Page 66 of Play Fake
“Waylon?”
“Yeah?” He looks at me, slowing to a tortuous pace as he concentrates on my words.
“You promised me whatever I want, right?”
He nods.
“Then I want you to fuck me like you want to break me, okay? If you need inspiration, just think of all the times we argued. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you like I always do.”
He grins then, pressing his forehead down to my shoulder as his body shudders with a heartfelt laugh, and I watch the wariness that had been on his face disappear. Finally, he picks up his pace, fucking me like I’m someone he desperately wants instead of a doll he’s terrified will break.
A sheen of sweat breaks out across his chest, making his skin glisten. The sound of his breathing and the flex of his muscles are all distractingly sexy in their own right. So much so I have a brief fangirl moment, one I willneveradmit to having, that Waylon Prescott is inside me. Fuckingme. And I finally understand why they treat him like a god because he definitely fucks like one.
He fucks me harder, and I tilt my hips up to counter him, until I get just the perfect amount of friction I feel my orgasm pulling tight and low.
“More, please,” I beg him.
“Anything you want,” he rasps against my skin, and does exactly what I ask.
I curse and moan his name as my release floods through my body, tensing every nerve and muscle.
“Christ, Mackenzie,” he buries his face in my neck, kissing down my throat as his body shudders through his own release.
He collapses next to me, one arm thrown over my middle, pulling me close to him as we both try to catch our breath.
Despite my promises to him, I feel shattered. Broken and put back together again. My body and my heart rearranged by whatever’s happened between us tonight. It’s so far from what I expected.
I close my eyes as I lay back against the pillow, trying to blot out the whir of thoughts in my head. I swallow back the little whisper of apprehension, the tiny nudge beating low in my heart that tells me what I worried about—falling for him—happened a long time ago and tonight merely sealed my fate.
TWENTY
Waylon
The door opens,and light from the living room pours in, waking me from my sleep. Covers and sheets are everywhere in the room and Mac is still softly snoring, half of her upper body exposed. I toss a blanket over her before I turn my anger on the intruder. I don’t have to say a word before Easton throws up his hands defensively.
“Oh fuck. Fuck, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I know last night, but then I thought it was so late this morning and with your mom being in town.” It’s a garbled mess of word salad, but I know Easton is doing his best to apologize.
“Who has he got in there this morning?” I hear Lauren’s voice before I see her appear over Easton’s shoulder. Apparently, they’re a regular thing now, interesting. “Is it London or Holly? I want to know who wonthatfight.”
I feel Mac stir beside me, and I send up a desperate prayer she’s just going to turn over and go back to sleep.
I am nowhere near that lucky. All my luck got spent last night, and now I’m the opposite of whatever lucky is because Mac sits up abruptly. She’s blinking, taking in the light, her surroundings, and the two people at the door.
She smiles. Tightly. So very tightly and pulls the blanket up around her to shield herself from the onslaught.
“Oh! No, you’re Olivia’s friend. Her roommate. I remember you!” Lauren smiles brightly. The girl never met a person who wasn’t her friend. She’s sweet that way. So easy going and part of the reason so many guys like her.
“That’s me,” Mac answers, giving her a slightly less strained smile.
“Well, that’s new.” Lauren wiggles her eyebrows at me and winks.
I give her the slightest headshake to try to warn her off, but she either doesn’t see it or doesn’t care because she just smiles brighter and says, “Well, I’m making pancakes this morning if you want some. East’s gonna get some coffee if you want to give us your order. We can eat and tell embarrassing stories about the boys. It’ll be fun!”
Realizing I’ve lost that battle, my eyes fly to Easton, and I give him my best “fix it the fuck now!” look without actually saying a word. And the message is received immediately.
“Uh, I think we better just make breakfast for two Laur. Before Waylon murders me and has to hide my body in a dumpster. I don’t want to spend eternity in a dumpster.” He smiles at her and nods at Mac and me before he quickly shuts the door again.
In my infinite wisdom, I had, in fact, latched but not locked the door last night. I was too eager to get my hands on her and now I was going to pay for it dearly. I can already tell by the distance she’s put between us on the bed and the tight way she’s gripping the blanket to her body the cold light of morning has cast things in a very different light for her.
