Chapter 2: Breakfast, Bacon, and a Bare Breast
Sunlight cut through the blinds in thin gold lines, striping the rumpled sheets where Devin lay alone.
He woke slowly, consciousness returning in fragments. The ache came first—a deep, satisfied soreness between his legs, a tenderness in his jaw, the ghost of fingerprints pressed into his hips. Then the memories. Marcus's weight on top of him. The way his name had sounded ripped from Marcus's throat.
Devin stretched, and every muscle protested in the best possible way.
The bed was empty. The sheets beside him were cold.
He sat up, wincing at the pull in his thighs, and looked around the guest room. His old clothes were still scattered on the floor—the t-shirt he'd worn before, the sweats that no longer fit. He caught his reflection in the mirror across the room and stopped breathing for a second.
Still her. Still this.
The woman in the mirror had sleep-mussed hair that fell past her shoulders in tangled waves. Her skin was flushed pink across the chest, love bites scattered along her collarbone like a map of everything that had happened last night. Her lips were still swollen.
Devin touched her face. Watched her fingers trace the shape of her own cheekbone.
This was real. This was permanent.
The smell of bacon drifted up from downstairs, and Devin's stomach clenched with hunger. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. The transformation had burned through everything he had.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His body felt different—the weight of new curves, the shift in his center of gravity. He wobbled for a second, then found his balance.
He didn't bother looking for clothes. The t-shirt on the floor would have hung past his knees now, and the sweats would have fallen off his hips. Besides, Marcus had already seen everything. Had already touched everything. Had already been inside—
Devin's breath caught at the memory, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him.
He padded out of the guest room and down the hallway, bare feet silent on the hardwood. The stairs creaked under his weight, but he didn't care. The house smelled like coffee and bacon and something warm that made his mouth water.
Marcus stood at the stove, his back to the doorway. He wore nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants that rode dangerously low on his hips, the waistband sitting just below the dimples at the base of his spine. His back was a landscape of muscle—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the ridges of his spine visible beneath tanned skin, a thin sheen of sweat from the heat of the pan.
He was flipping bacon with a spatula, his movements easy and practiced. The muscles in his forearm flexed with the motion.
Devin stopped in the doorway and just watched.
Marcus hadn't heard him yet. He was humming something under his breath—some song Devin didn't recognize—and there was something so domestic, so impossibly normal about the scene that Devin's chest ached.
Twelve hours ago, they'd been just friends. Now Marcus had fucked him into the mattress, and Devin's body was permanently, irrevocably changed, and somehow Marcus was standing in his kitchen making breakfast like nothing had happened.
Except everything had happened.
Marcus turned, spatula in hand, probably to grab a plate from the counter.
He froze.
The spatula clattered to the floor.
Marcus's eyes swept over Devin—standing naked in the kitchen doorway, hair a mess, skin marked with the evidence of their night together, breasts still heavy and swollen, thighs pressed together against the ache between them. His jaw went tight.
He crossed the kitchen in three strides.
Devin's back hit the counter before he even registered moving. The edge dug into his spine, and Marcus was there, crowding him, one hand slamming flat against the cabinet beside Devin's head. His body radiated heat. His cock was already tenting the gray fabric, thick and obvious, pressing against Devin's hip.
"Still here," Devin breathed.
Marcus's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. His chest heaved.
"Still here," Devin repeated. He reached up and grabbed Marcus's wrist, guiding his hand to the bare curve of one breast, pressing Marcus's rough palm flat against the soft, heavy weight. "Still yours. Forever yours."
The sound Marcus made was barely human.
"Fuck," he growled, and then his hands were everywhere—gripping Devin's hips, sliding up his sides, palming his breasts, thumbing over nipple until Devin gasped and arched into him.
Marcus hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and shoved them down. They pooled around his ankles. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, already slick at the tip.
Devin's mouth watered.
Marcus kicked the sweatpants aside and grabbed Devin by the thighs, lifting him onto the counter. Devin's ass hit the cold granite and he yelped, but Marcus was already between his legs, pushing them apart, settling into the space like he belonged there.
"Goddamn," Marcus muttered, staring down at the wet, pink heat between Devin's thighs. "Still slick from last night."
"Marcus—"
"Shut up."
He dragged two fingers through Devin's folds, and Devin's whole body jerked. Marcus spread him open, slippery and ready, circling his clit with his thumb.
"Please," Devin gasped. "Fuck, please, I need—"
Marcus shoved into him without warning.
Devin screamed.
The stretch was brutal, his body still sore from before, but Marcus didn't stop. He bottomed out in one hard thrust, hips flush against Devin's thighs, and groaned like he was the one being split open.
"Tight," he gritted out. "Still so fucking tight."
He pulled back and slammed in again.
The force of it knocked the air from Devin's lungs. His hands flew up, one grabbing Marcus's shoulder, the other gripping the edge of the counter for dear life. Marcus set a punishing rhythm, each thrust jolting Devin's entire body, making his breasts bounce, making the cabinets rattle behind him.
"Fuck, Marcus—" Devin's voice broke, high and desperate. "Harder. Fucking harder."
Marcus's laugh was breathless, almost mean. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"
He grabbed Devin's hips and yanked him forward, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust hit that spot inside that made Devin's vision go white. Devin sobbed, nails raking down Marcus's chest, leaving red lines across the tan skin.
"Right there?" Marcus grunted. "That what you need?"
"Yes—fuck—yes, right there, don't stop, don't you fucking stop—"
Marcus didn't stop.
He fucked Devin against the counter like he was trying to prove something, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. The bacon sizzled and spat on the stove, forgotten. The coffee maker beeped somewhere in the background. Neither of them noticed.
Marcus dipped his head and caught one bouncing nipple between his teeth. Devin shrieked, back arching, fingers tangling in Marcus's hair. Marcus sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, and Devin felt the pleasure spike straight down to his core.
"I'm gonna come," Devin gasped. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"
"Not yet."
Marcus pulled out.
Devin howled in protest, reaching for him, but Marcus was already spinning him around, bending him over the counter. Devin's feet barely touched the floor. His cheek pressed against the cold granite, his breasts flattened against the surface, and then Marcus was pushing back inside him from behind.
The new angle was devastating.
Devin clawed at the counter, trying to find purchase, but Marcus had him pinned. One hand pressed between Devin's shoulder blades, holding him down. The other gripped his hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
"Take it," Marcus snarled. "Take what's yours."
The possessive growl sent a shudder through Devin's entire body. He pushed back, meeting every thrust, fucking himself on Marcus's cock with abandon. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the kitchen, obscene and perfect.
"Whose is this?" Marcus demanded, slamming deep.
Devin's mind went blank. "Yours—"
"Whose?"
"Yours, Marcus, it's yours, all of it—"
Marcus's hand came down on Devin's ass with a sharp crack. Devin screamed, the pain melting into pleasure, and Marcus did it again, then again, until Devin's ass was red and stinging and he was crying.
"Please," Devin sobbed. "Please let me come. I can't—I need—"
"Come."
The word was a command, and Devin obeyed.
His entire body convulsed, walls clenching hard around Marcus's cock, a guttural moan ripping from his throat. The orgasm rolled through him in waves, each one triggered by Marcus's continued thrusts, and he was still shaking when Marcus finally let go.
Marcus's hips stuttered. His grip tightened to the point of pain. His cock pulsed deep inside Devin, flooding him with hot, thick cum, and he groaned like he was dying.
He collapsed over Devin's back, both of them panting, slick with sweat.
For a long moment, neither moved. The bacon had started to smoke.
Marcus reached over and turned off the burner without pulling out.
"Shit," he muttered against Devin's shoulder. "The bacon's ruined."
Devin laughed—a breathless, giddy sound. "I don't give a fuck about the bacon."
Marcus snorted. He pulled out slowly, and Devin winced at the loss, at the wet heat trailing down his thighs. Marcus turned him around, gathered him up in his arms, and lifted him off the counter.
Devin's feet hit the floor. His legs were jelly. He clung to Marcus's shoulders to stay upright.
Marcus looked down at him. Something soft passed over his face—something that made Devin's heart stutter.
"You're a mess," Marcus said quietly.
"Yeah." Devin grinned. "Your mess."
Marcus shook his head, but he was smiling now. That easy, familiar smile that Devin had known for over a decade.
"Come on," Marcus said, pulling him toward the stairs. "Let's get cleaned up. Then I'm making more bacon."
"Take a shower with me?"
Marcus looked back at him, and his eyes went dark again.
"What do you think?"
Devin didn't answer. He just followed Marcus up the stairs, his body still humming, his heart still racing, the taste of forever on his tongue.
The stairs groaned under their combined weight, each step a small confession. Marcus kept one hand wrapped around Devin's wrist, his grip firm, almost possessive, like he was afraid she might dissolve if he let go.
Devin's thighs ached with every movement. The evidence of what they'd done trickled down her leg, warm and unmistakable. She didn't wipe it away. Some perverse part of her wanted to keep it there, a mark of ownership she could feel with every step.
The bathroom door stood open. Steam still clung to the mirror from Marcus's earlier shower, ghosting the glass in soft gray clouds. The air smelled like citrus and something else underneath—the musk of what they'd just done, still hanging in the room like smoke.
Marcus pulled her inside and shut the door behind them.
The click of the lock sounded final. Devin's pulse stuttered.
Marcus turned to face her, and for a moment he just looked. His eyes traveled from her tangled hair to her swollen lips to the red marks his teeth had left on her collarbone. Down to her breasts, still flushed and tender, nipples peaked from the cold air and the memory of his mouth. Further, to the wetness still glistening on her inner thighs.
His jaw tightened. "You're dripping."
"I know."
"Down your legs. From me."
Devin's breath caught. She held his gaze. "I know."
Marcus moved.
He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the bathroom counter, spreading her knees apart. The cold marble bit into her bare ass, and Devin hissed through her teeth. Marcus ignored the sound. He knelt between her legs like a man approaching an altar.
"Don't," Devin whispered.
Marcus looked up at her. "Don't what?"
"Don't stop."
He didn't.
His tongue dragged through her folds in one long, slow stroke, and Devin's entire body seized. Her hands flew back, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth counter, finding nothing. Marcus's palms pressed flat against her thighs, holding her open, holding her still.
"You taste like me," he muttered against her cunt. "Like us."
He licked again, deeper this time, tongue pushing inside her where he'd been minutes ago. Devin keened, high and desperate, her heels digging into his back. Marcus groaned in response, the vibration ripping through her, and set to work like he was trying to devour her.
His tongue curled inside her, lapping up the mess he'd made, then dragged upward to circle her clit. He sucked it between his lips and flicked it hard and fast, and Devin's vision went white at the edges.
"Fuck—Marcus—" Her voice cracked. She was shaking, thighs trembling against his ears.
He pulled back just enough to speak. "You wanted a shower. We're getting cleaned up."
"That's not—" She gasped as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing rough circles while his tongue dipped back inside. "That's not what I—"
"Shut up and let me taste you."
Devin shut up.
Marcus took his time. He worked her over with a patience that bordered on cruelty, bringing her to the edge and backing off, then doing it again. By the third time, Devin was sobbing, tears streaking down her cheeks, fingers tangled in his hair hard enough to hurt.
"Please," she begged. "Please, Marcus, I can't—"
"You can."
"I can't, I can't, fuck, please just let me—"
He sucked her clit hard and shoved two fingers inside her.
The orgasm hit like a freight train.
Devin screamed—actually screamed, the sound bouncing off the tile walls and filling the small room. Her body convulsed around Marcus's fingers, walls clenching rhythmically. Marcus didn't let up. He kept his mouth on her, kept fingering her through it, drawing out every last shudder until Devin had to physically push his head away.
She sagged against the mirror, chest heaving. Her reflection stared back at her, wrecked and beautiful and utterly shameless.
Marcus rose to his feet. His mouth was slick, chin glistening. He wiped it with the back of his hand and grinned.
"You look like you've been fucked."
"I have been fucked."
"Not yet." He stepped toward the shower and twisted the knob. Water hissed to life, steaming instantly. "Get in."
Devin slid off the counter on unsteady legs. Marcus caught her before she stumbled, one arm around her waist. He walked her into the shower, and the hot water hit her skin like a benediction.
For a moment, they just stood there. The spray soaked her hair, plastering it to her face and neck. Marcus reached up and swept it back, his touch surprisingly gentle.
"You okay?" he asked.
The question was simple. The answer wasn't.
Devin looked up at him. Water dripped from his dark lashes, tracing paths down his cheeks, his jaw, his chest. He was so close she could count the individual droplets clinging to his skin.
"I'm better than okay," she said.
Marcus nodded. He grabbed the soap and lathered his hands, then reached for her.
He washed her with the same single-minded focus he did everything else. His soapy palms glided over her shoulders, down her arms, around to her back. He kneaded the knots from her muscles, and Devin moaned, letting her head fall forward against his chest.
"You're tense," he observed.
"You're thorough."
His hands moved lower, cupping her ass, squeezing. "I have to be. Can't leave any part of you untouched."
Devin huffed a laugh against his wet skin. "That's not a real problem."
"It is now."
He turned her around and pressed her face-first into the cold tile. Devin gasped, the contrast shocking her system, and then Marcus was behind her, his cock already hard again, pressing against the crease of her ass.
"Again?" she breathed.
"Again." He nipped at her shoulder. "And again. And again, until I've fucked every doubt out of that pretty head of yours."
Devin's fingers splayed against the tile. "What doubts?"
"That you'll wake up tomorrow and regret this."
The honesty in his voice made her chest ache.
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." She twisted to look back at him, water streaming between them. "I've wanted this since I was fifteen years old, Marcus. I just didn't know it until I saw you in that hallway."
Marcus went still.
"What?"
"Three nights ago." Devin swallowed hard. "You walked out of the bathroom with that towel, and I—" She broke off, laughing bitterly. "I didn't even know I could want someone like this. Want a man like this. But then I saw you and it was like everything I thought I knew about myself just... burned."
Marcus's hand came up to cup her jaw. His thumb brushed over her lip, the same gesture he'd made that first night in the guest room.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't think you'd want—" She stopped. "I didn't think I was enough."
Marcus pulled her away from the wall, spinning her to face him. His eyes burned into hers, fierce and dark and something else she couldn't name.
"Enough," he said. "You think you weren't enough? I've been sitting in that guest room for a week, jerking off to thoughts of this exact thing. You think I didn't notice you staring? You think I didn't feel you watching me?"
Devin's mouth fell open. "You—"
"I've been losing my mind." Marcus's laugh was rough, almost broken. "My best friend, the guy I grew up with, and I can't stop thinking about bending him over every flat surface in this house. And now—" He gestured at her body, the curves that fit against his palms perfectly. "Now here you are. Like something out of my fucking dreams."
Devin had no words.
Marcus didn't need her to.
He hooked her leg over his hip and shoved inside her in one brutal stroke.
The angle was different—deeper somehow, the water making everything slicker. Devin cried out, hands slapping against the tile behind her. Marcus grabbed her other thigh and lifted her off the floor entirely, pinning her to the wall with his body.
"Look at me," he demanded.
Devin forced her eyes open. Marcus was close, so close, water dripping from his hair into her face, his breath hot against her lips.
"I want you to see me while I fuck you," he said. "I want you to know exactly who's making you feel this way."
Devin nodded frantically. "You. Only you, always—"
Marcus kissed her.
It was messy and desperate and their teeth clicked together, but neither of them cared. Marcus fucked into her with deep, rolling thrusts, never speeding up, never slowing down. It was torture. It was heaven. It was so much more than she'd ever imagined.
"Wait," she gasped against his mouth. "Wait, I want—"
She pushed at his chest, and Marcus pulled back immediately, concern flashing across his face. "What? You okay?"
"Fine. Just—" She slid down his body, dropping to her knees on the shower floor. The water beat down on her back. She looked up at him through wet lashes. "I want to taste you."
Marcus's cock jerked against her cheek.
"Devin—"
"Shut up," she said, throwing his words back at him. "Let me do this."
She took him in her mouth.
The taste was different this time—soap mixed with salt, clean and dirty all at once. She swallowed him down as far as she could, until he hit the back of her throat, and Marcus groaned like she was killing him.
"Fuck," he hissed, hands fisting in her hair. "Your fucking mouth."
Devin hummed and doubled her efforts. She sucked him hard, cheeks hollowing, one hand gripping the base of his cock to work what she couldn't fit. The other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, and Marcus's hips bucked.
"Jesus," he gasped. "Jesus, Devin, if you don't stop I'm gonna—"
She didn't stop.
She pulled off long enough to breathe, "Come in my mouth," then took him back down.
Marcus shouted something wordless and yanked her hair hard. His cock swelled, pulsed, and then he was coming, hot and thick, flooding her throat. Devin swallowed everything, every last drop, until he finally pulled back and sagged against the opposite wall.
They stared at each other, both breathing hard, water streaming down their bodies.
"Okay," Marcus said finally. "Okay. That was—"
"Yeah."
"We're doing that again."
"Definitely."
Marcus leaned forward and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. They stood like that under the spray, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.
The water started to cool.
Marcus fumbled for the knob and turned it off. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the drip of water and the sound of their breathing.
"Come on," he said, grabbing a towel. "Bed. Food. Then more of this."
Devin took the towel he offered, drying herself off slowly. "Promise?"
Marcus wrapped his towel around his waist and looked at her—really looked, serious and steady.
"Promise."
He took her hand and led her out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood floor. Somewhere downstairs, the bacon was definitely ruined. Neither of them cared.
They had time. They had forever.
And Devin intended to use every second of it.