Chapter 20
TWENTY
BIANCA
This conversation was supposed to be a casual dinner chat, not a revelation that hanging out with Waylon feels as easy and natural as hanging around by myself.
I shouldn’t want him the way I want him right now. I want more dinners and comfortable silences. More of this calmness that I’ve only ever felt around him or the people closest to me. More of his warm, genuine smiles.
I swig down some of my wine to soothe my dry mouth. Wanting him physically is the least complicated way I could want him. He wants to fuck me, I want to fuck him. I want to (continue to) learn what good sex is actually like.
I need to focus on that. I need to . Because imagining more is the worst thing I can do. Staying in Jepsen is temporary. And even if it wasn’t, Waylon told me he flat out didn’t want anything serious.
After I finish eating, I stretch, and his eyes go to my (admittedly modest) cleavage.
“I’ve got it,” he says to me when I stand up to put my dish in the sink.
“Thanks. But aren’t I supposed to do the dishes or something because you did most of the cooking?” I ask. “It’s like four things and you have a dishwasher.”
“You really don’t have to.” He takes my dish and pops it into the dishwasher. “You helped.”
“Fine, let me get the pot and cutting board, at least.” I nudge my way in front of him to the sink and start washing the big things.
“Thanks.” He rests his hip against the counter and watches me.
His body language is relaxed but I’m definitely not relaxed. I’m wound tight, aching between my thighs already just from the way he’s looking at me. It’s like my body knows what comes after that look.
He snags one of my curls and gently tugs it, winding it around his finger. He isn’t even touching my skin and electricity makes its way all the way through my body.
His hand travels down the side of my neck to cup the back, his skin slightly rough against mine. The little circles he makes with his thumbs give me chills as I finish cleaning the last pot.
The contrast between the friendly, polite version of him in public, and this version, who looks like he wants to devour me, sends a bolt of warmth down my spine.
“All done,” I say, looking up at him. “Though to be honest, you distracted me.”
“A good distraction?” He pulls me closer to him.
“Very good.” I glance at his lips. I want him to kiss me, but now I’m rethinking it. Does he think it’s too intimate to just do that? There’s a big difference between a kiss to start and kissing me in the heat of the moment.
He kisses the side of my neck instead, his hands roaming all over me. Adjusting to my post-modeling body — even though it’s not that different — has been hard, but the way he can tell me he’s into me without saying a word eases some of my fears. His hands skim down my hips and around to my ass, giving it a squeeze.
“Any ideas about what you want to learn today?” he asks, his lips on my collarbone.
“I brought some toys,” I say, letting my hands inch up his chest. “Just in case.”
“That’s perfect.” He grins, his fingers threading in mine. “C’mon.”
I let him lead me upstairs, scooping up my tote bag on the way. We pass by what looks like his home office before we reach his bedroom. It’s very him — tidy but not so tidy that it feels like no one actually lives there. He gently nudges me to sit down on the bed and he shuts the door behind us.
“So the dogs don’t bother us,” he says, putting out his hand for the bag. I hand it over.
He nods as he looks inside — it’s just a small dildo and a wand vibrator. How is he planning to use them? He gently pushes me onto my back, covering my body with his and boxing me in. The heat and size of him over me is about to make my heart beat out of my chest.
It nearly does when he leans down and kisses me, deep and dirty from the start. Nothing at all like the kiss we would have shared in the kitchen. I thread my fingers through his soft, dark hair and throw my leg over his hip. I want to feel every moment of this — just us, his arm behind my back to hold me closer.
His lips trail down the side of my neck, then he peels off my top. The top is lined, so I didn’t bother with a bra.
He murmurs something I don’t catch, but it sounds like he likes what he sees. I arch my back when he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, hard. It’s right at the line of pain and pleasure, which we haven’t explored yet.
“More,” I say. Telling him what I like is second nature at this point.
“More?” He briefly lifts his head before doing the same to my other nipple. “Like that?”
“Yes.” I gasp, sliding my fingers under the neckline of his t-shirt. His skin is warm, almost feverish. “Just like that.”
“You like a little pain, then?” he asks before doing it again. I nod, gripping his hair. “Good to know.”
He makes me squirm for so long that I’m seconds away from shoving down my leggings and touching myself for relief. Thankfully he pulls away, taking his shirt off before pulling down my bottoms.
“All I need you to do is not come,” he says.
I sit up on my elbows, checking to see if he’s kidding. He’s not.
“We’ve spent a whole lot of time trying to get me to come, and now you don’t want me to?” I ask, my eyes skimming over his shoulders and chest. He’s muscular but not chiseled. I prefer him this way.
“Oh, you’re going to.” He kneels between my legs, parting them, his thumbs rubbing over the lace of my panties. “You’re going to be begging to. But you’re going to learn how to hold back.”
I bite my lip as he presses his thumb against my clit through my panties.
“You’re sure?” I ask. Now that I’ve come every time we’ve fooled around, I can’t go without it. And now I don’t know if I can hold back.
It’s a better problem than not being able to come at all, though.
“You trust me?” he asks. I nod. I trust him a terrifying amount. “Then you don’t have to worry.”
He tugs my panties to the side and dips one finger into my pussy. His fingers hit just deep enough to make my toes curl.
“Do you want me to take these off?” I ask, my fingers going to the waistband of my panties.
“Not yet. I like them too much,” he says. “I love all the panties you wear.”
I start to make a mental list of the lingerie sets I could wear around him but my mind goes blank as soon as he presses his tongue to my clit. He can work me up so fast now, one hand holding my panties to the side and the other working in my pussy. I lose myself in the feeling, relaxing the way I only can with him.
Time doesn’t exist — only the feelings he’s pulling out of me. I inch up that hill to the plateau I always linger on before I come, my pussy clenching around his finger. Everything starts to get fuzzy and my chest heaves.
Then, he stops.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, popping my head up.
“I told you not to come. But I didn’t tell you I’d do my best to make you try.” He grins. “I’m going to keep you on edge until you’re begging me to let you come.”
“Oh.” I blink. “ Oh .”
He runs his hands up and down my thighs. “Just tell me if you’re close. I think I know, but just to be safe.”
“What if I don’t?” I ask with a smirk. He picks up that I’m just being cheeky and his smile widens even more.
“I wasn’t planning on adding punishment to today’s lesson, but I’m more than happy to teach you how to be a good girl.”
“I’ll be good.” I lift my hips so he can tug my panties off.
“I know you will.” He picks up the wand vibrator and turns it on, cycling through the settings before settling on one of the lower ones.
He tests the toy on my outer lips, just gauging my reaction, before circling my clit. I press my thighs apart further so he can put it where I want it. It’s so good, but so maddening to not have control over where he puts it. Every time I move my hips to get it in one spot, he puts it somewhere else.
But I climb closer and closer to coming until I can barely take it.
“I’m close,” I choke out. He pulls the toy away immediately. “Shit. That’s…a lot.”
My pussy is still tingling from the vibrator, and my whole body tingles when he kisses my inner thighs. Once he sees I’ve come down, he starts again.
I start to lose count of how many times he brings me right to the edge before pulling back. He cycles between the vibrator, his fingers, his mouth, and the dildo in different combinations that drive me nuts in different ways. I’m dizzy with need, my pussy so soaked that I’m sure there’s a damp spot on the bed beneath me.
At some point I start trembling from head to toe, like all the sensations inside me are threatening to burst out of my skin. I’ve never felt like this before, like I’m just a bunch of nerve endings arranged like a human being. How did I go through life without knowing feelings like this existed?
And how did I go through life not seeing Waylon from between my legs, his entire focus on me and my pleasure?
“P-please,” I gasp when he stops on me again. “Please. I need to come. I’m going insane.”
He sits up, his cock making a bulge in his shorts. My pussy aches just looking at him. I want him inside me.
“You want to come on my cock?” he asks, hopping up and shedding his shorts and boxers. His cock has a pearl of precum on the tip, which glides down the underside of his shaft.
“Please.”
He reaches over to the side table and grabs a condom, suiting up in seconds.
“I’ll give you what you asked for since you asked nicely. Hold your legs back, princess,” he says, picking up the wand toy. “I’m not going to be gentle.”
“Don’t hold back.” I do as he says, my eyes on him.
Instead of plunging inside of me right away, he puts the wand against my clit again. I’m so close that I cry out, breathing deep so I don’t come before he’s buried deep. He brings me up and up until I’m nearly at the edge before he pushes inside me.
The sudden fullness brings tears to my eyes and steals my ability to breathe. And when he starts to fuck me hard while keeping the toy on me?
I’m done. I can’t stop myself from coming. His thick cock pounding me, grazing my g-spot again and again, is too much to process. My brain shuts down all activity besides the ones that control how I feel. The pleasure literally makes me cry, tears streaming down my face.
I manage to pull it together long enough to look up at Waylon, who’s equally as lost in me as I am in my own pleasure. The eye contact is electric. Not too much. Not too intimate.
“Fuck, I can’t anymore,” he says, tossing my toy to the side.
He presses my legs back even further and fucks me so hard that his bed slams against the wall over and over again. I manage to pull him down into a kiss that’s barely a kiss, it’s just us touching in any way we can. Getting as close as we can. He buries his face into my neck as he comes, his entire body shuddering.
He manages not to squish me when he relaxes, not that I would have done anything. I’ve merged with this bed and couldn’t move a muscle if I tried. He pulls out and goes to throw out the condom before laying back down next to me.
“Holy fuck,” I say, once I catch my breath. “That…I…”
“You okay?” He swipes a tear off my face with his thumb. It’s so tender that I almost cry again, but I hold my shit together and nod.
“It was just…it was really intense,” I say, my heart still racing.
“You want to take a shower?” he asks. “To decompress a little.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” I need something to bring me down a bit.
We head to the bathroom, which is tidy and surprisingly spacious. I wind my hair up into a bun on the top of my head while he starts the water for us. He gestures for me to go in first. The hot water feels like a balm on my skin.
“Temperature good?” he asks, stepping inside behind me and hanging up a fresh washcloth, before closing the curtain.
“It’s perfect.” I let my chin fall to my chest and let the water fall down my back for a little too long. “Sorry, I’m hogging the water, aren’t I?”
“A little bit.” He gives me a half-smile and we switch places. “But I understand. It’s a good shower.
“I’ve never really done this before,” I admit. “Showering with anyone.”
He wets his hair, then looks at me, not judging. “Not even an ex?”
“No. But now that I think about it, we had some awesome showers where we could have.” The master bath in the apartment I shared with Kyler had a gorgeous, deep tub and a bathroom with multiple shower heads. But still, the idea of showering together never seriously crossed my mind. “It felt too…I don’t know. Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Why would it be stupid?” He grabs a bottle of body wash.
“I was just self-conscious. Physically, I mean.” I sigh. “As if I hadn’t been mostly naked in front of cameras and plastered all over the internet.”
And as if I hadn’t taken a few spicy pictures of myself early in our relationship. I still wish I could unsend those, especially now. He claims he deleted them but his track record with the truth is pretty iffy.
“Being naked at work is different than being naked at home.” he says, pausing. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d say.”
I laugh. “Yeah, but it makes sense. Being naked or mostly naked on set is so clinical and unsexy. Like I’m freezing my tits off in an uncomfortable post and some photographer is yelling stuff like, ‘unclench, Bianca! You look like you’re taking a shit waiting for the bus!”
Waylon bursts out laughing. “That’s a little too specific to be something you thought of off the top of your head.”
“Yeah, I have a whole list of wild stuff photographers have said,” I say. “But yeah, that kind of energy makes me feel less nervous about being so exposed. Plus I got photoshopped to hell and back. Showering with my exes would have made me feel too exposed. Even though it wasn’t like they hadn’t seen me naked in bed. The more I talk about it, the more it sounds absurd.”
“No, I get it, I think. In bed, you’re moving and you’re in a certain headspace. But in the shower you’re just casually naked.” He leans against the wall. “And in the light.”
“Exactly.” I slip under the water again.
Being casually naked with Waylon feels way too natural — like I hadn’t even thought to be self-conscious about it.
“I get what it’s like to be self-conscious around the people who you shouldn’t be self-conscious around,” he says after a comfortable pause. “Not physically, but just in general.”
He’s talking about his awful ex, I’m guessing, and now I dislike her even more.
“That too,” I say. “It’s not even something conscious.”
“You just wake up one day and you realize that you’re holding shit in.” His tone is soft and filled with understanding.
All I can do is nod, or I’ll say something that breaks this little bubble we’re in and lets in all the ugly stuff from the past come through.
My stomach twists in knots even though the water is soothing. I know Waylon isn’t like my exes at all, but the more I open up, the more I worry about the other shoe dropping. Or worse — I worry about him being just right for me, but him not feeling the same way.