Chapter 9 #2
I take advantage of his absence and raise my arms up over my head, arching back to get a really deep stretch.
My breasts hit the cool air above the water line and my nipples pucker.
What does it say that he didn’t look at me when he was helping me into the tub?
I mean, not even a little peek. On the one hand, Waylon is a good guy and not a sleezy asshole, and I like that about him.
On the other hand, his rejection has caused me to wish that upon seeing me, he couldn’t resist the temptation of looking.
Before you ask, I, too, know that what I’ve said are two opposing ideas.
“Oh, fucking hell,” I hear him exclaim from just outside the door.
I know what happened before I even ask. “Did you open the left drawer instead of the right one?” I tip my head back, waiting for an answer.
“Um, yes,” he says, sliding back into the bathroom. “That would be exactly what I did.”
I laugh, imagining what his face must’ve looked like upon seeing my collection.
“So, uh”—he clears his throat—“you, uh, like them tentacle shaped, huh?”
I laugh harder, in an unashamed way. I’m definitely not. But I do think it’s hilarious. “What can I say? I don’t shape discriminate. I like variety. But right now, yes. The tentacles are in heavy rotation.” I shrug, lapping at the water. The bubbles have begun to dissipate.
“Is it what you were using the other night?”
I keep my cool, despite not knowing where this line of questioning is going. “Yes.”
“Were you being… loud on purpose?”
I look back over my shoulder at him. His face is scrunched, eyes narrowed into slits. But the smirk gives him away.
“Yes.”
“You know, it’s very confusing for me to be told by you that there will be absolutely no hanky-panky—your words—and then out of nowhere, you’re just all ‘hey, let’s casually fuck’ or something,” he says, huffing.
“Well, if you must know, I feel like I was cheated out of the experience that night, and you could say I’m curious.” I stand up and turn toward him, not caring that I’m completely naked and soaking wet. “Hand me a towel.” My fists are bunched at my sides.
Waylon puts his hand on the towel I have on the rack, but he doesn’t pull it off or hand it to me. He just stares.
“Curious?” he asks.
“You know, believe it or not, a woman is just as capable of looking at a man and thinking he would probably make for a nice fuck and nothing more,” I say, huffing back at him.
“And nothing more?” he repeats.
“Right.”
We’re having a stare off now. No one moves for a beat. Then he hands me the towel. “Your bed or mine?”
I wrap the towel loosely around my body. “Mine.”
Waylon opens the bathroom door, steps into my bedroom, and pulls his shirt over his head. He discards it to the floor, kicking his shoes off next to it. And when he’s busy unbuttoning his jeans, I make quick work of gathering my half-wet hair into a high messy bun.
“We should discuss a few things first,” he says. He sits down on the edge of my bed wearing only a pair of silky-looking boxer briefs.
“Such as?” I drop the towel a little lower, letting the tops of my breasts spill out.
“Like maybe this is a one-time thing or maybe it isn’t, but either way, we don’t fall asleep together. Whoever is visiting goes back to their room afterward,” he says.
“Deal. And we don’t tell anyone, obviously.”
“Of course? Condoms?”
“I’m on birth control and get tested annually, so I’m good without. Unless you feel differently?”
Waylon lifts his hips, sliding his underwear off and letting them fall to the floor. He leans back onto his elbows and runs his hand over the back of his cock. He’s already half hard, and it’s exactly how I imagined—long and thick and perfect.
I know the running joke is that dicks are ugly and balls look funny and haha, but nothing—and I do mean nothing—makes my mouth water like a man who is rock hard because of me. Seeing him be affected by me is so fucking hot.
My towel drops to the floor. I’ve never really been self-conscious in these situations. I figure, if a guy gets this far with me, it’s because he wants it, wants me. Just like I want him. I don’t think about it beyond that.
Waylon’s naked chest and stomach are just how I imagined, too. A peppering of hair from the broadest past of his pecs tapers down his tummy and over his belly button and farther down. He’s just rugged enough to earn the nickname I gave him the first night we met. Cowboy.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he says, pushing himself deeper onto the bed.
I climb on top of the mattress next to him and lie down on my side.
I raise my hand to him and let my fingertips trace over the tattoo of a horse on his rib cage.
Ironically enough, there is a cowboy riding it.
Though, it’s not surprising. Many of his tattoos are old Western themed in a traditional style.
There are rows of cacti on his forearm and playing cards on the side of his neck. A pair of aces, to be exact. Fuck.
“You’re hot too.”
Waylon rolls up onto his side, facing me. He wedges his knee gently against the apex of my thighs, coaxing me to open them. I relent, and he slides his leg between mine. The top of his thigh grinds against my pussy in an unexpected but delicious way.
My body gives in freely, arching toward him.
“You know, I seem to remember when we kissed, well, I thought it was pretty good,” he says. “It made me think that if we did ever fuck, that would be really good too.”
Waylon grinds his thigh against me again, and I grip his side, my nails digging into his skin a little.
“I thought that too.” I press my tits against his chest and cup his jaw in my palm.
I move my hand over his scruff and let the pads of my index and middle finger brush over his lips.
Then I press them into his mouth. His eyes do not leave mine as he sucks on my fingers with the same rhythm as he rubs his leg against my center.
I pull my fingers from his mouth and use my still-wet fingers to pinch my nipple as he watches. His mouth is gaped open as I swirl his spit around the hard bud.
“Fuckkkkkk,” he says, groaning in the back of his throat.
He reaches his hand down and cups me, sliding two fingers inside me with ease.
“You’re so wet, darlin’” he says, his mouth getting closer to mine. He flicks his tongue out, licking his top lip as he looks at my mouth.
“Don’t call me that here,” I say, tilting my chin up at him.
“What do you want me to call you?” he asks, lowering closer to me.
“Don’t call me anything. Don’t use your mouth for talking.”
Waylon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but when they lower, a devilish smile curls the corners of his mouth.
“Then put something in my mouth to make me shut up,” he says, twisting to lie on his back.
I lean forward like I might kiss him, and as his head ducks toward mine, I lift up higher and straddle my leg onto the other side of him.
Cautiously, I position my knees on either side of his face.
I steady myself using the headboard to anchor me in place.
Waylon hooks his hands into my thighs, pulling my hips down toward him.
Without warning—because we’re beyond talking now—he licks me across my entrance. The sensation is enough to cause me to bear down, grinding myself against his tongue. He sucks my clit into his mouth, pressing the tip of his tongue flat against the tight bundle of nerves.
I suck in a breath, swirling my hips around slowly. His hand trails up my stomach and cups my tit. He uses the leverage to move me against him, his tongue moving in and out of me as he sucks. Damn, he’s good at this.
“Just like that,” I say, moaning. I push my fingers into his hair, guiding his head back and forth.
He slides his other hand beneath me, pushing two fingers into my pussy as he continues to lick and suck on my clit.
“Oh, fuck,” I exclaim, breathless.
“Come in my mouth, Lyric. That’s it.” His mouth leaves me just long enough to tell me what to do, and then he’s back to expertly swirling his tongue against me, flicking and licking and sucking all in a delicious rhythm that’s going to make me do exactly what he told me to.
The pressure begins to build low in my stomach, my toes curling into the sheets. I push against the headboard, gripping tightly as he eats me better than any man has before.
“Fuckkkkk,” I scream out as my thighs quiver and shake. They try and fail to press together as he keeps my legs wide open and continues to lick even as I shake so hard I nearly fall off him.
He pulls me down to him as I collapse onto his chest, heaving in the aftershock of my orgasm. Before I can catch my breath or process anything, he wraps his arm around me and flips us around so I’m with my back to the mattress and he’s above me now.
He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t say anything as his mouth hovers over mine, and just when I think he might kiss me, he reaches down between us and guides his dick into me.
He positions his head so that his chin is resting against my temple, but I don’t have a moment of rational thought to give it. Because Waylon is inside me.
He makes a low guttural growling sound in the shell of my ear as I dig my fingernails into the flesh of his back. His body moves above mine as he thrusts deeper into me.
“I know you already came, baby, but I need another one from you,” he says, his fingertips gripping my hips. “Come on, give me one more.”
Waylon gives long, measured strokes, and I feel every inch of him slide in and out of me. I tilt my hips toward him and spread wide, letting him fill me.
“That’s it,” he says. “Now reach your hand down there and feel me. Run your fingertips over where my cock disappears inside you.”
I do as instructed, delusional with lust. Feeling him, feeling where our bodies connect, is possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I run the pads of my fingers over the shaft of his cock as it pulls out of me and thrusts back in.
The pressure inside is back again and building faster than before. I close my eyes as my free hand fists the sheets.
“Don’t stop touching yourself,” he says. “Not yet. Rub that pussy for me, baby.”
I swirl two fingers around my clit as he continues thrusting into me. His pace quickens as a moan escapes his mouth.
“Where do you want me to come?” he asks, breath ragged. “Tell me.”
“Inside me,” I whisper. “Come inside me, Waylon.”
He screams out as the words leave my lips, and it’s a domino effect, my own orgasm ripping through me next.
The rigidity in our muscles finally gives way, and we collapse together, his head coming to rest between my tits.
“Okay, I take it back,” I say, beginning to laugh. “If you talk to me like that, you can use your mouth for talking.”
Waylon laughs. “Duly noted.”
He rolls back over and lies next to me, both of us heaving as we try to regulate our breathing.
After a few minutes, I feel myself relaxing a little too much.
My eyelids are heavy and my body is tired from being tense all day.
I needed that bath—and more importantly, those orgasms—more than I realized.
“You should go,” I say, pushing gently against Waylon’s shoulder.
He stirs next to me, popping his head up. I’m pretty sure he was a little asleep too.
“Right,” he says, lifting himself from the mattress.
I stay lying down as he shuffles around looking for his things. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if I don’t stay awake more than five minutes after he leaves.
“Well, good night, darlin’,” he says, pausing at the door.
“Shut up, cowboy.” I roll over to my other side, putting my back to him and the door and sinking into my bed. I pull the blanket loose from the edge and tuck it around me, unconcerned about anything else. I haven’t felt this satiated in a long time, and I don’t intend to waste it.
The door clicks softly behind me, and I fall asleep thinking only of how fucking good I feel.