Page 65 of Play Fake
A look of surprise crosses his face but is quickly replaced by a grin. He kisses me again, softly, and turns me around.
“Let’s get the soap out then.”
His hands gently run over my scalp, massaging the soap down to the tips of my hair, gently rinsing it out, before he takes it and twists it around his fingers, and then lets the water soak it again. He repeats it, and then on the third time he pulls harder, pulling my head back gently in the process and exposing my neck, where he kisses and bites his way down to my clavicle. I bite my tongue, trying not to moan at the sensation he creates. I feel him getting harder against my back, and I hold back the urge to beg him to take me here. His arm wraps around my middle, drifting down my center and parting me so he can stroke me, slowly, softly. And it feels good, but it’s not what I want. I need more. More of him. More of everything.
“Waylon…” the word comes out half gasp, as he dips a finger inside to test me.
“Hmm…” his eyes are half shut; lids low as he concentrates.
“I... this is so good, but I really just…” He pulls back, and his eyes open, focusing on me.
“We can stop,” he offers immediately.
I shake my head. “No. No. It’s good, but it’s torment. I just really need you to fuck me. Like, now.”
The look he gives me in response could spark a fire, but he says nothing. Just nods and shuts the water off, handing me a towel and grabbing one for himself. Without another word, he opens a drawer, and I hear the rip of a foil package echo in the room and watch him through the mirror as he rolls it on.
He turns back around and pulls me close to him. His hand goes under my chin and tilts my face up so my eyes meet his.
“I’ll go as slow or as fast as you want. You just tell me if it’s too much or not enough. Whatever you say, goes. Don’t hesitate. Okay?”
I nod, my mind briefly wondering if this is a pep talk he has to give frequently or if he’s just worried about me in particular because of my comments earlier. I decide not to voice my thoughts, given his earlier ban on mentioning other people.
Then, without another word, he grabs me, lifting me and instinctively I raise up and wrap my legs around him. He walks us out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, his mouth trailing kisses along my throat as he lays me down on his bed. He stays there at the foot of it, between my legs, just staring at me for a long beat until I become self-conscious.
“Everything okay?” I question.
“Yeah, I just want to make sure I don’t forget this.” He says it almost like he doesn’t even realize he’s talking out loud.
Then he leans down over me, hovering and careful to keep his weight off me. His free hand trailing up my side and I feel goosebumps breaking out wherever he touches. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Something feels off. So different from what I expected this to end up like.
I’d thought fucking Waylon would be a quick fuck in his truck like we’d started before, or him taking me from behind in a bathroom at a party after we argued. Now I feel stripped, completely bared with every flaw and fear transparent in front of him. And I’m seeing a side of him I don’t think many people knew existed.
His hand slides up the side of my breast, a gentle touch, and then he runs his knuckles down through the valley between them and over my abdomen and the mound between my legs, the pad of his thumb flicking against my clit. Then he brings his finger up to his lips, tasting me.
“Even better,” he mutters absently, and then rolls his weight forward, nudging me with his tip, and then letting it slide up and over my clit. My hips buck at the contact, and I rock forward. Wanting more. He kisses my jaw, and I spread my legs further for him, letting him slide slowly into me. And the fullness is indescribable. Pain and pleasure all mixed in one. I want more and less in equal measure, and I can barely catch my breath.
“Fuck, you’re tight. Don’t let me hurt you. Tell me to stop if you need it.” He looks down at me, worry creasing his brow.
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
“You’d tell me?”
“I promise. It’s a lot, but in a good way.” I whisper.
He looks convinced, and presses a little further in, groaning against my neck.
“You feel like fucking heaven, for the record. So much better than I imagined. I think I might be obsessed already.” His eyes drift over me and it feels so intimate I can barely stand to be in my skin.
I laugh a small, almost inaudible laugh, feeling awkward at the compliment. Wishing I’d had more than a glass of wine tonight because everything I feel right now is too much for me to process. He senses my discomfort and turns his head away, sliding in and out of me at a slow pace. Taking me a little deeper and a little further each time until he’s established a rhythm and I’ve relaxed enough I can take him. I can tell he’s still holding back though, his face and his muscles tense, being so careful.
“I’m not gonna break.” I whisper.
“Hmm,” he looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe me.
“I promise.”
He nods, but he still shows restraint. And I hate it because I want all of him. Raw and unedited.
