Chapter 13
LYRIC
I don’t mean to be that girl, but the phrase “bring that tentacle with you” is practically music to my ears.
Because there are two types of guys in this world.
There are the kind who are mad you own it, intimidated by it, don’t want you using it, let alone while in his company, blah blah blah…
And then there’s the other type of guy. He doesn’t have magical powers, and he doesn’t wear a cape, but he is a hero to women everywhere. Because he puts your pleasure first.
Waylon is a giver. And that just makes him so much more delicious. I knew it the night we met. He’s the kind of man you look at and go, “Damn this might hurt, but I’m going to do it anyway.” Because you just can’t help yourself.
But I mean, I can settle for a casual hookup and not get caught up. I think. Probably. I’ve had casual sex before, and it was never a big deal. Waylon might be slightly different, since I was crushing on him pretty hard before. But I think that’s gone. Probably. Mostly.
In my room, I sort through my drawer of things I don’t wear that often.
I buy lingerie and silky things all the time because I can’t help myself, but the occasion to wear them rarely presents itself.
But I’m thinking right now is the perfect time to wear something a little slutty.
Not too over the top but definitely something that will make his jaw drop.
My fingers run over the deep-purple lace baby doll nightgown I bought last year.
It’s sheer all over, very delicate, and just what the doctor ordered.
I slip out of my party outfit and into the garment.
When I stand in front of the mirror, my eyes trace over the hem—barely low enough to cover the kitty.
My nipples can be seen through the lace, and I don’t mind it at all.
In fact, the longer I look at myself, the sexier I feel.
I turn, inspecting my backside. My ass cheeks are not exactly all the way covered, and I’m not going to do a single thing about it.
And I’m sure he won’t either. I unpin my hair and run my fingers through, letting the natural wavy pattern emerge and tossing it back and forth until I’m happy with the result.
I rake it to one side over my shoulder and then grab the requested tentacle from my drawer.
It’s also purple, with a swirly pattern, so we’re matching.
It wasn’t part of the plan, but I’m rolling with it.
I exit my room and tiptoe over to his door. It’s not exactly a far journey, but my hand is still a little shaky when I knock despite being the picture of confidence like thirty seconds ago. It’s Waylon’s fault. This cowboy makes me nervous.
“Come in,” he calls through the door.
I turn the knob and step inside, my eyes finding his immediately, but I’m quickly distracted by his bare chest and slutty glasses.
Hello, Mama. He’s standing next to the foot of his bed wearing nothing but slick black boxer briefs and a smile.
Well, and the glasses. But that smile. Pure sunshine.
Just like always. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Fuck, I’m breathing hard.
“Hello, darlin’,” he says, voice smooth as velvet as his eyes skate over every part of me.
“Hello, cowboy.” I take two more steps into the room and shut the door behind me. Then I walk close enough to drop my toy onto the bed and turn back to him. His eyes are still roaming.
“If I may say so, you look absolutely stunning,” he says, then bites his bottom lip.
“Back at you, tiger.”
Waylon closes the short distance left between us. He fingers the bottom hem of my gown and grazes the skin of my thigh. It’s the lightest touch, but it doesn’t stop the electric pulsing up through my center.
“Mmm, don’t call me tiger,” he whispers, his face dipping low toward the shell of my ear.
His warm breath tickles my skin, and he drags his fingertips higher up my leg. My next breath catches in my throat as the butterflies in the pit of my stomach start crashing into one another in a frenzy. “What should I call you, then?”
“You know,” he whispers. “Say it.”
I close my eyes and swallow. “Cowboy.”
“Mmm, that’s better,” he says. “I like this little thing you have on.”
“What do you like about it?”
“Mostly the fact that I can see through it,” he says, gently laughing. “But also how nicely it hugs your tits and how easy it looks to remove.”
“Get on the bed.” I point for emphasis before I lose my cool. I may be the picture of confidence on the outside, but that doesn’t stop my insides from being a little jittery.
He obliges me, stepping back and sliding onto the mattress. He leans back and adjusts his head onto the pillow. I crawl onto him, straddling him so his dick rubs against my pussy. There’s only a thin layer of material between us, and he grows harder the moment I grind against him.
Waylon’s hand skates up my thigh to grip my hip—not to control me but to communicate his approval.
“Let me taste you,” he says. He groans and bucks against me.
Who am I to deny his request? I crawl the rest of the way up his body, straddling him the entire time.
He removes the pillow from under his head and lies back flat.
My knees press into the mattress on either side of his face as I grip the headboard.
There are only a couple of inches between me and his mouth, but I hesitate for a moment.
“Sit,” he says, his voice gruff, tone demanding.
I know a command when I hear one and submit, lowering myself until I feel his tongue slide over my clit. I suck in a sharp breath as his grip on my hips tightens. My back arches as I rock against him.
He sucks me into his mouth, flicking his tongue against me over and over again. He’s… skilled. Moans escape me freely, and my legs begin to shake. He alternates between licking me and fucking me with his tongue.
I run my fingers into his hair, gripping him for control as I fuck his face. He groans his approval as one of his hands slides up beneath my gown and cups my tit. He pinches my nipple between two fingers and I cry out.
“That’s right, darlin’,” he groans, muffled. “Come in my mouth.”
I grind against his flat tongue, my legs jerk as that delicious feeling in the pit of my stomach builds.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice box barely functioning. “Almost there.” I bounce up and down against him, finding the perfect rhythm and pressure. My legs draw tighter, but he redirects his hands to hold me open wide.
Waylon shakes his face side to side, his tongue wagging against me and I come undone. I scream as an orgasm rips through me. Electric heat explodes from my center, every part of me stiffening as he holds me in place.
I collapse, falling to the side. One leg is still over his chest, the other folded up in such a way that it sort of looks like we’re forming an odd L-shape. He turns to his side, looking over at me as he catches his breath.
“Now, are you the kind of girl who will kiss a man who has her all over his mouth?” he asks.
“Fair point.” I flip around and lick my come from his chin, then kiss his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between my teeth. I lie back down in the same position, with one leg over his chest and the other spread farther away, as if I’m cradling his upper body between them.
“Do you need a little rest after that?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good,” he says, reaching for the tentacle I brought with me.
He inches closer, so I hook my right leg over his hip and bend the left around where he’s holding his weight on his elbow. He’s got a front-row seat to my whole downstairs.
Waylon drags the tip of the toy over my entrance, causing me to whimper.
“Someone is sensitive after her first orgasm,” he says, licking his lips. He tilts the toy, pressing the suction cup side against my clit. “And still so wet.”
“Yes.” I wiggle and arch, pushing my hips toward him, toward his touch. I beg without words. More. I want more.
He grinds the toy against me, driving my senses wild. I move against the toy, seeking more friction, finding the rhythm. I throw my head back. “Yes. Yes. More.”
Waylon slides the tentacle into me finally, and it takes my breath away. All of that momentum, all of that build, sated. My head falls back as his hand pushes and pulls, his pace quickening.
I press my legs open wider for him as he plunges it deeper, fucking me hard.
“That’s it, baby,” he says, practically growling. “You like that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I pant and moan.
He leans down, taking my clit into his mouth again. His pace with the toy remains the same as his tongue circles me.
“Fuckkkkkkk!” My entire body seizes again without warning. I stiffen and shake as a second orgasm grips my senses. I scream and push against him, trying to both escape and chase the feeling. Unparalleled. Wild. Free. That’s how I feel.
I collapse back, panting hard as he gently drags the tentacle out and back in. It’s so slow and measured, I might die just like this. From pleasure. My thighs squeeze together, or try to.
“Oh my god,” I huff. “Oh my god, you have to stop.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, still slowly pushing and pulling.
“Yes, but only because I want you now.” I sit up and pull the gown off. I lie back down and roll onto my stomach, pushing my ass into the air toward him. I look back over my shoulder and watch him watch me. I push onto my knees and bend over. “Like this. I want you like this.”
Waylon lifts onto his knees and pushes his boxer briefs down, his cock springing up as he inches nearer to me.
He puts his left hand on my ass cheek, guiding himself with the other until he finds my entrance.
He rubs the tip of his dick against me until I’m once again pushing back and seeking more. Need. More.
I close my eyes, letting the sensations take over. “Waylon, please.”
His cocks slides inside me, and I lose my breath, shoving my face into the mattress to muffle the sounds. My fingers curl into the sheet as I hold tight. He pushes as far into me as he can, filling me up as he rocks back and forth.
“You like it deep, don’t you, darlin’? You like it when I fill you up like this?” Waylon’s words are sharp, huffy.
“Yes. More. I want more,” I plead, pushing back against him.
He reaches up, gripping my shoulder for leverage, and pushes as deeply as he can. He pumps into me hard and deep, again and again, his pace quickening.
“Just like that,” I say, moaning.
“You gonna come for me again? I need one more, darlin’. Give me one more,” he demands.
“Yes. Yes. Yessssssss,” I yell out, the earth-shattering quake of a third orgasm upending me. “Oh my godddddd….” My words trail off into guttural moans.
Waylon’s pace quickens as he fucks me through it, now chasing his own. I hold on tightly, letting him find the rhythm that’s going to bring his about. I want him to come. I want him to feel as good as he’s made me feel.
He breathes hard, pumping into me until he stiffens. “Lyric, fuckkkkkkkkk.” He comes, calling out my name, and I like it. He empties himself into me, and I like that too.
We collapse together, his cock still inside me as we spoon. He holds me against his chest, arm wrapped over my middle as he nibbles my collarbone.
“Just leave it in,” I say, backing up closer to him. “I like it there.”
“Talked me into it,” he says, settling into position.
We stay like that for five full minutes, saying nothing. It’s only when I feel myself beginning to fall asleep that I jolt awake, disrupting the moment.
“Shit, I think I was falling asleep,” he says. “Sorry.”
“No, I was, too,” I say, shuffling off the bed. “Better get up now.”
Waylon makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like protest, but we both know the rules.
His hair is disheveled and pushed to the side, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times.
His eyelids are heavy and his arm is outstretched in my direction, like he wants to protest my leaving.
“See you tomorrow, cowboy.” I grab my gown and toy and slip out the door before he can convince me to come back to bed. And with the way I’m feeling, I don’t think it would take much.
Back inside my room, I put the garment in my laundry basket and the tentacle in the bathroom sink for washing later.
I don’t even bother putting on pajamas or panties of any kind. I just slip into bed between two cold sheets and sink heavy into my mattress. It feels good—really good—in my skin right now. In this body. Comforted. Satisfied. And now ready for sleep.
Only, it doesn’t immediately come when I close my eyes.
Waylon’s familiar scent wafts and pulls memories to the forefront of my mind.
It’s nothing specific. His smile. The grip of his hand.
The way his lips feel against mine. Small details that make up the sum of an experience.
His voice as he calls me by that pet name.
Except all these memories are not from a singular moment, but more of a slideshow.
Ten or twelve different times he’s smiled.
Because, damn, that smile. The dimple on his right cheek that’s hidden by the facial hair. The way his eyes narrow.
I’m telling you. Pure sunshine. And not a problem at all. Probably.