Page 10 of Rescuing the Writer

“Well, then practice on me, and I’ll give you feedback. I’m an expert at flirting by now.”

“I bet. One hundred,” Waylon mumbled, then rose to his feet. A thin sheen of sweat covered his chest, and I wanted to lick it off his body. So I had a thing for sweat. Sue me. Who could blame me when a man looked like that?

I bit my tongue, not wanting to embarrass him, but one look at me, and he sighed. “You might as well say it. Your face does most of the talking, anyway.”

He took a big gulp from a water bottle.

“I was thinking I wanted to lick the sweat off your chest.”

He coughed, spitting out the water everywhere. Cheeks pink, he grabbed a towel to dry himself off first and then the floor. “Sorry about that.”

“What are you apologizing for? You didn’t hit me.”

“Yeah, but…” He straightened his shoulders. “I should’ve known it was something dirty.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I have a dirty mind. And you’re an absolute delight to look at.”

“Just trying to stay fit for the job,” he muttered, almost shyly, which was a stark contrast to the confidence his body exuded.

“Fit? Darling, you’re not giving yourself enough credit.” My gaze roamed over him unabashedly. “The way you do those push-ups… It’s downright sinful.”

“Sinful, huh?” He cracked a half-smile, then took another sip. A little more confidence moved into his expression. “Never heard of a workout described quite like that.”

“Then clearly, you haven’t been working out in the right company.”

Waylon chuckled, a rich sound that vibrated through the air between us, and leaned against the counter, facing me. “And what kind of company would that be?”

“Someone who appreciates the fine art of muscle and sweat.” I set down my glass, feeling bold. “Someone who wouldn’t mind showing you how much they appreciate it either.”

His eyebrow quirked, and he crossed his arms, which did incredible things to his biceps. I was playing with fire, but isn’t that what life was all about?

“Are you offering to spot me at the gym or something else?” Waylon asked, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“Something else,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Consider it a personal service. A morning…pick-me-up, if you will.”

“Personal service, huh?” He took a slow sip from his water bottle, considering my words. “Sounds tempting, but I’m not sure what you’re suggesting.”

“Let me clarify then.” Pushing off from the counter, I closed the distance between us, my pulse quickening. “How about I show you how sexy you are—with a blowjob?”

His hand froze halfway to his mouth, and when he lowered it, he was shaking. “A b-blowjob?”

I nodded. “Your cock, my mouth, and one spectacular orgasm for you. I’m quite good, I’ve been told.”

“This isn’t… I mean, you’re my guest, and there’s a line, right?”

I studied him for a moment, taking in the way his brow creased, betraying the internal battle he fought. Disciplined, organized Waylon, always so sure, now standing on the precipice of something thrillingly uncertain. “I see the line. And I see you, a grown man who can decide for himself where it gets drawn.”

I stepped closer, diminishing the space between us once more, and placed my hand lightly on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat pulsing through my hand. “There’s no pressure here—only an offer. One that’ll make us both feel good.”

“How do you make it sound so easy?”

“Because it is.” I trailed my index finger from his collarbone down to his belly button, then to the elastic waistband of his shorts. “It’s sex. As long as it’s between consenting adults, it shouldn’t be complicated.”

“I’m…”

“You’re conflicted, I know. Your brain is protesting, but your body is yelling louder than a siren on a quiet night to take me up on my offer.” I looked up at him through my lashes, slipping my finger into his shorts, where the tip of his hard cock was fighting to be freed. “But just say the word, and I’ll back off.”

For a moment, we stood there, the air charged with tension. Then, without warning, Waylon put his hand on mine and pushed it downward, forcing me to touch his cock. His other hand cupped my cheek, warm and slightly rough—the hand of a man who wasn’t afraid of hard work. How very Waylon, sexy and comforting at the same time.

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