Page 79 of Play Fake
His hands are on his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, but then stopping short. His eyes lock on mine and whatever he’s about to say, I can tell he’s dead fucking serious.
“Ask me what my birthday wish was.”
“What?” I’m so confused and muddled by my almost-orgasm, I think I must have heard him wrong.
“My wish. Ask me what it was.”
“If you tell me, you don’t get it.”
“I’m willing to take the risk.”
“What was your wish, Waylon?”
“To hear you say you need me. Not just want, need. That you hate the idea of me with anyone else, the same way I do.”
The way he says the words, his voice so raw, so honest. My heart cracks at the sound of it. His eyes meet mine again and I can tell there’s a nervousness there. That I’m going to sayno. Turn him down.
“Waylon, I…” I don’t know how to say it, what to say even. Because I am falling for him, hard. And every second like this speeds up how fast I’m getting there, but he’s been drinking, and I don’t know whether to believe him or not. “You said yourself that drinking—“
“Fuck...” He curses, interrupting me, and leans forward, bracing himself on the counter. His eyes look glassy. Like he might cry, but I can’t believe that’s possible. Waylon Prescott does not cry. “Then lie to me, yeah? I’m drinking enough I won’t remember in the morning. Another gift. You can just assume I’m being greedy tonight.”
He smiles and winks at me, but it doesn’t go to his eyes, and I hate it. I want to explain everything, but I feel like I’d just fuck things up worse. I think I might be in love with him, so it’s the last thing I want to do. The words echo in my head, and I look up at him. Honesty with him has always been the best policy, so it’s worth a shot.
“Waylon, I think I might be in love with you, and I don’t know what to do with that. So right now, I just need you to fuck me senseless, okay?”
A grin spreads across his face, despite the fact his eyes still look unsure.
“Yes ma’am,” he says, his best southern drawl seeping into the response.
I can’t help but laugh, but it’s cut short as he makes quick work of pulling himself out and slipping on a condom. Before I can catch my breath, he’s at my core, teasing me as he kisses his way up my neck.
“I need you, Mac. I need you so fucking much it hurts,” he groans into my skin as he slides inside me inch by inch.
And just like before I am so fucking full of him it hurts, almost to the point of pain. I take deep breaths as he slides his thumb over my clit, bringing the edge of my orgasm back to life as he does it.
He pulls back and pushes in again, slowly, carefully, patiently as I try to relax for him.
“Fuck. You are so fucking tight and perfect. I love fucking you, Mac. I fucking love everything about you,” he’s half rambling and his words are slightly slurred. Whatever shots he took before coming up must be hitting him hard now. I wince.
“Are you sure you’re good? I feel like you’ve had a lot of shots, and I don’t want you to regret this.”
He leans his forehead against mine and laughs.
“Like I could ever regret anything with you. Mac, I’ve told you again and again. I will give you anything. I’m yours even if you don’t want me.”
“I want you. More than anything,” I confess and then I catch his lips with mine, kissing him hard, wrapping my arms around his neck.
We don’t say anything else after that. He just fucks me, slowly, watching me while my hands run over every inch of his skin until I can’t take it anymore, and I beg him to finish me. I come saying his name over and over like it’s a little prayer that’ll slow down time and the rush of feelings I don’t know how to stop. Like somehow, it’ll help me keep the moment safe. He holds me for a long minute after we both come, as if he’s not quite ready for the end either.
There’s nothing but silence and our quiet breathing as we pull our clothes back on, and I feel like everything has shifted between us. I’m still not sure what it means. But his confession has broken my heart wide open in a Waylon shaped crack, and now I’m just left hoping he wasn’t so drunk he forgets everything he said.
TWENTY-FOUR
Waylon
By the next afternoon,my skull is pounding out of my head still, so I take another round of aspirin to stem the tide of pain and nausea. I gulp down a sports drink with it and massage my temples.
Last night was a blur. I know I didn’t do anything stupid because I remember when I was semi-sober in the early morning hours, Mackenzie was lying next to me in the bed. Feeding me toast and medicine. But I can’t remember the details of what happened with her either, and I’m just fucking hoping I didn’t do anything wildly stupid. Like telling her I love her.
