Page 11 of Rescuing the Writer

“Guess it wouldn’t hurt to start the day off with a bang,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

“Or a hum.” I grinned as I dropped to my knees, the heat already building in anticipation of what was to come.

Waylon’s breath hitched as I knelt before him, my gaze locked on his. The air between us was charged with a current so palpable it sent shivers down my spine. With each beat of my heart, I reveled in the power of this moment—the surrender and trust that hung delicately in the balance.

“Relax,” I murmured, my voice a low thrum of reassurance as I reached for the waistband of his shorts. “Let me take care of you.”

There was a tenderness to my touch, belying the hunger that twisted inside me. I peeled the fabric down his thighs, exposing him inch by tantalizing inch. And when he sprung free in all his glorious size, I gasped. “You’ve been holding out on me, Deputy. Yummy.”

I pushed his shorts and underwear down, and he stepped out of them, his cock bobbing, almost slapping me in the face. My fingers trailed along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, teasingly close, yet not quite where he needed them most. I leaned in, my breath hot against him, and heard his sharp intake of air as my lips hovered just a hairbreadth away from his cock. The anticipation was delicious, but I didn’t torture him for long. My tongue flicked out, tasting him—a single, bold stroke that had his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him.

“Jesus, Mel,” Waylon managed, and there was something so thrilling about hearing my name torn from his lips like a prayer.

“Shh…” I flashed him a wicked grin. “Just watch me.”

Encouraged, I wrapped my lips around him, taking him in slowly, savoring the weight of him on my tongue. My hand cupped his balls, massaging them in time with the bob of my head, drawing a symphony of moans and curses from deep within him.

I worked him with a practiced ease, building a relentless rhythm. Hopefully, I’d be able to take my time on another occasion, but for now, I just wanted to give him this no-strings-attached pleasure.

“Fuck…that’s good,” Waylon groaned, his hips seeking more of what my mouth offered. His fingers found purchase in my hair, not pushing but holding as if anchoring himself to reality.

I hummed in response, sending vibrations through his dick, and his blue eyes darkened, eyelids fluttering. The sight of him—so undone, so beautifully vulnerable—sent a jolt of desire straight to my core. I doubled my efforts, hollowing my cheeks and increasing the suction.

“Mel, I’m…” His words tapered into a guttural moan as I took him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of my throat. I held there, breathing through my nose, letting him feel the constriction, the warmth, the wetness.

“God…Melbourne!” It was more than a cry. It was a release, a giving in to the sensation that seemed to shake him to his foundation. His body tensed, legs stiffening as he rode the waves of pleasure I drew from him. I relished every quiver, every pulse, every sign that he was close to the edge.

But I eased off just before he tumbled over because I wanted this to last a little longer. I wanted him to remember this and to etch every second of this into my memory—the taste of him, the sounds he made, the way he looked right then, as if he’d never been touched like this before.

Come to think of it, maybe he hadn’t. I was his first. Now, there was a thought.

“Please,” he whispered, a plea laced with lust and a hint of desperation.

“Please, what?” I teased, even as I granted his silent wish, my lips closing around him once more, my pace relentless now.

“Mel…I’m gonna…” His voice cracked, and I sensed the impending surge, the sweet tension coiling tighter within him.

I took a much-needed breath. “Come for me, darling,” I urged, and as soon as I took him in my mouth again, he shattered. He pulsed against my tongue, hot and unrestrained, his climax washing over him in powerful waves that I eagerly drank down. I savored the moment, his flavor, the sheer satisfaction of having brought this strong, composed man such ecstasy.

As the tremors subsided, I released him, planting a soft kiss on his still-throbbing and half-hard cock—oh, to be that young again and have such a short recovery time—before rising to meet his gaze. His eyes were a stormy sea of emotion, gratitude mingling with something deeper, something that made me a little uncomfortable. He did understand this was just sex, right?

But I didn’t say anything. Maybe because I wasn’t so sure myself what this was exactly.

5

WAYLON

Iclosed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the warm spray rinse the shampoo from my hair as my thoughts drifted back to that blowjob. It had been three days, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even now, my skin still tingled. My cock was still half-hard. And my mind still spun.

Melbourne had given me a blowjob. On a Wednesday morning, in my kitchen, while the breakfast casserole was in the oven—I’d only saved it just in time from getting burned.

Did people do this? Was this normal? I had no clue. My father had died so young that I couldn’t remember what he and my mom had been like together—not that I wanted to think of my mom giving blowjobs. Ew. Major ew. But what did couples do together?

Then again, Melbourne and I were not a couple. This was sex. Casual sex. Incredibly hot, casual sex. But still sex, nothing more. I had to forget about any idea of Melbourne wanting something more. Even if he’d been here over a week now, and I was dreading the day he left. Doreen had let him know the parts would come in on Monday, so in four days or so, he would be gone. My heart ached at the thought.

But did that mean I should take him up on his offer? He’d probably only said it out of a combination of pity, wanting to be nice and offer me a chance to get some experience, and desire. I did believe his attraction to me was genuine, but I was also convinced it was purely physical. If I looked at myself objectively, I could see why he liked my body. But that had nothing to do with me, with who I was as a person.

Maybe that was where I struggled. To me, the concept of sex had been about more than the physical. Foolishly, no doubt, but I’d attached romantic connections to it. Feelings. The probably naïve idea that the best sex came from two people in love.

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