Chapter 7

7

WAYLON

I 'd wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend this had never happened. How could I have been this clumsy, this dumb? All I'd wanted was to make it a good experience for Melbourne, but instead, I'd come within two minutes. If even that.

But when he assured me it was fine, he'd meant it. Melbourne had to be the world's worst actor. He didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve. He wore them on his face. All of them. I'd never met anyone with such expressive nonverbal communication. You never had to guess how he felt. You could read it right off his face.

So when he said it was okay and he wasn't upset, I had to believe him because all I could see in his eyes was kindness and honesty…and maybe a little empathy. I'd take it.

"I need to dispose of the condom," I told Melbourne.

"I'll be right here waiting for you."

Wasn't there some cheesy love song from the eighties about that? Whatever. I got up and headed for the bathroom, where I ditched the condom and quickly cleaned myself.

What did I do now? Head back to bed for round two as if nothing ever happened? That wouldn't be tough to pull off, considering how I felt. My cock would be down for a repeat, no doubt. The thought of being inside Melbourne again was enough for it to perk up.

But that wouldn't do. I couldn't just pretend everything was fine. I had a lot to make up for. But how?

Then it came to me, and it was so obvious that I grinned with the exhilaration of it as I stretched out next to Melbourne again.

"You look like a burglar who just cracked a safe that holds a million dollars," Melbourne said.

"I want you to fuck me."

Melbourne's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"I want to experience what it's like to bottom. You said you were vers, right?"

"Yeah, but?—"

"And you haven't come yet."

Melbourne slowly shook his head. "What's gotten into you? How did you go from looking like a lost puppy to being this confident?" Then he narrowed his eyes. "You're not doing this out of some misguided feeling of having to make it up to me, right?"

I deflated. "Maybe?"

Melbourne curled his hand around my cheek. "You're not hearing me, Waylon. There is nothing to make up for. You did nothing wrong. It's sex. Sex is messy and imperfect. Things go wrong. Condoms break or come off. Someone farts or burps. And in your case, someone enjoyed his first time with a man so much that he came sooner than he'd planned. So fucking what? I'd say it's a compliment to me and the quality of my ass that, at my age, I can still make a guy fifteen years younger come within minutes. How's that?"

My mouth had dropped open at first, but now I snorted, and then I lost it. Somehow, Melbourne's over-the-top rant broke through my self-punishment and feelings of inadequacy. He was right. It was ridiculous to think sex had to be perfect to be enjoyable. And it was a compliment to him that I'd enjoyed myself into a premature orgasm. When my laughter died down, it was my turn to hold his cheek and kiss him softly. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

"Good. You're welcome." His eyes were soft as he smiled at me. "I'd love to fuck you, darling, but not when you feel you have to do it to make it up to me. So I need you to take a moment and think about it. Do you really want it? Or are you only offering because you feel you have to?"

Was I? When I'd dreamed about having sex with a man—those rosy and, in hindsight, unrealistic reels in my head where everything had been perfect—I'd never pictured myself as just the top. I'd also imagined my partner inside me, sharing that with someone special.

And then it hit me. Melbourne was my someone special. No, I wasn't in love with him. But I could be. I could easily see myself with this man in two weeks, two months, two years. Wasn't that enough to give myself wholly?

"I want it for me because I want you to teach me that part too. You've been…" Honesty. Full-blown honesty. "I like you. I know I shouldn't say that because it'll violate some rule about how this is only sex, but I don't care. If you don't want anything more, then that's fine. I'll accept that and enjoy what we have. But if you like me too, at least enough to see where this could go if we let it, then maybe you could…stay?"

Oh shit. That had gotten a hell of a lot more serious than I'd planned.

Melbourne stared at me, emotions flashing over his face. Shock. Disbelief. Frustration or maybe even anger. But then… a smile. Eyes that grew a little misty and the sweetest, goofiest smile. "You're fearless. Absolutely fearless. I'm so in awe of you," he said softly. "You just lay it all out there, bare your soul to me as if I don't have the power to crush it."

"You wouldn't."

"You don't know that."

"Of course I know that. You'd never hurt me deliberately."

"No." He caressed my cheek. "No, I wouldn't."

"So?"

He inhaled sharply. "So I will fuck you."

That hadn't been the question, and we both knew it, but it was okay. I didn't need his answer now.

"Okay."

He was as careful with me as I had been with him, probably even more because he knew this was uncharted territory for me. But any worry I might've had about pain vanished as his skilled fingers opened me for him, already teasing me with electric currents down my spine, into my balls, my cock. He grazed my prostate with his middle finger, and I made a sound I'd never heard myself make.

"Darling, you open so beautifully for me… Mmm, getting you all ready for me, for my cock. Can't wait to be inside you, show you how good this can be."

The words were like gasoline, setting my blood ablaze. "I'm ready."

"No." His tone left no room for debate. "I'll tell you when you're ready, and this ain't it."

Was it weird that I loved that this man, who was gentle in almost every other way, got bossy in bed? "Okay."

"Let me take care of you, darling. Let me make your first time the best experience possible."

When he put it like that, how could I protest?

When he was satisfied I was loose enough, he rolled on a condom with far more ease than I had. He met my eyes. "You still okay with this?"

I loved him for asking. "Yes. Very much okay."

The moment stretched between us, elastic and charged, as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock pressing against my entrance. My breath hitched, a sound that echoed through the quiet room, and my muscles tensed. I felt both anticipation and a little nervousness, but Melbourne would take care of me.

"I'll go slow, I promise." His voice had a soothing timbre. "And breathe, Waylon…just breathe."

He pushed in, and the pressure was almost unbearable, but then I bore down like I'd read in my research, and he popped past that first muscle barrier. There was a tightness, a resistance, but also a yielding—a paradox that seemed to define the act itself.

Melbourne held still. "Good?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Keep breathing, darling, and try to relax. Your body will adapt."

I did just that. As he worked his way inside me with thrusts that went a little deeper every time, the stinging and burning morphed into something else, a delicate friction that whispered a promise of more.

"You're doing great," Melbourne said.

"H-how does it feel? Inside me?"

"Perfect." Melbourne's half-lidded eyes locked onto mine. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

With each measured thrust, I became acutely aware of every sensation—the slide of skin on skin, the rhythmic creak of the bed, the subtle friction of Melbourne's body against mine. It was as if all my senses were heightened, as if I was somehow tuned to his frequency. This was a dance we were both learning, steps choreographed by instinct and desire.

Melbourne's fingers dug into my hips, urging me to cant them even more, to give him full access. I responded, spreading myself wide open for him. The last bit of discomfort vaporized, and pleasure began to build inside me. He set a pace with deep thrusts that rocked through my body, and I moved with him in a rhythm born of instinct and the thrumming pulse of my heart. Our bodies moved with a shared urgency, a hunger I'd never felt. Like a raw need clawing at my insides.

"Mel…" It was a plea, a prayer, a curse. He filled me completely, each stroke sending me higher. His name became my mantra, a lifeline grounding me as the pleasure grew, danced, and spiraled.

There was nothing but the sound of our mingled moans and the rhythmic creaking of the bed anchoring us to reality. With each thrust, the air between us became electrified, charging the room with an intensity that felt wild and incredibly intimate. Our bodies melded together in a seamless dance of passion and need, his frame fitting against mine as if we were two perfectly aligned pieces of a puzzle. He achieved the synchronization I had envisioned but hadn't been able to pull off because of my inexperience, making me respond to his every move.

He led and I followed.

He pushed and I yielded.

He claimed and I gave.

My world narrowed to where he filled me time and again—the heat, the pressure, the relentless buildup of pleasure. It was a wildfire, uncontrolled and all-consuming, and in its wake, there was nothing left to do but surrender to the flames.

"Look at me," he rasped, and I obeyed, his gaze anchoring me. In the depths of those brown eyes, I found the courage to let go, to surrender to him and the torrent of sensation. I wrapped my hand around myself and fisted the tip tightly the way I loved. One, two, three jacks and my orgasm barreled through me, taking me wholly by surprise. I let out the most sinful moan as I came for the second time that day, my balls clenching and unclenching to release their load.

"Waylon…" His voice broke, and it was the most beautiful fracture, a splintering that invited me to fill the spaces within him.

Now it was my turn to lead him. "Let go."

His body seized, his muscles spasming as he rocked himself inside me in fierce, fast thrusts. And now I understood what he had meant, that watching someone else come because of you could be a gift in itself. It was. A gift I would always remember.

He shook as he carefully pulled out, and his movements were unusually clumsy as he tied the condom and threw it on the floor. Instinctively, I held my arms open, and he cuddled close, putting his head on my shoulder and wrapping himself around me like a vine. Not that I was complaining.

We didn't say anything as we held each other, our heart rates slowing and the sweat on my body evaporating.

"Did you mean it?" he finally whispered.

I didn't need to ask what "it" referred to. "I've never meant anything more."

"I'm a walking mess, Waylon. How can you possibly be interested in this? In me?"

I took his hand and kissed it. "Because I love taking care of you. It's what I do. Who I am. You need me, Melbourne."

He swallowed. "That's why I'm so scared."

"I know. But I would never hurt you."

A deep sigh. Then, "No, you wouldn't. Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll stay."