Page 101 of Playing With My Heart Strings

“Please,” I whimper. My body tingles, an aching sensation moving up from my toes to my core. When he slides a finger between my legs, the pleasure intensifies, blazing through me like an inferno. My body writhes against his hand, begging for more. He adds another finger, curling them inside me. I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips.

Dusty clamps his palm against my mouth, withdrawing his fingers. “Only good girls get fucked. I’m going to ask again. Can you be a good girl and be quiet?”

His palm is still pressed against my lips, so I nod, warmth pooling between my legs. He flicks my clit then glides a finger down my slit, only to bring it back up to circle my clit again, using my arousal as lube. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to make a sound, even when he thrusts two fingers inside me, creating unbearable pressure and making my legs quiver underneath me as he brings me closer and closer to release.

“That’s my girl.”

I throw my head back at his words, the praise sending me unraveling, panting, heart racing.

“I’m going to fuck you now, baby. I need you to stay quiet, okay?” He kisses me then pulls his fingers out, popping them in his mouth and sucking me off them. Then he flips me around, holding my hands then placing my palms against the wall.

From behind, I can hear the pull of a zipper and the thud of his jeans and shirt hitting the floor. Before I know what’s happening, his palm is in front of my mouth.

“Spit.”

Oh, fucking hell.

I spit in his hand then turn my head as he strokes his cock, my spit dripping down his shaft. Dusty drags the head of his cockacross my pussy then pushes inside me until he’s fully seated in me. His hands find my waist, and he starts thrusting inside me at a torturously slow pace. I wiggle my hips against him, trying to get more.

“Dusty,” I growl. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

I don’t need to tell him twice as he piles into me over and over. I move my hips with him, our bodies moving together in sync. I slide my hand down to my clit, drawing circles around it, only adding to the shockwaves that ripple up and down my spine.

“Oh, God, you’re so deep, Dusty. I’m so close,” I moan. My body is putty beneath his fingertips. He’s the sculptor, and I’m the clay. He’s claiming me, and I’m claiming him.

“Fuck. Fuck, Baylor. Baby,” are his last string of words before his cock twitches inside me and I shatter.

Warm lips leave wet prints against my shoulder, and Dusty pulls out of me, his hot cum dripping down the inside of my thigh.

I bend down to pick up my clothes, but he’s already beat me to it, tucking away my underwear.

“For safekeeping.” He winks.

41

dusty

One Last Time

We saygoodbye to my parents—my dad giving Baylor a firm handshake, and my mom pulling her in for a long hug, all the while mouthing to meshe’s a keeper—and head back to Nashville. In a few short days, the finale will air and I’ll make my final choice between Valerie and Baylor.

Baylor lies across my lap on the plane ride home, and as I trace the words “I love you” on her thigh, a vision of what life could be like with her flashes through my mind. Tour bus rides and flights to new cities, trips to see my parents—and hers, if she wants to take that step—writing songs together on lazy Sundays.

She’s who I want. But a small, niggling part of me tells me it’s wrong, that I should go with the safer option. That all of this is just an illusion, a fantasy that will never manifest itself.

I have so much respect and admiration for Valerie, and I know she’ll be successful with anything she decides to pursue. But with Baylor, it goes much deeper.

I’ve done my best not to lead any of the women on, I just pray I haven’t planted any false hope.

“Dusty?” she mumbles, her speech coming out lazily from sleep.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you for introducing me to your parents. I loved them.” Her eyes flutter shut, and soon she’s drifting off to sleep again.

“They loved you, too,” I whisper.

Once we get back to Nashville, we drop Baylor off at the hotel then drive through the city to go back to the house. A producer gets a call and hands the phone back to me.

---