The following P.S. I Loathe You bonus scene takes place in February after chapter 30 of the book (before the epilogue). You could read this scene without it spoiling too much of the book if you haven’t read that already, however, there are references to people and events from the book and it will, of course, make more sense if you’ve read P.S. I Loathe You already.
Devon
“You can’t be serious.” Even as I say the words I know they’re futile; of course he’s serious.
“Of course I’m serious,” Wes declares with an air of finality that tells me there’s no way he’ll be budging on this. The tattoo is happening. Today. This might have started as a little joke to get under my skin, but Wes quickly became obsessed with the idea and he’s spent the past two months since Christmas working through a bunch of different designs, finally settling on this catastrophe. But because his birthday is apparently Wes-Gets-Anything-He-Wants Day, I don’t have much of a say in the matter.
I let out a resigned sigh and give an exasperated shake of my head as I once again stare at the drawing in front of me. Well, if he’s not changing his mind I may as well start getting used to it. As of this afternoon, this is the image I’ll be assaulted with every time I look at Wes’s bare arse.
I’ll admit I do prefer this to his initial idea of a naked sketch of me, or a cartoon of me with devil horns. But the preference is slight. Very slight. What he’s settled on is a cartoon scene of the two of us. Fucking.
Yes, that’s correct. My boyfriend has decided to permanently ink his body with an image of a little cartoon me flat on my back while little cartoon him fucks my brains out. Classy.
“I don’t think this is to scale,” I say wryly, pointing out the comically large erection my animated self is sporting.
Wes just shrugs. “Artistic license.”
He sets his tablet aside for a moment and bends to pull his Chucks on. As he’s tying his laces, I can’t stop myself from staring at that perfect arse. The one that will soon be marred forever…
“You ready to go down?” he asks brightly as he straightens up, snapping me out of my reverie.
I let out a soft sigh, my lips forming into a pout. “I need to say goodbye first.”
Wes cocks a pierced eyebrow at me, his lips twitching in amusement. “Goodbye?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say with a scowl. “You’re not the one losing something precious. How would you feel if I was putting that on my bum?”
He just smirks at me, the bastard. “Well, fortunately I won’t ever have to worry about that, will I?”
“You’re a prick,” I grumble.
“And you’re being ridiculous.”
“Are you saying you don’t want a rim job?” I challenge, one brow raised.
Wes holds his hands up, eyes wide with innocence. “Whoa. I never said that.”
“Then pull your fucking trousers down and turn around.”
He arches his brows at me but nevertheless follows my command, unzipping his jeans and shoving them down to his thighs. Then he turns around and braces himself against the wall. Perfect.
I move up behind him and drop to my knees, putting myself at eye level with arse I’ve come to know and love over the past four months. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve licked and kissed and nibbled and sucked Wes here; ever since I discovered the joy of rimming it’s become one of my absolute favourite things to do. But it’s going to be a bit different after today, isn’t it? I have no doubt I’ll still be able to drive Wes insane with my mouth, which is the main thing; but it’ll still be different…
I take my time dropping kisses over his skin before parting his cheeks and running my tongue along his crease, satisfied when he lets out a low groan and pushes back against my mouth. I feel my lips forming a grin at his predictably eager response and I decide to tease him just a bit longer before finally diving in and going to town with my tongue and lips and teeth.
“Fuck, Dev. Get in me,” Wes groans.
I draw my face back from his arse, holding still for a moment with my surprise. It’s a rare event that Wes wants to be fucked, but today is his birthday so I’m hardly going to deny his request. Not that I would on any other day of the year either…
“Just a sec, I’ll grab some lube.”
“Forget the lube,” he grunts out, a note of desperation in his voice.
“Wes…”
“Devon, just shut the fuck up and put your cock in me.”
I shake my head wryly and get to my feet, tugging my hard cock from my jeans and sliding my hand over it to spread my precum along the shaft. There’s not much of it, though; I’ve never been someone who leaks rivers of precum. But that and the saliva that’s still glistening around Wes’s hole from my tongue will at least be something.
“It’s going to burn,” I warn him as I line my cock up with his entrance.
“Don’t care. Just do it already.”
Without any further hesitation, I start to inch inside him. I’d planned to go slow, but Wes, taking the reins as usual, thrusts back against me in a hard, sudden movement that ensures I’m buried to the hilt in one go.
“Jesus. You can be such a fucking prick sometimes,” I murmur in his ear, not without affection.
“And yet you love me anyway. So what does that say about you?” he says wryly.
I let out a breath of laughter and brush a kiss to his neck, my arms wrapping tightly around his torso as I snap my hips, driving in deep over and over. “I must be mad,” I whisper.
It’s not surprising that I get there first; Wes’s prostate is nowhere near as sensitive as mine, so when he asks for my cock it’s because he wants to feel me, not because he’s likely to come from the act itself. I know he’ll want me inside for as long as possible, so I don’t make a move to pull out right away; instead I reach down to wrap my hand around his throbbing cock, stroking firmly until I feel him tensing against me and he comes with a groan on his lips.
We just stand there for a moment with me holding him and peppering little kisses along his jaw before I finally pull out of him and step away.
“As epic as that was, in hindsight it might not have been the best idea,” Wes says with a chuckle. “I’ll have to go shower and douche again now. Can’t imagine Leela will be too thrilled if I presented her with a cum-filled arse to tattoo.”
I quirk a brow at him. “You could just call it off?”
He offers a wry smirk. “Nice try.”
I wash my hands and make myself a mug of tea while I wait for Wes to do what he needs to in the bathroom. He emerges after about twenty minutes wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. My eyes are immediately drawn to the droplets of water running down his muscled, tattooed chest; all I want to do is stalk over to him and lick those droplets away with my tongue.
I manage to restrain myself thanks to Wes removing himself from my line of sight as he heads into his bedroom. He emerges a few minutes later clad in a fresh pair of jeans and in the middle of tugging a knitted jumper over his head.
“We need to be better at getting naked before having sex,” he grumbles. “I’m running out of clothes without cum stains on them.”
“You know, there’s this thing over there in your kitchen called a washing machine. You could always use that.”
His head emerges from the jumper and I see him smirking at me. “Or I could just borrow more of your clothes…”
It’s then that I notice the jumper he’s wearing is actually a pilfered one of mine. I just roll my eyes and get to my feet. “Come on,” I say with all the enthusiasm of a man headed for the gallows. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Really? You have to be naked?” I ask with a skeptical brow raise as Wes starts stripping off all his clothes once we’re down in his tattooing room.
He just shrugs. “Leela needs to be able to get to my arse.”
I start to point out that he could simply pull his trousers down, but decide to just let it go. He’s already down to his briefs so what’s the point arguing now? “Just hurry up and get face down on that bench. I don’t want Leela seeing any more of you than she has to.”
Wes lets out a soft breath of laughter as he makes his way to the bench, which has been positioned flat so he can stretch out on it face down. “You realise I hold no interest for her whatsoever, right?”
“That’s beside the point,” I grumble.
Truthfully, I’m less worried about Leela and more concerned about how I’m going to survive the next few hours in such close proximity to a naked Wes. You’d think considering I have a mortal fear of needles I’d want to be as far away from this procedure as possible, but evidently that only applies to needles going into my own skin. At Wes’s insistence I reluctantly tagged along when he got his nipple pierced last month—I’d been the one to choose that part of his body for a new piercing, after all—and it hadn’t triggered anything close to the freakout I’d been expecting. In fact, I found the experience more arousing that upsetting. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I sat in on a session where he got some of the ink on his bicep touched up and it was the same thing. I’ve always been incredibly turned on by Wes’s ink and piercings, but I never imagined that would stretch to watching them get done.
“Wes, I need you to stop chuckling like that,” Leela says with a bite of annoyance in her tone, about halfway through the session. “I’m going to fuck this up if your arse keeps moving.”
“Sorry. Devon keeps trying to hide his erection. It’s funny.”
Mortification floods through me instantly both at the fact that my attempt at subtlety has failed, and that Wes has—unsurprisingly—decided to announce my issue in the presence of a woman I barely know. “You’re such a bastard!” I hiss.
“If you come a bit closer I can take care of that for you,” he suggests, reaching a hand out.
“Please don’t,” Leela says dryly.
“I think I’m going to go over there,” I mutter, rising from my chair and moving around the bench to stand near the wall behind Leela, well out of Wes’s line of sight.
“You’re no fun,” Wes grumbles.
“All done!” Leela finally announces, her tone almost relieved. “I just need to put some cream on it.”
“I’ll do that!” I snap, my voice coming out a little harsher than is probably warranted considering I know full well Leela has no interest in Wes. But that’s beside the point; if anyone’s rubbing any kind of cream on my boyfriend’s arse, it’s me.
Leela just chuckles and steps away from the bench. “Alright then, I’ll leave you two to it. I’m just outside if you need.”
On her way out the door, she passes me and hands me the tube. I glance at it for a second, my brows creeping up in surprise. “Isn’t this stuff for nappy rash?”
“It’s for all kinds of skin irritation,” Wes informs me. “Chemical free and all that.”
“Okay then.” I give a little shrug and round the bench, finally able to get a close-up look at the ink, and barely managing to hold in a gasp when I see it.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Wes asks.
“Ah…” I hesitate for a long moment, because I really, really don’t want to admit to what I’m actually thinking right now. Much to my amazement—and a little to my chagrin if I’m being honest—the new tattoo looks hot as fucking hell. And I can barely keep my eyes from it.
“Jesus, don’t tell me she fucked it up,” Wes demands, his head snapping up and around with a look of panic in his eyes.
I shake my head slowly. “No. No, I wouldn’t say that. It actually, uh…it looks really good.”
A shit-eating grin crosses Wes’s face, his eyes alight with vindication. “I fucking knew it.”
Bloody hell. I’m never going to hear the end of this.
Wes
Devon can be so predictable sometimes. I knew the second he actually saw the tatt on my skin he’d go mad for it, and I was right. If I’d had any doubt at all I never would have gone through with it; I might be a prick, but I’m not enough of one to force him to live with something I thought he’d really, truly hate for the rest of his life.
And isn’t that a strange thought? And one that’s been popping into my head with alarming frequency ever since Devon and I became “official.” We’ve only been together for four months, and half of that time was spent hate-fucking; but I still can’t shake the notion we’re meant for the long haul.
“Does it hurt?” Devon asks as he starts rubbing some of the cream over the fresh tattoo.
“Stings a bit. Nothing too bad.”
“Can you, um…I mean…” he breaks off, clearly struggling to find the words for what he’s actually trying to say. It’s bloody adorable.
“If you’re trying to ask if you can lick it or put your dick anywhere near it, you might want to give it a few days.”
“Damn,” he mutters, clearly disappointed.
I push myself up and swing my legs over the bench, my arse cheek smarting a little as I sit on my new tatt. It’s easy to ignore as I take in the sight of a pouting Devon, though. I offer a broad grin as I reach out to pull him closer to me. “You’re so predictable, babe. I should have put money on you loving it once you saw it.”
Devon just shakes his head, looking bewildered. “I have no idea how that ridiculous cartoon could look so fucking sexy.”
“Because it’s us,” I say simply. “And ‘cause from now on you’re the only person who’ll ever get to see it.”
He lets out a low, possessive growl. “Fucking right, I will be.”
And then we’re kissing. Hot and hungry and full of a desperate need that would make anyone think we hadn’t touched each other in months, when in reality we shagged mere hours ago. That’s still too long, though; especially when I’ve just been lying here for the past couple of hours with Devon doing a horrible job of hiding how turned on he was watching me get inked.
“Give me a sec to get dressed and we can go upstairs,” I murmur as I finally break the kiss.
“Fuck going upstairs,” he growls. “Give me a sec to get undressed.” He doesn’t give me time to respond before he starts stripping off layers of clothing until he’s standing in front of me, completely starkers and hard as stone. “Will this work as lube?”
I eye the tube of cream he’s holding and give a shrug. “Should do.”
He hands me the tube and then steps closer to the bench, draping himself face down across it, with his arse presented out to me. I give a wry shake of my head; who could turn down an offer like that? Not me, that’s for sure.
I move into position behind Devon, doing some quick prep with my fingers and the cream before pushing inside him, bottoming out in a single stroke. I take a second to savour the familiar sensation of his perfect, tight heat enveloping me before I start to snap my hips, hitting him hard and deep just how he likes it.
I hear a muffled groan and see Devon biting down on his forearm. That’s definitely not going to cut it. I pause my movements, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head away from his arm. “What the fuck are you doing?” I growl.
“There are people outside,” he says in an urgent hush.
“So?” I lean closer and talk in his ear, “Let them hear. I want them to. I want them to know what a fucking slut you are. So greedy for my cock you couldn’t even wait ’til we got upstairs.”
I yank even harder on his hair and slam my hips forward, driving in deep once again. My lips spread into a satisfied smile as Devon responds with a loud groan.
“You’re such a fucking bastard,” he growls, his cheeks flaming red with a mix of embarrassment, aggravation and unmistakable desire. “I hate you so much right now.”
I let out a loud chuckle, drawing back and once again pausing my movements. “I can stop if you’d prefer?”
Devon grits his teeth, his head shaking sharply. I pretend not to see that, though, instead pulling out the rest of the way and prompting him to let out a whimper of disappointment.
“Wes…no…” he practically whines.
“What was that?” I ask, adopting an air of innocence. “I can’t hear you.”
I start teasing him with the head of my cock, sliding it around his rim.
“Fucking hell, just get back inside me, you prick!” he cries.
“Ah, now that I heard,” I tease.
“WESLEY!”
With a soft breath of laughter, I finally stop toying with him and thrust back inside, hard and deep. And to my immense satisfaction, he makes no attempt to silence his groans of pleasure this time, growing more and more vocal with every moment that passes. Every hard thrust, every yank of his hair, every slap of his arse just spurs him on more. It’s amazing, and intoxicating. And I love every second.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries. “Almost there—”
“Not yet,” I growl, pulling out of him and prompting an agonised whimper to fall from his lips.
I don’t let him suffer for long, though. Gripping his hips, I spin him around and push him back onto the bench, propping his ankles on my shoulders as I drive back deep inside him. The position’s not unlike the cartoon I now have inked on my arse, and I chose it for a reason—because it’s my favourite. Don’t get me wrong, there’s not a single position under the sun that I don’t enjoy with Devon. But this one—with him laid out before me, my cock buried deep inside him, and the chance to glimpse that beautiful expression that touches his face when he climaxes… It’s perfect.
“Wes…” he murmurs on a soft gasp.
I lock gazes with him. There’s not a hint of his earlier aggravation in those beautiful blue eyes. Only love and affection, tinged with a desperate need.
“Come, babe,” I say with a nod, not letting my eyes leave his face as he reaches for his cock and starts stroking.
He comes with a groan, that look of pure bliss that washes over his face almost enough to steal my breath. His orgasm triggers my own and I come hard, filling his arse.
We’re both still for a moment, and then I pull him up against me and crash my lips into his, kissing urgently.
“You’re such a prick,” he grumbles, even as he kisses me back with equal hunger. “I can’t believe you made me do that.”
Yeah, as though he didn’t love every second of what we just did.
I pull back from him and offer an affectionate smile. “I hope you’re not expecting me to apologise, babe. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t scream so loud half of London can hear you every time you’ve got my cock inside you. And I want you to be you. Because I love you.”
Devon tosses his head back, letting out a groan of frustration. “And then you go and say stuff like that. You’re so bloody annoying.” When he lifts his head back up, he’s smiling broadly and I know I’m completely forgiven. Not that there was any real doubt; no matter how pissy he gets with me sometimes, it never last longs. I’m just too loveable, I guess.
He reaches for me again, claiming my lips in a soft, slow kiss that leaves me tingling all over.
“How about we finally go upstairs,” I suggest in a murmur, my forehead resting against his. “We can get you cleaned up…then dirty again.”
The corner of Devon’s mouth quirks up. “Sounds like a plan.”
We spend most of the afternoon naked at my place, but then manage to drag ourselves out in the freezing February night to catch up with Natasha for some birthday drinks. Truthfully, I would have sooner just stayed snuggled up inside with Devon, but Tash was all excited about doing something and it’s a rare occasion that I can say no to that girl.
“So, can I see it?” she asks eagerly as we all stand around a tall table in the Bell and Bear, pints in hand.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Tash’s mouth forms into a pout. “Come on, it’s not like I haven’t seen your bare bum before.”
“When have you seen his bare bum?” Devon demands.
Natasha narrows her eyes at Devon. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I was checking him out. But when you walk into your friend’s place and he’s not wearing trousers you tend to see things.”
“Forget about it,” I tell her, getting back to the tattoo. “It’s for Devon’s eyes only.”
Tash lets out a long, resigned sigh. “Fine.”
I’m assuming the issue is settled, but when Devon leaves the table to order some more drinks, she turns on me with a pointed look. “Okay, now that he’s gone?”
I just stare at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”
She tosses her head back in frustration. “The tattoo! Look, you don’t need to actually show me your arse, but can I see which design you settled on?”
I shake my head, folding my arms across my chest. “Sorry, gorgeous. Like I said—Devon’s eyes only.”
She studies me thoughtfully for a moment before her lips form a soft smile. “Hmm…this is nice. I like this for you.”
“Huh? What’s nice?” I ask, puzzled.
“You. You’re all gooey and sweet now. It’s cute.”
My mouth falls open in shock. “I am not gooey and sweet. Or cute.”
Natasha nods eagerly. “Yes you are. Oh my god—you’re Rolos!”
“What does that even mean?”
She waves a hand at me, as though that should be enough for me to understand the workings of her brain. “You know, because you’re kind of hard on the outside but then on the inside you’re sweet and gooey.”
I roll my eyes. “The only thing I have in common with Rolos is how delicious we both are.”
By the time we finish up at the pub and get back to my place, I’m utterly exhausted. It’s been a long as hell day. A great one, though.
“Can we just cuddle?” I ask as I climb into bed, barely able to hold back my yawn. “I’m knackered.”
Devon lets out a soft chuckle and follows after me. “It must be because you’re almost forty.”
I grab a pillow and hit him over the head with it. “You take that back!”
He yanks it from my grip, his face split into a broad grin as he gazes down at me. “Three hundred and sixty-five days to go, babe. Wait—is that a grey hair in your beard?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I do not have grey hairs in my beard.”
He reaches out to stroke my beard affectionately. “Don’t worry. You make a sexy silver fox.”
“You’re the devil,” I grumble, but nevertheless hold out my arms for him, letting out a soft sigh as he falls into them and snuggles up against me. I’d love nothing more than to show him just how much fortitude and stamina this thirty-nine year-old has, but I really am absolutely knackered right now. That demonstration will have to wait until tomorrow.
“Did you have a good birthday?” Devon murmurs.
“The best.”
And this right here is my favourite part. Holding Devon close, falling asleep in each other’s arms—I couldn’t ask for anything better.