Page 15 of Rescuing the Writer

“The lube, yes. Bought the condoms this morning.”

I wiggled my eyebrows. “You were hoping to get lucky, huh?”

“Well, not so much hoping as counting on it after you practically offered yourself to me on a silver platter.”

Aw, look at him. He was flirting! I was so proud of him, even if it came out a little forced. He was trying so hard, and I loved him for it. Love being a figure of speech, of course. “I’ll admit I was a done deal.”

“And I did some research on…prep.”

“Did you, now? And what did you find?”

“That I needed to get some more supplies, like a shower nozzle, which should arrive from Amazon in a day or two.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that he took this as seriously as he did everything else, but I was still impressed. I cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a deep kiss. “You’re well on your way to being a great top, darling.”

The pride on his face made me want to kiss him even more, but I refrained.

He fumbled a bit in getting positioned so he had full access to my ass, but I helped by making it easy for him, spreading my legs wide. He shot me a look of gratitude and coated his fingers with enough lube for ten men, but that was okay.

His lips pressed together and his brows furrowed in concentration as he pressed his index finger against my hole. “Little more force,” I said.

He breathed out and pushed, jerking when he slid inside me. After checking in with me—as if the tip of his finger would be too much, the sweet summer child—he sank in deeper and deeper until his whole finger was in. He carefully moved it in circular motions.

“Like this?” Waylon’s voice was low and breathless, the uncertainty in his tone so at odds with his decisiveness in every other aspect of his life.

“Exactly like that, but add a second finger, and don’t be afraid to press a little harder.” I interlaced my fingers with his, guiding them in a firm, circular motion that elicited a shiver from both of us. “Trust me, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

His hands began to move with more confidence, emboldened by my guidance. The eagerness in his touch was palpable, each stroke and caress imbued with a desire to please, to cherish. It was intoxicating, being the focus of Waylon’s undivided attention, feeling his need to make this experience memorable for me.

As I coached him through the preparation, his movements remained a mixture of eagerness and uncertainty. But with each whispered instruction, he grew more confident, his touch becoming more purposeful. Waylon was learning quickly, adapting to my responses, his innate caretaker instincts kicking in as he sought to fix and soothe, to bring pleasure rather than pain.

“I’m ready.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me, darling. Sink that big cock of yours inside me and make me see stars.”

A little corny? Abso-fucking-lutely. But I’d noticed before that he liked my dirty talk. It somehow broke through his mental barriers, whatever was holding him back. So if I had to recite some cheesy porn lines to get his engine running, then hell yeah, I would.

The shift was visceral, an invisible mantle draping over his broad shoulders as Waylon assumed the role I offered him. My body responded to his newfound assertiveness—muscles yielding, breath quickening—as he positioned himself with a confidence that made my heart race.

“Look at me,” I commanded softly, and when he did, the raw desire etched in his gaze was my undoing. I’d never felt this wanted, this desired, this craved. Warning bells went off in the back of my mind that I couldn’t attach meaning to this, that this was just sex, but I ignored them. Whatever Waylon was offering, I was taking.

He pressed against me, and I bore down, letting him in. “Fuck,” he moaned as he slipped in.

“Keep going.”

Those first thirty or so seconds were never pretty, but that discomfort was only prolonged if he stopped. Luckily, he trusted my judgment and pushed in deeper. I puffed out breaths and focused on relaxing until he was as deep as he could go. The look he gave me was pure male pride, maybe with a little exhilaration mixed in. “Can I…?”

“Move? Yes, please. Just listen to my body. It’ll tell you.”

He was clumsy and awkward as he adjusted his position to get the correct angle, and when he did, his rhythm faltered, but it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t take my eyes off him. When had I developed a thing for adorable virgins? Had to be a very recent development, but boy, I had it bad.

But like with everything else, Waylon kept at it till he got it right, and when he did, I saw stars. He’d found my happy spot all right, and he nailed it dead-on every time.

“God, yes,” I gasped, the sensation of him overwhelming yet achingly right. His movements grew bolder with each thrust, probably fueled by my body’s response.

But with his increased confidence, his excitement surged. His pace quickened, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts against the skin of my neck.

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