Page 136 of Forgiving Utah

He pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the ground before pressing his bare chest to mine. Devouring me, he settles into a steady rhythm as I moan into his mouth. The bike shakes beneath me with every slap of his thighs against my ass. His cockhead brushes my prostate, causing my length to thicken once again.

“Fuck, Dev,” I practically whimper, rolling my hips. “I… love this. Love you, Dios mio.”

“Gonna come for me again, baby?”

Jesus Christ, I think I might.

Sweat covers both of us, despite the chill, making our bodies glide together. Those whiskey eyes hold me hostage when he wraps his palm around my shaft and starts to stroke. Starlight from above glitters off his piercings, casting shadows over his cheeks, and he's so fucking beautiful that I have to take his lip between my teeth the moment my cock erupts for the second time.

“Just like that,” he groans. “God, I love the way you clench so tight when you come. Your greedy hole can't get enough, huh?”

“Fill me up,” I demand, shuddering through the rest of my orgasm. “I want to feel you still dripping out of me tomorrow.”

Giving me one last sloppy kiss, Dev drops his face to my neck and slows his speed. I hold onto him tightly, arms locked around his shoulders. He fucks into me at a gentle pace, the way I know he likes—soft and sweet.

The Devon from last year wasn't like this, but that Devon was also sad. He was drunk and high, buried under layers of self-doubt. Always chasing the next hit to drown out his own thoughts.

This Devon doesn’t rush. He kisses my neck again, unhurried, like he’s not afraid I’ll pull away if he takes his time—and I don't. I thread my fingers through his hair, massage his scalp and run my lips over his temple as he chases his own release.

“I love you,” I whisper into his ear. He tenses, drawing closer to the finish line. “Come for me, pastelito. Let go. I got you.”

A small, choked sound leaves his throat, fingers digging into my ribs once he finally tips over the edge. I keep holding him through it. “You’re okay, baby.”

His breathing stutters, then slows, along with his thrusts. He stays pressed against me, forehead tucked into my neck. I stroke my thumb along his spine while we both come down from our high, the bike cooling beneath us.

Finally, Dev lifts his head to study my gaze. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “Thank you for choosing me. Even when I didn’t know how to choose myself.”

My chest tightens at that. I thump my forehead against his and release a slow breath. “I’m not going anywhere, Dev. I promise.”

He smiles wide. “Yeah. Me either. You're stuck with me for life.”

And from the way he presses his lips to mine in a slow, deliberate kiss that sends shockwaves all the way down to my fucking toes…

I know that he truly means it.

EPILOGUE ONE - DEVON

The stadium is pure chaos.

Engines scream as monster trucks crush cars like paper, and the crowd is so loud that their cheers vibrate my ribcage. I roll my shoulders from beneath the stands, waiting for my cue.

We've had one hell of a rally week. On day one, Tay announced my addition to the team, and the support we've received from our fans has been phenomenal. I've been joining in on their stunts over the last few days, obviously nowhere near as skilled as them, but the crowd seems to love my simple jumps and front flips all the same. At first, I was anxious, unsure if this was something I could or even wanted to do.

Tonight, though, the nerves have settled. Not into confidence exactly, but a familiarity and trust that comes from repetition. So far, so good. One step at a time.

Taylor's voice crackles in my ear from the Bluetooth in my helmet. “Dev, you’re up after that truck clears.”

I take a breath and ease my bike forward—my new bright green one that Christian built. A monster truck lands hard, suspension screaming nearly loud enough to rival the crowd. Dirt and fire erupt, ridiculously over-the-top and perfect.

I roll out into the open when the floodlights dim. The noise hits me full force, a wall of sound that makes my pulse kick up a notch as I line up for my first jump. It’s not huge, but it's clean. Flying through the air, I bask in the weightlessness before my tires kiss the dirt. The landing rattles through me, but the crowd cheers louder than I expected.

Yeah. I fucking got this.

Carving around the arena, I hit another ramp, pop a front flip that’s still a little ugly on the exit, but strong enough to count. The fans don't care, anyway. They just want passion, and I give it to them every time I roll back on the throttle.

Between passes, I catch sight of Christian at the edge of the arena, watching me with his helmet under his arm. His attention steadies me as I take my final run before slowing near the barricade. My chest heaves, sweat cooling fast under my gear. A wide grin stretches on my face.

The announcer barely lets the noise die down. “And now, keep your eyes on the center ramp, because we’ve got two riders, one bike, and absolutely no regard for common sense⁠—”