16. Justin

Chapter Sixteen

JUSTIN

Y eah, I don't know what the hell is going on. When I left Kansas City, I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I knew what I was doing. That I didn't want to be Justin St. James, the rockstar, anymore. I wanted nothing to do with Immoral.

I was going to play in small bars and maybe quietly record some songs and release them, but goddamn Waylon had to come along and show me the flaws in all my plans. He reminded me of how much I love performing.

It doesn't really matter where. But I do love the sound of the crowd. I love the idea of reaching millions of people on that kind of level that only music can reach. He showed me just how much I love the music and the fans.

This isn't good.

I thought I had it all figured out, but I didn't know anything. I'm lost and aimless. But when he kisses me, like he's doing now, everything makes more sense and less, all at the same time.

"What are we doing?" I say breathlessly against his firm lips.

"Kissing," Waylon says easily, lifting my shirt up and off. "Maybe more."

"You know what I mean." I say, letting my shirt fall and unbuttoning his. "Is it still just sex?" I have to ask because it doesn't feel like it. Something has shifted. I can get lost in him just like I can get lost in music, and that's new for me.

I'm addicted.

I find myself reaching for Waylon even more than I reach for my guitar, and that's saying a lot. He kisses my lips, his hand going through my hair at the back of my head. "I don't know. I'm your manager."

"I can fire you again," I say with a small smile.

He bites my bottom lip. "I'm a very busy man."

I frown, thinking back over the years and his lack of dating. I assumed he was hooking up, but since I've known him, he's never had a relationship. "You don't want a relationship?"

He steps back but only to undo his pants and push them and his tiny orange briefs down and off. He's totally naked, and he should know I can't really think when he's naked. But he talks anyway as he works on the button of my jeans with nimble fingers. "This is just supposed to be releasing tension while we figure out your career."

"It was," I say because yeah, of course it was, but it's not how it ended up, and I think we both know that. It's only been a little over a month of fooling around, and I can't get enough.

It's not even just the sex either.

I like laying my head on his chest after sex and listening to his breathing and heartbeat. I like how comfortable I feel with him. How right it all feels.

"We shouldn't complicate it, Justin. Eventually, I'm going back to Kansas City. My career..." He pushes my jeans and boxer briefs down, and I kick them away before our eyes lock. "It's important to me."

"So I'll go back to Kansas City." It's not like I bought this cabin, although I do love it here. I can't deny it. But I can love it back in KC. It's not like it's all that different. I can build a cabin there.

He stares at me contemplatively. "You left."

"You followed."

A small grin spreads over his face at that, and he nods. "I did."

"Why?" I ask him the question I've wanted answered for a while. "Ego? Because I was the one who left?"

He's not angry at my question, but he does wave it off. "Lots of people leave. It's normal. I've been fired plenty of times."

"Then why me?" I ask, my eyes closing as his hands brush over my lower stomach, and I feel his plump lips at my throat.

"You were different." He kisses and sucks over my Adam's apple and then over my collarbones, the left and then the right. "You were always different. I couldn't let you go."

"But now you could? Eventually, you're going back to your career. You're really going to leave me behind?" I hate how hoarse my voice sounds, but it hurts. Now I know how he felt.

"We aren't there yet. We have to get you into a studio. Maybe book some small concert venues, if you're up for it." His hands slide down my sides, sending shivers throughout my entire body. "We still have time."

I keep my eyes closed, and his lips meet mine, brushing over them. His hands slide down my arms now, making me tremble and want.

"We don't have to rush this."

"Feelings?" I ask incredulously.

He sighs softly. "I do have feelings for you, Justin." He says it firmly but keeps his voice quiet. "You know I do."

I know he has a fondness for me, but that's not what I want to hear. Somehow, I've turned into this desperate, needy creature over the past month or two. I crave him. I want to kiss him and be inside him, but I also just want him.

And I can't have him.

That's what he's telling me right now. Although nicely. He's telling me this isn't going to last, no matter how we feel.

"Do you ever um..." My voice cracks, and I open my eyes to look deep into his. He looks at me curiously, and I flush a little. "Do you ever top?"

He grins knowingly at me. "Why?" He leans in and licks over my bottom lip and then kisses over my jaw and down my neck. "Do you want to be filled? Stuffed full until you can barely breathe? You want to be owned, Justin?" I'm a panting, wanton mess as I finally make myself nod in acknowledgment.

"Yes. So badly."

"Get on the bed." I like his bossy tone more than I want to admit, and I get to the bed more quickly than I'm proud of, but I really don't care. I want this so damn badly.

I climb onto the bed on all fours, waiting for him. The anticipation buzzes through my body as I listen to him. A bottle of lube and a condom land next to me on the bed, and I breathe out slowly as I feel Waylon's strong hands run over my back, his fingers dancing along my spine.

"Look at you. So beautiful."

"Please." I'm desperate for it.

"Have you ever been fucked before?" he asks, his hands going over my ass and slowly pulling my cheeks apart. My face flames at the intimate action, but my cock is hard and leaking.

"No. You. I want it to be you," I say, just babbling away. A total mess already.

He hesitates for a moment, just staying there, before I hear his shaky breath. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," I say instantly, despite knowing I quite possibly have some pretty strong feelings for him—and my heart could get crushed—but I want this. I know that much. I want him in every way I can have him until it ends.

I grunt, and it turns into a long, deep moan as I feel his wet tongue swipe over my hole. I didn't see it coming, but I'm desperate for it to not stop. He pries my ass cheeks apart and goes to town. Eating me out until I'm a sloppy, wet mess, begging for it. "Please. Fuck me. Please."

I reach back, my hands in his hair as I push him into me, going against what I just begged for. But my God, his tongue feels so damn good as he circles my rim, stiffening his tongue and sticking it inside me. Licking inside. Driving me insane as I hump against the bed.

"Please."

I swear I can feel him smiling against my rim, but I don't care. I'll be embarrassed later. He adds a finger and then another, softening my hole. "Just relax," he says, commanding my body to do just that, and it works.

I let him inside me. Soon he's adding lube to his fingers and scissoring them until I'm panting and sweating and dying for him to be inside me. But I don't ask again.

I don't plead.

I realize this is Waylon. And I just let him take care of me.

He rolls the condom on, and then he's slowly pressing inside me, kissing along my spine as he enters me in the most perfect way. I brace my weight on my arms and take each stroke he makes into me. I let him own me, pressing against my prostate with expert precision, and I don't even have to touch my cock to come.

It seems to come out of nowhere. My orgasm hits me so damn hard, I nearly black out as he pushes against my prostate, his cock filling my hole, and I float into a beautiful ecstasy.

I hear him moan, feel his cock jerk inside me, releasing into the condom, and then his body collapses on mine, pushing me into the wet spot, and I can't even be bothered to care.

I've never felt so beautifully out of control in my life.

"Let's record an album," I say, turning my head to the side and resting my face against the cool sheets.

"Okay," he says, not climbing off me, both of us just feeling.

Feeling things we won't say .