Chapter 45 – Waylon #2
She took more on the next pass, gagged, pulled back off me, and wiped her mouth on her wrist.
“Easy.” I ran my thumb along her jaw. “There’s no points for that.”
“I want to be good at it.”
“You’re wrecking me. Slow down or this is over.”
She got bolder. She found a rhythm with her hand and her mouth working together and hollowed her cheeks on the way up, and my heels dug into the mattress and every muscle in me went tight.
“Josie. Stop.”
She didn’t stop.
“Baby, I’m serious.” I got her off me by the hair, as gentle as I could manage, and her mouth came away shining and swollen and her eyes were enormous.
“Did I do it wrong?”
“You did it so right I almost came in your mouth, and I’m not doing that tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because the first night you’re free, I’m going to be inside you.”
“Then do it.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her good hand, lay back, and opened for me. “Right now.”
I used my knee to kick apart her legs. As I lay my weight on top of her, I reached for the drawer.
“No.”
I stopped.
“Baby.”
“We didn’t in the closet.” Her good hand came up and held the side of my face. “And I’ve thought about it every day since. I don’t want anything between us tonight. Not one thing.”
I put my forehead down on hers and breathed.
“Then look at me,” I said. “Don’t close your eyes. I want you looking at me the whole time.”
I pushed into her slow.
She was tight and hot and slick and she made a broken little noise on the first inch, and I stopped and held there and let her get around me, and then I gave her another, and another, until I was seated all the way and her mouth was open against my jaw and neither of us was breathing.
“That’s it.” I had a hand braced beside her head and the other one under her jaw, thumb on her cheek, keeping her face turned up to mine. “Look how you take me.”
“Waylon.”
Fuck, she felt so good. “I know,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “You okay?”
Her nails dug into my back. “Yeah. I’m better than good. Move. Please move.”
I did as she told me.
She was right here where she belonged, in my bed, flat on her back with her legs open for me. Every light in the room was on, her eyes were open on mine, and I hit the end of her on every stroke and she took it.
“Look at me,” I said. “Whose are you?”
“Yours.”
“Louder.”
“Yours.” Her nails went into my shoulder. “I’m yours, I’m yours—”
“Mine.” My hips snapped forward and drove it out of her. “Say it back to me.”
“Yours.”
“Mine.” Again. “Mine. Mine.”
I got an arm under her back and sat up on my heels and brought her up with me, still inside her, and then she was in my lap with her knees on either side of my hips and her arms around my neck and our faces two inches apart.
She rolled down onto me and gasped.
“There,” I said. “Right there. Just like that.”
She set the rhythm and I let her have it. Slow and deep, her forehead against mine, her breath in my mouth, my hands spread wide across her back holding her down on every stroke.
“You feel that?” I got a hand into her hair and made a fist and held her there. “That’s me. That’s all the way in you. There’s nothing between us.”
“I feel it.”
“Nothing between us ever again.”
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing, nothing—”
She started to cry, and not the bad kind. Her face crumpled and the tears came straight down her cheeks and she kept her eyes open on mine the whole time like I’d asked her to, and I got both hands into her hair and held her head still.
“I’ve got you.” My voice wasn’t working right. “I’ve got you, baby. Nobody gets to touch you again. Nobody. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Nobody ever gets to put their hands on you again as long as I’m breathing.”
“Yes—”
“Mine.” I kissed her. It was messy and wet and she was still crying and kissing me back. “You’ve been mine since the first week. I just had to wait for the paperwork.”
That got a laugh out of her. She locked her ankles at the small of my back and pulled me in deeper.
“Then take me,” she said against my mouth. “You said you wanted to. So take me.”
I got a hand under her ass and lifted and changed the angle and drove into her, and she stopped making words. I got my other hand between us and worked her clit with my thumb, and her whole body went rigid under me.
I didn’t care who heard. I’d spent months keeping my mouth shut and my hands to myself and my eyes on the ice, and I was done being quiet about her.
“Right there. Right there, don’t stop—”
“Come on my cock.” I put my mouth to her ear. “Come on it. Let the whole house hear you.”
She did.
She went off around me hard enough to pull the air out of my lungs, clamping down in waves, her heels digging into my back, her voice breaking on my name, and I lost every plan I’d had about lasting.
“Fuck. Josie—”
“Inside me.” Her good hand grabbed the back of my neck. “Don’t you dare pull out. Give it to me.”
I buried myself as deep as she’d take me and let go, and it went on and on, and the whole time I was saying it into her neck, over and over, half of it not out loud.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
After, neither of us moved for a long time.
I was still inside her. Her legs were still around me. Her good hand was moving slow up and down my spine, and the bad one was resting on my shoulder blade, palm open, the knuckles turned up so they wouldn’t touch anything.
“Your hand,” I said into her throat.
“Don’t care.”
“I care.”
I kissed her shoulder and made myself get up.
I brought back a warm cloth and the peas, and I cleaned her up with one and iced her knuckles with the other, and she watched me do it with her hair everywhere on my pillow and her eyes half shut.
She let me have the hand, which was new. She let me hold her wrist and turn it and check the swelling, and she didn’t tell me she was fine one time.
“You didn’t hit him,” she said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you got there first.” I set the ice down and pulled the blanket up over both of us. “And because it would have cost me the season and my draft, and it wouldn’t have cost him one thing. And you knew that. That’s why you got there first.”
“You wanted to.”
“I wanted to put him through the drywall.”
She didn’t say anything to that. She just turned her face into my chest.
Outside, somebody peeled out of the Kappa Nu lot and the noise came and went and neither of us moved.
“You’re not your dad,” she said, muffled.
“I hope so. But some days, I feel like he’s in me.”
“No. You’re not him. I’m going to remind you every day.” Her breathing was already going long and slow.
She got one eye open. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“Mine.” I kissed the top of her head. “All of it. Every part. The mouth on you and the mile splits and the ugly running shoes and the six-dollar bobblehead and the temper I found out about tonight. Mine.”
She was out before I finished.
I’d told her the truth about how I felt about her. There was another word sitting right there, but I didn’t say it. It would keep.
“Mine.”