devon’s eyes flutter open, and I find myself falling into his lust-blown pupils. He’s so fucking gorgeous like this, all kissed out with his wild eyes and plump lips.

  I grip the back of his neck with both hands and take another deep breath. “You shouldn’t get involved with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not a good person.”

  “Aren’t bad boys more fun?” He winks at me, his expression full of mirth.

  Fun.

  My chest aches as a coolness washes over me. Those words, that wicked glint in his eyes, they shouldn’t hurt like a knife in my back but they do. His eyes turn soft and his grin becomes bashful. He puts both strong, calloused hands on my chest, and I can almost feel their warmth through my coat.

  “You make me crazy, Zane,” he says, voice husky, and my mouth dries. “I’ve never felt this way before and it’s a little terrifying.”

  Jesus H. Christ. This emotional whiplash will be the death of me.

  He’s got an inch on me, maybe two, and he’s all lithe muscles and raw power hidden beneath his coat, yet he looks so small and vulnerable. So fragile I want to cradle him in both hands so he doesn’t shatter like crystal. He drives me crazy with his stolen glances and shy smiles. Drives me crazy with his kind heart and his strength. He drives me crazy in ways I haven’t felt in a decade, and that’s a lot terrifying.

  Yet, I want him more than ever now that he’s offered himself to me.

  Stuffing rational thought into the dark cracks of my mind, I pull back and give him a teasing grin. I can do fun, I’m good at fun. If fun’s what Devon’s looking for, I can give him that.

  I press my lips to his ear and he shivers. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I murmur against his skin and rub my thumb across his cheek. “Let’s get back to the house and I’ll show you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  DEVON STEALS A glance at me as we walk into the house and I wink at him.

  The silence is charged between us, and my blood sings with his nearness as we take off our coats and kick off our boots. His thick flannel is unbuttoned, and I can see the flex of his hard pecs beneath his soft green t-shirt when he stretches. He looks at me properly this time, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and I give him a nod.

  I count to twenty before following Devon out the mudroom and down the hall. Not that I care what my companions think, but I don’t want to make Sarah uncomfortable. Roxy and Kenzie are playing a card game at the dinner table, but Sarah is nowhere in sight. And neither is Max.

  Huh.

  My stomach growls, but I ignore it as I head toward Devon’s bedroom. I’m hungry for food, but I’m famished for the taste of Devon on my tongue. His door’s closed. I grasp the handle and my heart jackhammers against my ribcage. Christ, I’m buzzing as if my skin can hardly contain my giddiness.

  I push the handle down and the door swings open on silent hinges. It’s dark. He must have drawn the curtains. The strike of a match, a hissing sizzle, and soft light floods the room as I shut the door behind me. The candle flame dances lazily, casting a warm glow that envelops us in a soft cocoon. It feels safe, and my nerves settle as I inhale and exhale long calming breaths.

  Devon’s bedroom is no bigger than the guest room, furnished with a queen sized bed, a dresser, and a small writing desk. An old Harry Potter poster hangs on the wall, and beside the desk is a narrow bookshelf laden with old books.

  Physical books were my guilty pleasure and I loved collecting them. Loved the smell of the pages and the roughness of the paper under my fingers. It gutted me to rip through the small library during those first cold months, but books made for good fire starters. It was that or letting our group of survivors freeze to death.

  Knowing Devon loves books too rekindles the ache in my chest.

  “Hey,” he says as he sits on the edge of his bed, his eyes downcast.

  His voice pulls me from the bookshelf, and my melancholy melts away. He’s twisting his hands in his lap, and his silky, golden hair has fallen to obscure his eyes. Shit. I eat the distance between us and kneel between his legs.

  “Hey you.” I lay my hands on his knees and peer up at his face. He looks so uncertain, and I want to punch myself in the teeth.

  “Wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

  I gasp and the exaggerated sound brings a spark back in his eyes. “As if I’d pass up a chance to get you naked.”

  The corners of his lips twitch and he shrugs, but he stops fidgeting. “I hope this is okay.” He looks around the room, his gaze flitting between the drawn curtains and the candle.

  “I’d have stripped you in the barn if it wasn’t so fucking cold.” His eyes widen and color returns to his cheeks. “This is perfect.”

  I capture his lips in a hungry kiss. There’s nothing gentle about the way I demand entry, but he doesn’t cower. Instead, Devon pushes into me, and his tongue tangles with mine in a steamy game of dominance.

  Fuck. He tastes even better when he’s demanding. His hands grow bold as strong fingers thread through my hair, nails dragging along my scalp, and I moan with a fresh wave of need. I roll onto the balls of my feet and drag Devon with me as I stand up.

  Everything fades as we explore each other with our lips and tongues, our hands roaming, our breathing ragged. Nothing matters except this moment. Not the past, not the future. Only the here and now as Devon melts into me. I push his thick flannel over his shoulders and down his arms, and the heat of his skin radiates through his t-shirt.

  Devon’s hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt, and I pull away long enough to help him yank the damn thing over my head before I do the same to his. His chest heaves and I can’t take my eyes off him. Candle light reflects off miles of golden skin, no doubt the result of countless summers working under the sun, and flickering shadows highlight the ridges of his six pack and hard pecs.

  He runs a finger down my chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

  “Like what you see?”

  He nods and grins. “You’re like those guys in those firefighter calendars I used to buy.”

  I can’t help my bark of laughter, and Devon quirks a brow at me. “I used to be a firefighter.”

  “You must’ve been Mr. July then.”

  It’s not his words but the sincerity in his voice that sends heat across the back of my neck. The kid’s got game. Unless he’s just being honest.

  I clear my throat. “Never got on the calendar train.” His eyes widen, and they look so comical I chuckle. “That was always Max’s thing.”

  “Shame.” His eyes twinkle in the soft, orange light, and my heart rate quickens. Christ, does he know what that smouldering look does to me?

  I pu
sh him onto the bed, then crawl on after him, wedging myself between his legs and spreading them further. “Shh, no more talking.”

  “Bossy.”

  “You like it,” I growl, and he swallows.

  I crawl up his body and claim his lips once more. He arches, his skin scorching as he presses into me. His hands roam along my back and he ruts against me in small, jerky thrusts. He’s hard, really hard. I shift and press my aching dick against the tent between his legs, and we both groan into the kiss.

  I want nothing more than to sink into him, feel his heat wrap around me and suck me in, but this isn’t about me. It takes all my will power to pull away from his delicious lips, and I gaze down at him. His hooded eyes search my face, and his kiss-swollen lips part as he pants.

  “I’m gonna take care of you,” I whisper as I work open the button on his jeans.

  The scrape of his zipper marks a change in him. He tenses, and his cheeks flush a deep crimson, the color spreading down his neck and shoulders. I love a man who blushes. There’s a something vulnerable in a pretty blush, and on Devon, it’s glorious. I pull on the waistband of his jeans and underwear, and he lifts his hips as I slide everything off. My gaze roams from his stormy eyes to the tip of his flushed cock.

  Beautiful.

  Without breaking eye contact, I lean down and plant a kiss on the inside of one knee, then the other, and work my way up the thin skin of his inner thighs until I’m inches from his hard cock. “Fuck, you’re leaking for me.”

  “Zane, please,” he whines and struggles onto his elbows, his brows pinching and his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as his eyes follow my every move. I lick my lips with a slow, exaggerated slide of tongue, then pepper kisses along the underside of his cock from base to tip. He utters a startled cry and the gorgeous sound wraps around my straining erection. I slip Devon’s cock head in my mouth and suck, letting the taste of his skin and the scent of his clean sweat wash over me.

  He bucks, followed by a string of curses. I stroke up his legs and get a firm grip on his hips, then I lick more of his cock into my mouth. He fists the sheets, the muscles of his forearms bulging, and I chuckle before swallowing his dick whole.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he hisses and pants so hard I think about handing him a paper bag. I wait a few heartbeats, willing my own aching dick to calm the fuck down, then I pull off and swirl my tongue along the shaft until only the head is nestled between my lips.

  I hum and grin when he jerks, then mumble around his cock, “Use my mouth, Devon. Fuck my throat.” His eyes pop and his lips part, but before he can say anything I plunge forward once more and take him to the hilt.

  He makes a strangled noise, then his fingers are in my hair and my scalp pricks with pain. It’s a good sort of pain, the kind that heightens pleasure, and my trapped dick throbs between my legs. I give his hip an encouraging slap, and it’s all the urging he needs. His cock slips from my throat, and I lick along the shaft before he thrusts back up.

  Devon holds my head in place and I relax my jaw as he fucks my mouth. Being used like this, knowing I’m the reason he’s making these delicious noises, send sparks down my spine, and I get lost in the push and pull of his cock. Lost in the moment where I’m bigger than just me.

  It’s not long before his grip tightens and his thrusts lose their rhythm, and I get little warning before he’s shooting down my throat. Ropes of hot, salty come flood my mouth, and I swallow as quickly as I can, not wanting to lose a single drop.

  He tastes so good, and his spent cock is hot and heavy on my tongue as I lick him through his orgasm. It’s another few panting breaths before trembling fingers tug at my shoulders. I crawl up next to him and pull his boneless body into my arms.

  “How’s that for a first blowy?” I ask into his damp hair.

  "You sucked my brains right through my dick,” he mumbles against my chest.

  I laugh, and the sound surprises me. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time. “See? Told you there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Devon looks up at me and cups my bulge. “Now it’s your turn.”

  I think about refusing, but he squeezes my cock and something mischievous replaces the fucked-out bliss in his eyes. He makes light work of my button and zipper, and before I can protest, he’s pushing my pants down my hips. I snap at his nose and roll on top of him with a growl.

  “Fuck, you have any idea what you do to me?”

  “Maybe a little,” he says, grinning as he continues to push at my pants.

  I kick the offending pieces of clothing off and straddle his hips. My cock head is a deep purple, and it’s so hard it’s making me dizzy.

  “How do you want me?” he asks.

  I rake my gaze down his chest. “Wanna come on you.”

  His lips curl in a slow grin and he nods. “Blow all over me, Zane.”

  The sound of my name rolling off his tongue sends a jolt to my already aching dick. I grab his hand and wrap it around my cock, then cover his hand with mine. His eyes widen, but the shock in them is quickly replaced by something hot and hungry. I thrust into his fist, my cock slick with pre-come, and he moans as if this feels as good for him as it does for me.

  His sinful noises, his flushed skin, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. It’s all so hot it drives me insane, and I push into his fist even as I pump our hands in sync. His forearm bulges as he grips my dick tighter, and he yanks me down with his free hand until our noses bump. He croaks a demanding “kiss me” then his lips crush into mine, and his tongue shoves into my mouth with a ferocity that tips me over.

  I cry into his mouth as my orgasm rips through me. My hips stutter, and he strokes me as I empty all over his chest and stomach. I gasp, sucking the air from his lungs, and he gives me everything I ever wanted as he gently brings me down. I flop next to him again, this time with spots dancing along the edges of my vision.

  Devon grabs a stray shirt and wipes us clean. I should get up. There are chores to do. But he snuggles into me and drapes a leg over my thigh. I huff out a contented sigh and wrap my arms around him, my eyes fluttering shut.

  Won’t hurt to take a moment to catch my breath.

  ~*~*~

  It’s warm.

  I burrow into the sheets and bury my nose in a mop of soft hair. And freeze. Devon snuggles back into me and he mumbles. I don’t dare move a muscle until his breathing evens out again.

  What time is it? I rub sleep from my eyes and try to peek around the curtains in vain. I inch my arm out from under Devon, careful not to wake him, then roll out of bed. Making as little noise as possible, I get dressed and tiptoe out of the room.

  The house is quiet and the hall is dark. I lean against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to hyperventilate. I fell asleep in his bed. The last time I slept this well was before the Pandemic and the nightmares, and the last person I shared a bed with was Meg.

  I’m supposed to be Mr. Fun, and Mr. Fun doesn’t do sleepovers.

  A chill runs up my spine. I clench my fists, and the claws of a headache dig into my brain. Christ, get it together.

  My stomach growls. Right, skipped lunch. Probably dinner too. Glad for the interruption, I pad into the kitchen in search of something to eat. Through the kitchen window, the sky is pale blue with a tinge of pink. I pull the cast iron pan from the cupboard and place it over the stove.

  Devon’s farm is a heavenly bubble. They have it all figured out from renewable energy to growing their own food and preserving what they can for the winter. What they don’t make themselves, like soap, they trade with the Coastal Settlement. Devon went hunting with Scott, and with a working freezer, they have a variety of meat all year round.

  With Scott gone and Sarah about to become a new mother, things will be tight around here. That is, if the baby even makes it. I take a deep, shuddering breath and crack three eggs into the heated pan and scramble them with a vengeance. They’ll figure it out. They’ll have to, but at least they have a home and a way of li
fe most people only dream of.

  Though our settlement operated like a well-oiled machine, it wasn’t easy. I didn’t envy the council for the hard decisions they had to make. But people needed housing and food, and we survived because of harsh regulations and harsher punishments for anyone who jeopardized the settlement’s survival.

  But are we really surviving? In the early days of the outbreak, the virus tore through babies as soon as they were born. Women stopped having children. Those who could get their hands on birth control took them religiously, and those less fortunate resorted to herbal remedies for abortions.

  We’re alive, but we won't survive at the rate we're going.

  Get a grip. No more sex if I’m going to get maudlin every fucking time.

  Desperate for a distraction, I collect the ingredients for pancakes and set out to make breakfast for everyone.

  By the time the first person wanders into the kitchen, I already have stacks of pancakes warming under a large kitchen towel. Devon’s the last one to stumble in. My heart swells at his disheveled sex hair and his sleepy yawn. When he catches my eyes, his face splits into a wide smile.

  What would it be like to wake up to that smile every morning? To eat breakfast with him then work on the farm together? Devon deserves someone to build a family with. Someone who can do right by him and Sarah and the baby. Someone who isn’t a murderer.

  I ignore his smile and turn to the sink, sticking my hands under the dishwater to hide their trembling, and something cold squeezes around my heart.

  Outside the kitchen window, the storm has broken.

  ~*~*~

  I avoid Devon after breakfast.

  It’s an asshole thing to do, but it’s better this way for the both of us. All that bullshit about giving him some fun? It was just that, bullshit. I shouldn’t have slept with him, but now that he’s had his “gay experience,” it’s time I put some distance between us before we both get hurt.

  Max, as I predicted, sees right through me, but he knows to stay away when I don’t want to talk.

  The day drags as we go through our chores, and every time Devon tries to start a conversation, I ignore him. Eventually, he stops trying, and the silence during dinner is stifling.