Chapter 6

6

MELBOURNE

W aylon's arms felt like steel bands around me, his strength undeniable as he carried me down the hallway. Muscle flexed beneath my fingertips where I held on to him. Our lips never parted, a dance of passion and urgency keeping us joined as we stumbled into the bedroom and tumbled onto the bed.

"Jesus," I gasped when we finally broke apart for air, my heart thundering as I admired the sheer physicality of the man before me. "That was so fucking hot."

"Yeah?" But the pleased look on his face morphed into something unfamiliar—hesitation. His hands hovered above my skin as if unsure of how to proceed.

I caught his hands and guided them to my waist. "Touch me, darling. Explore away."

He exhaled a shaky breath, and his fingers tentatively traced the contours of my body. It was endearing, this man needing guidance, so different from the self-assured deputy sheriff I'd seen in action.

"Your turn to ditch some clothes," I said softly, a challenge lingering in my voice.

He didn't hesitate. His shirt came off in one fluid motion, revealing the taut muscles and defined contours of his chest—a landscape carved by discipline, now laid bare for me. Blue eyes met mine, holding a glint of vulnerability that only added to his allure.

"Better?" he asked, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"Much."

I reached out to trace the dusting of hair that led down from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. Waylon shuddered under my touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping back open, locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a thrill through me.

He mirrored my actions, fingers skimming along my ribs, exploring the dips and curves of my body with careful curiosity. His touch grew bolder as he mapped out the landscape of my torso, thumbs brushing over sensitive spots that made me shiver in response.

"Slow down, take your time," I coached, my hand finding his once more, slowing his movements, not to hinder but to enhance. "Every touch is a word, Waylon. What do you want to say?"

His fingertips danced over my skin, tracing the lines of muscle and bone beneath. A lover's touch.

"Darling…" My voice trailed off, surrendering to the low groan that escaped my lips as his fingers traced the ink on my forearms, each stroke igniting sparks beneath my skin. "Oh, that's good."

It was a language without words, his innate caretaker instincts now translating into the tender exploration of my flesh. His insecurities seemed to fade, replaced by building confidence that radiated from his every move.

"Let go," I whispered against his lips, a smile curving my own as I sensed the shift in him. "Let go and feel."

His hands roamed lower, palming my hips before slipping beneath the elastic of my shorts. The contrast of his large, callused hands against my smoother skin was electrifying, sparking a fire that began to spread throughout my entire being.

"God, Melbourne…" he whispered, his voice laced with wonder as if he were discovering something precious and uncharted.

He kissed my shoulder as if inspired by his own action, continuing to blaze a path of hot kisses down my chest and stomach. And when he reached the last bit of fabric I still wore, he nudged my hips, and I obediently lifted them. He was smart enough to slide down my shorts and underwear at the same time, revealing all of me for his perusal.

When he had me naked, he paused. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his cheeks pinking. He looked almost stunned. His hand trembled as he stretched it toward me, hovering above my cock, which lay weeping against my stomach. I held my breath.

He caressed my length with one finger, but it couldn't have been more arousing if it had been his mouth. He was so honest, so eager, and that alone was enough to ignite me. With his hand still shaking, he became bolder, wrapping his hand around me, rubbing his thumb over my slit and then venturing lower, where he cradled my balls. I spread my legs, holding nothing back from him.

"How do you want me, darling?" Funny, but the term of endearment that had started as kind of a tease, a joke, now rolled off my lips as easily as if I'd called him that for years and years. And it felt different too.

Waylon bit his lip, but then he squared his shoulders. "Can I be inside you? I want to feel every part of you."

He could have anything, do anything. If he asked for the world right now, I'd give it to him. I swallowed back the mushy shit on the tip of my tongue and forced myself to be lighthearted. "I'm at your disposal, darling."

He leaned over me for a moment and opened the drawer of his nightstand, grabbing lube and a condom. I quirked an eyebrow. "You had these already?"

"The lube, yes. Bought the condoms this morning."

I wiggled my eyebrows. "You were hoping to get lucky, huh?"

"Well, not so much hoping as counting on it after you practically offered yourself to me on a silver platter."

Aw, look at him. He was flirting! I was so proud of him, even if it came out a little forced. He was trying so hard, and I loved him for it. Love being a figure of speech, of course. "I'll admit I was a done deal."

"And I did some research on…prep."

"Did you, now? And what did you find?"

"That I needed to get some more supplies, like a shower nozzle, which should arrive from Amazon in a day or two."

I shouldn't be surprised that he took this as seriously as he did everything else, but I was still impressed. I cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a deep kiss. "You're well on your way to being a great top, darling."

The pride on his face made me want to kiss him even more, but I refrained.

He fumbled a bit in getting positioned so he had full access to my ass, but I helped by making it easy for him, spreading my legs wide. He shot me a look of gratitude and coated his fingers with enough lube for ten men, but that was okay.

His lips pressed together and his brows furrowed in concentration as he pressed his index finger against my hole. "Little more force," I said.

He breathed out and pushed, jerking when he slid inside me. After checking in with me—as if the tip of his finger would be too much, the sweet summer child—he sank in deeper and deeper until his whole finger was in. He carefully moved it in circular motions.

"Like this?" Waylon's voice was low and breathless, the uncertainty in his tone so at odds with his decisiveness in every other aspect of his life.

"Exactly like that, but add a second finger, and don't be afraid to press a little harder." I interlaced my fingers with his, guiding them in a firm, circular motion that elicited a shiver from both of us. "Trust me, I'll tell you if it's too much."

His hands began to move with more confidence, emboldened by my guidance. The eagerness in his touch was palpable, each stroke and caress imbued with a desire to please, to cherish. It was intoxicating, being the focus of Waylon's undivided attention, feeling his need to make this experience memorable for me.

As I coached him through the preparation, his movements remained a mixture of eagerness and uncertainty. But with each whispered instruction, he grew more confident, his touch becoming more purposeful. Waylon was learning quickly, adapting to my responses, his innate caretaker instincts kicking in as he sought to fix and soothe, to bring pleasure rather than pain.

"I'm ready."

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me, darling. Sink that big cock of yours inside me and make me see stars."

A little corny? Abso-fucking-lutely. But I'd noticed before that he liked my dirty talk. It somehow broke through his mental barriers, whatever was holding him back. So if I had to recite some cheesy porn lines to get his engine running, then hell yeah, I would.

The shift was visceral, an invisible mantle draping over his broad shoulders as Waylon assumed the role I offered him. My body responded to his newfound assertiveness—muscles yielding, breath quickening—as he positioned himself with a confidence that made my heart race.

"Look at me," I commanded softly, and when he did, the raw desire etched in his gaze was my undoing. I'd never felt this wanted, this desired, this craved . Warning bells went off in the back of my mind that I couldn't attach meaning to this, that this was just sex, but I ignored them. Whatever Waylon was offering, I was taking.

He pressed against me, and I bore down, letting him in. "Fuck," he moaned as he slipped in.

"Keep going."

Those first thirty or so seconds were never pretty, but that discomfort was only prolonged if he stopped. Luckily, he trusted my judgment and pushed in deeper. I puffed out breaths and focused on relaxing until he was as deep as he could go. The look he gave me was pure male pride, maybe with a little exhilaration mixed in. "Can I…?"

"Move? Yes, please. Just listen to my body. It'll tell you."

He was clumsy and awkward as he adjusted his position to get the correct angle, and when he did, his rhythm faltered, but it didn't matter. I still couldn't take my eyes off him. When had I developed a thing for adorable virgins? Had to be a very recent development, but boy, I had it bad.

But like with everything else, Waylon kept at it till he got it right, and when he did, I saw stars. He'd found my happy spot all right, and he nailed it dead-on every time.

"God, yes," I gasped, the sensation of him overwhelming yet achingly right. His movements grew bolder with each thrust, probably fueled by my body's response.

But with his increased confidence, his excitement surged. His pace quickened, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts against the skin of my neck.

"Ah, Melbourne…" he groaned, his voice tight with the effort of restraint. "I can't… I need to…"

He was fighting a losing battle. The telltale signs of his climax were building rapidly, the tension in his body winding tighter like a coiled spring, and his movements becoming more erratic. Biology was taking over.

"Let go, Waylon," I urged, wanting him to experience the unbridled pleasure without the shadow of self-doubt. "It's okay."

With a final, desperate drive and a mighty moan that reverberated through the room, Waylon shuddered above me, his release overtaking him. He was stunning, his head thrown back, his eyes closed, his face radiating pure ecstasy.

But then he stilled, his breath hot and heavy on my skin, and he opened his eyes again. "Fuck."

The single word was laced with a vulnerability bordering on pain, and it clenched at my heart. "Darling, it's?—"

"I'm sorry. I fucked up. I didn't mean to… Should've focused on you first."

"Hey," I said softly, cradling his face in my hands and drawing him down for a gentle kiss. "There's nothing to be sorry for. Look at me." When his gaze met mine, I let every ounce of affection I harbored for him shine through, maybe more than I should have. "This was your first time. It was bound to be a little awkward, but you did great. Didn't you see how much pleasure you brought me?"

"But you didn't come."

"Are we done? Are you gonna walk away now and leave me here, blue-balled and all by my lonesome, to take care of it myself?"

"Of course not."

"Then you forgot the word ‘yet.' I didn't come yet . There's time, isn't there?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, bashful and endearing. "We have all evening."

"And all night."

A chuckle escaped him, warm and rich, easing the rigid set of his shoulders. The insecurity that clouded his cerulean eyes dissipated like morning fog giving way to the sun's persistent coaxing. "I bought a mega pack of condoms."

I snorted. "Look at you being all prepared. A regular fucking Boy Scout."

His laughter rumbled through the room, genuine and unguarded. "I was, actually."

"I bet."

"Thank you. For everything." He pressed a kiss to my forehead that lingered with the promise of understanding. His actions kindled warmth in places I hadn't realized had grown cold from years of fleeting touches and temporary connections.

Watching his embarrassment ebb away, replaced by a dawning sense of acceptance, my chest swelled with something fierce and tender.

Uh-oh.

Sex. This was just sex.

Right?