13. Waylon

Chapter Thirteen

WAYLON

B eing professional is bullshit. I just want to go on record saying that. Watching Justin perform on his small stages all over the country for the past two weeks has been torture. Because the man is gorgeous on his very worst day doing absolutely nothing, but when he's performing on stage—with his guitar and the microphone as his only props and dressed in tight jeans and a t-shirt—he's the hottest man on the planet.

This is the fourth show I've booked for him, and let me tell you, it's getting harder and harder to book places that don't suspect it's actually Justin St. James who'll be coming to their bar.

I'm always very careful. I make sure to feel them out, but I know it's just a matter of time before the bubble bursts. He's more famous than he realizes. So much more famous. And the chatter online is just gagging for this guy.

They're desperate to find out where he'll be next. I think he needs to slow down. Maybe wait a month in between gigs, but I can feel how antsy he gets.

He loves this part.

I watch him in awe as his long fingers stroke the strings of the guitar and listen carefully to every single note he sings. It's hauntingly beautiful. His new songs—the ones he wrote by himself out in the cabin—they're deep. They're real. And they hit you right in the chest.

He's talented—there's no denying it. And everyone in the bar is transfixed on him. Phones in hand of course. Most of them recording him. They know they're part of history right now.

The few who get to see him in person.

I notice more people crowding into the bar, and that's my signal that we need to get the hell out of here before he's mobbed. I catch his eyes and motion with my chin toward the door. He knows.

He finishes his song and quickly puts his guitar away, thanking the crowd and heading toward the exit. People are reaching out for him, trying to get him to stay. Some even holding on.

"Don't touch," I say with a deadly fierce tone. I may not be a huge guy, but I still give off a don't fuck with me attitude when I need to. The girl who was clinging to Justin's arm pouts but lets him go.

Maybe we need to hire a bodyguard. This could be potentially dangerous. I make a note to address it with Justin later as he loads up his guitar and we hop into the car. I drive out of there, watching carefully for anyone following us.

I don't see any headlights, and it's dark as fuck, so when I get on the interstate, I'm reasonably certain no one is behind us. "Fuck, that was close." Justin sounds tense.

I sigh, relieved that we made it out of there without anything major happening. "I think you need a month off. They're getting wise."

"Why does it have to be like this? Why can't they just relax, and if I show up in their town, be happy."

I snort at that. "Because you're Justin St. James, and you've been MIA for a while. They all want to win the internet and get you on camera. You know this."

"I hate it," he grumbles, and I sigh again. I let him down for so long. How the hell did I not see this? He's miserable. Not his usual high after these shows because he had to deal with people groping him on his way out.

"I'm sorry," I say honestly. I don't like it when he's sad. It makes me sad too, as odd and kind of pathetic as that is.

He's quiet on the three-hour drive to a town away from the bar he performed at tonight. I think we're in Oklahoma. Yeah, it's Oklahoma tonight. I go through a drive-thru on the way to the hotel, Justin having put a hat on and lowering the brim as he curls up in his seat.

No one notices. Thank fuck.

We get to the hotel, but he's busy sulking instead of eating, and I don't really feel like eating either.

"Tonight was still good, Justin. You still got to perform, and no one followed us."

He just kicks his shoes off and scoots up the bed, leaning against the numerous pillows against the headboard.

I get it. I really do. But he's also being a bit of a brat. I move to the bed, kicking off my shoes, pulling off my socks, removing my suit jacket, and then sitting down next to him. He shocks the hell out of me by laying his head on my shoulder, but I don't say anything.

I just stroke through his hair with my fingers and try to offer him some comfort. "I know you hate when people paw at you."

"I just want simple, you know? The bar had three times as many people in it tonight by the time I was through with my first song."

It's true. The speed of the internet is getting faster and faster, and anyone who was in the area was right in that bar as quickly as they could get there. "Maybe I chose too populated of an area," I admit.

He sighs softly. "I know I'm being ridiculous. Soon, there won't be anywhere to hide, and it makes me slightly sick."

"You could do shows live on the internet or something. Stream from your cabin." I stroke his hair softly.

He grumbles, and I fight the urge to laugh at his grumpy tone. "It's not the same. I just want a small, simple atmosphere, you know? I just want it to be about the music and not the fame."

He's so damn different from all my other clients. There's no denying it. My job with all of them is to keep them famous. Not keep the fame at bay. "It's still about the music, Justin," I assure him. "You were a sight up there tonight. Beautiful."

He looks at me, his eyes a little glassy and tired, his tongue darting out and licking his parched lips. I try not to. I really fucking do. I know this is a terrible idea, but I can't resist. I lean into him, capturing his lips with my own.

He doesn't shove me away like he should. No. He kisses me back hard, his lips fierce and his tongue searching. "This is a bad idea." I have to at least say it out loud once.

"Totally," he says, sitting back just enough to strip his shirt off and toss it before his lips meet mine again with a hungry passion.

His fingers start on the buttons of my shirt as I kiss him, my fingers going through his hair. I can't get enough. I know this is a horrible idea, but I just can't stop myself. He was beautiful on that stage. His words are beautiful. The music he creates. It's all too damn much, and I'm only human, damn it.

He gets all the buttons undone and pushes my shirt off my shoulders, his mouth going to my bare chest, leaving soft kisses. "I can't resist you. Why the hell can't I?" he asks almost in wonder.

He pushes me back, and I comply, falling onto the bed as he kisses down my stomach and reaches the top of my pants. He slowly undoes my belt and then my pants, prying them open but then going back to the bare skin of my abdomen. "Justin," I plead, my aching dick still confined and needing release.

I can feel the asshole smiling against my skin, but he just uses his tongue to slide around my belly button and drag over my ribs, driving me insane. My hands are in his hair, but I don't guide him to where I want him. He knows exactly where I want him.

He slowly works his way down, pushing my pants down but leaving my tight briefs on. I kick away the pants and moan ridiculously loud when he mouths my hard dick and balls through the briefs, the fabric soaking wet from my pre-cum and his saliva.

"Justin," I try again, my voice hoarse.

"You smell so damn good. You smell..." He sounds wrecked already, and he's still wearing his jeans. "You smell like home."

"Fuck," I say, my hands dragging through his hair. "Please. I'm dying here. Suck me."

His long, graceful fingers move to the hem of my briefs, and finally, he pulls them down. My hard cock slaps against my lower stomach, and my balls scream in relief. He shimmies them down my thighs, and I kick them off before he moves back up. I part my legs, hoping he'll give me some relief, but the bastard kisses and sucks on the inside of my thighs.

Everything before this has been hurried. Rushed. It seems he's going to take his time with me this time, and I don't know if that's better or worse. I want it. There's no denying that, but the longer he kisses my thighs, the more time he takes, fixated on my body, the more I become addicted to the feeling.

When he finally drags his parted lips along the length of my shaft, I nearly come instantly. My thighs shake with the effort to hold off. My body is screaming, and I'm a writhing, aching mess by the time his warm, wet mouth closes around my cockhead, sucking hard and dragging his tongue through my slit. "Yes," I pant, my fingers sliding through his sweaty hair.

I'm panting, with my head tipped back as I reach for him and try not to thrust further into his mouth. I let him tease me and control every second until he finally, finally, takes me into the back of his throat, swallowing around me and making me moan.

"Yes. That. Please." I'm a babbling mess, leaning back on my elbows so I can watch him as he sucks me off like a pro. I feel his fingers stroking over my heavy balls, teasing me and driving my body crazy. He pops off my cock long enough to make me groan in frustration and suck two fingers into his mouth. "Oh, fuck yes," I say as I watch him, and he gives me a wicked grin before taking my cock back into his mouth.

His fingers find their way to my hole, circling and getting it wet before he slides one inside and then two. When he brushes over my prostate the second time, I can't take it anymore. My back bows, and I unleash, coming deep into his throat. He moans and swallows around me like he was starving for it.

Holy shit, that's hot.

I come until I almost lose my mind, my cock jerking and releasing in his mouth as he milks my prostate and sucks me dry. When I can't take anymore, he removes his fingers, and I pull him up to me, attacking his mouth hungrily and flipping us so I'm on top of his strong body.

I can feel his cock poking against me through the denim on his jeans, and I can't believe he didn't seek his own release. "You must be aching right now," I say against his pretty, full lips.

He only grins against my lips. "You have no idea. I want you so badly."

"My mouth or my ass?" I ask devilishly, and he groans, his lips pressing hard against mine as he thrusts up, his cock dragging against me.

"Both. Anything. Everything. I just want to come. I'm dying here," he gasps, and I smile.

"You poor thing," I say with a wicked grin and kiss my way down his body. "I'd love to give you my ass, but I'm just not sure I can give up the chance to taste you." I make my way down his hard chest, kissing over his tattoos and licking his muscles.

I reach the top of his jeans and unbutton them, pushing them and his boxer briefs down, not bothering with teasing him as much as he did me. His big cock jumps out, slapping against his stomach obscenely as I shimmy his jeans and underwear down and off, my eyes back on his dick.

It's flushed red at the tip, leaking profusely, and I lick my lips. "Holy fuck, you have a beautiful dick."

"Waylon," he whines. "Please," he gasps, and I smile at him, trying to decide whether I should tease him. "Waylon," he says, clearly not amused, his voice a higher pitch than normal.

"Fine." I lower my mouth to his cock like it's a hardship, but I moan when I take him into my mouth, living for this moment when a burst of pre-cum hits my tastebuds. I moan again and take him to the back of my throat, thanking the stars that I don't have a gag reflex.

I tease him for a while, but he's keyed-up and desperate for it. I pull off his cock, and he whimpers, fucking whimpers for it. "Don't worry," I say, winking at him. I maneuver my body so I'm flat on my back and leaning my head over the edge before I lift it and look at him expectantly. "Just thought you might want to fuck my mouth."

I watch gleefully as his cock jerks hard, and he scrambles off the bed to do just that. "You sure?"

I nod, lying my head back, the blood rush making the room swim a little, but it's worth it to see how excited he looks—like he's desperate for it. "I'm sure. I trust you."

"Oh fuck," he gasps quietly as he guides his cock to my mouth.

"You won't hurt me."

He starts slow, fucking into my mouth before he realizes I can take it and starts to thrust into the back of my throat. I open wide and take it. My cock is back to hard as I start to stroke myself in time with his thrusts.

Every time the head of his cock hits the back of my throat, he makes a strangled noise, and my stiff cock jerks in my hand, wanting more, getting off on his pleasure. It's not long before his hot cum is spurting into the back of my mouth, and he pulls out enough to let me swallow, while I continue to stroke my own dick until he's wrung out, his softening cock leaving my mouth, and my cum sprays from my dick.

I stroke myself through my orgasm before I climb further onto the bed and settle on my side, not worried about the mess. Justin mimics my position, lying on his side, totally naked and facing me.

"That was . . ." He sounds breathless.

I smile, knowing it was a mistake and that's likely what he wanted to say, but it was too damn good for either of us to actually say it.

"We shouldn't do that again." He must land on that, and I chuckle, too fucked-out to care or be upset by it.

We shouldn't, but I'm pretty sure we will.