Chapter 37 – Josie #2
“There she is,” he murmured. His thumb circled, and my hips bucked against his thigh before I could stop them. “That’s my girl.”
“Waylon —”
“I know.” He pushed the cup of my bra down, and his bare palm was on my breast, rolling my nipple between his thumb and finger, and my knees buckled. He caught me with the thigh between mine, pushed up harder, and I had to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from making the sound that wanted out.
“Look at you,” he breathed. “All worked up, and we’ve barely started.”
His mouth dropped to my throat, open and hot, and I felt his teeth scrape against the place where my neck met my shoulder, and I had to swallow down the noise that wanted out.
“Waylon, oh my god —”
“Quiet,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
His hand left my breast and dragged down, flat-palmed over my stomach, fingers popping the button of my jeans. The zipper went down in one slow drag that sounded obscenely loud in the small dark space.
“Lift.”
I lifted. He shoved my jeans down past my hips, just enough, and then his hand was between my legs over my underwear, and he made a sound against my throat that was almost pained.
“Jesus Christ, Flash. You’re soaked.”
“Waylon...oh God.”
“All this for me?” His fingers dragged up the seam of my underwear, slow, deliberate, finding my clit through the fabric and pressing in a circle that made my hips stutter against his hand. “Tell me he doesn’t make you this wet.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t.”
“Louder.”
“He doesn’t,” I hissed, and his teeth caught my earlobe.
He shoved the cotton aside, and his fingers were on me, bare, sliding through how wet I was, and he made that sound again, the one that wasn’t a word, low in his chest.
“Fuck. Fuck, baby.” His forehead dropped to mine. “I don’t have a condom on me.”
“I’m on the pill.” It came out in a rush, barely above the bass. “For my period. It’s irregular — just —”
“Yeah?” he asked. His voice desperate and raspy.
“Yeah.”
He breathed out something that was almost a laugh and almost a curse, his mouth crashing back onto mine.
His hand left me for a second — just long enough that I made a sound of protest into his mouth — and then I heard the give of his belt, the soft metal click, the rasp of his zipper.
The back of his knuckles brushed my thigh as he shoved his jeans down enough to get himself out, and then he was there, hot and bare against the inside of my leg, and I couldn’t think at all.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
I looked. I couldn’t see him, not really, just the shape of him in the dark and the thin yellow line under the door catching on his jaw. But I looked.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He hooked a hand under my thigh and lifted, pinning me harder against the shelf, and then I felt the head of his dick drag through how wet I was, and I had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound.
“Shh.” His mouth was at my ear, his breath shaking. “Shh, baby, I know.”
He pushed in slow — slower than I thought he’d be able to, given the way his whole body was strung tight — and the stretch of him, nothing between us, made me forget every word I knew. My nails dug into the back of his neck. His forehead pressed hard against mine.
“Oh my God —” It came out before I could catch it.
His hand clapped over my mouth.
“Quiet.” His voice was wrecked. “Quiet, Flash, I swear to God.”
He held there, all the way in, breathing into the space between my cheek and his palm, and I could feel him twitching inside me and the wet heat of him and the way his hips were trembling to keep still.
“Move,” I breathed against his palm. “Waylon, please —”
He pulled his hand off my mouth just enough to replace it with his own, kissing me hard, swallowing the noise as he drew back and pushed in again, slow and deep.
The shelf behind me creaked, and he caught it with his free hand, steadying it and steadying me, fucking me in a rhythm he kept trying to keep careful and couldn’t.
“Feel that?” His voice was barely a voice. “Feel how much I missed you?”
I nodded against his mouth. I couldn’t do anything else.
The drag of him bare was a sensation I was going to think about for the rest of my life.
Every nerve in my body was focused on where we were joined, and his hips kept this controlled, brutal pace that had my back sliding up the shelf an inch at a time and then back down onto him every time he pushed in.
“Waylon —” I gasped into his mouth. “I can’t — I’m gonna —”
“I know.” His hand left the shelf and dropped between us, thumb finding my clit on the first try because he knew exactly where it was. Hell even blindfolded, he’d have no problem. The circles he drew were tight and fast and exactly the pressure I needed. “Come on, baby. Right now. Give it to me.”
“I can’t be quiet —”
“Yes, you can.” His mouth dragged across my jaw. “You’re gonna come on my dick in this closet, and you’re not gonna make a sound, are you? Are you, Flash?”
I shook my head against his shoulder.
“Good girl.”
That did it. Those stupid, low, ruined two words against the side of my neck and I was gone, clenching down around him so hard his free hand fisted in the back of my sweater to keep me from going anywhere.
“Quiet,” he said again, against my mouth, but it was for him as much as me now. His breath was coming apart. “Quiet, quiet, quiet —”
“He doesn’t —” I gasped into his palm when it came back over my mouth. “Waylon — he doesn’t —”
“I know.” He hitched my thigh higher, the angle shifting, and the head of his dick dragged across something inside me that made my eyes water in the dark. “I know he doesn’t, baby. Look at you. Look at how you take me.”
I clenched around him, and he made a sound against my throat like I’d hurt him.
“Do that again, and I’m done,” he warned, ragged. “I mean it.”
I did it again.
“Fuck — fuck, Flash —”
His hips stuttered, the rhythm coming apart, and I felt him swell inside me a half second before he buried his face in my neck and bit down on the meat of my shoulder through my sweater to keep quiet.
I wasn’t prepared for the heat of him spilling into me, nothing between us.
My whole body went limp against the shelf.
He held me there, shaking, his forehead against my collarbone, his hand still loosely over my mouth like he’d forgotten to take it away. His chest was heaving against mine. I could feel his hammering heartbeat through the Henley.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “Jesus Christ.”
He slid his palm down from my mouth slowly. I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t have said anything if I’d tried.
He was still inside me. Neither of us moved.
The bass kept thudding through the wall. Somebody shrieked in the kitchen. A door slammed upstairs.
“You okay?” His voice was a rasp against my temple.
I nodded.
“Words, Flash.”
“I’m okay.”
He exhaled against my hair, long and unsteady, and finally pulled out of me. I felt the warmth of him slide down the inside of my thigh.
He reached past me to the shelf, grabbed a rag from the pile of cleaning supplies, and cleaned me up as gently as his hands could manage in the dark. Then he pulled my jeans back up and buttoned them for me, his fingers steady even though the rest of him wasn’t.
“Go,” he said. His mouth pressed to my forehead, one second, then he stepped back. “Before your boyfriend notices you’re gone.”
I fixed my hair. I opened the door, checked the hallway, and walked back into the noise.
Marcus found me at the drink table a few minutes later. “Where’d you go?” His hand on my lower back.
“Bathroom. Line was long.” You’ve become a very good liar.
His gaze narrowed like he didn’t believe me and he asked, “You good?”
“Yes, of course.”
I was not good. I was standing next to a boyfriend who wouldn’t let me go with another man’s scent still on my skin and his cum leaking from me. I was so far from ok.
We’re not even in the okay ballpark.
This can’t last.
I knew that. It was so painful not being with him. And at this rate, we were going to get caught. Problem was I could not seem to make myself care.