Page 33 of Veiled

“No. You. I want it to be you,” I say, just babbling away. A total mess already.

He hesitates for a moment, just staying there, before I hear his shaky breath. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” I say instantly, despite knowing I quite possibly have some pretty strong feelings for him—and my heart could get crushed—but I want this. I know that much. I want him in every way I can have him until it ends.

I grunt, and it turns into a long, deep moan as I feel his wet tongue swipe over my hole. I didn’t see it coming, but I’m desperate for it to not stop. He pries my ass cheeks apart and goes to town. Eating me out until I’m a sloppy, wet mess, begging for it. “Please. Fuck me. Please.”

I reach back, my hands in his hair as I push him into me, going against what I just begged for. But my God, his tongue feels so damn good as he circles my rim, stiffening his tongue and sticking it inside me. Licking inside. Driving me insane as I hump against the bed.

“Please.”

I swear I can feel him smiling against my rim, but I don’t care. I’ll be embarrassed later. He adds a finger and then another, softening my hole. “Just relax,” he says, commanding my body to do just that, and it works.

I let him inside me. Soon he’s adding lube to his fingers and scissoring them until I’m panting and sweating and dying for him to be inside me. But I don’t ask again.

I don’t plead.

I realize this is Waylon. And I just let him take care of me.

He rolls the condom on, and then he’s slowly pressing inside me, kissing along my spine as he enters me in the most perfect way. I brace my weight on my arms and take each stroke he makes into me. I let him own me, pressing against my prostate with expert precision, and I don’t even have to touch my cock to come.

It seems to come out of nowhere. My orgasm hits me so damn hard, I nearly black out as he pushes against my prostate, his cock filling my hole, and I float into a beautiful ecstasy.

I hear him moan, feel his cock jerk inside me, releasing into the condom, and then his body collapses on mine, pushing me into the wet spot, and I can’t even be bothered to care.

I’ve never felt so beautifully out of control in my life.

“Let’s record an album,” I say, turning my head to the side and resting my face against the cool sheets.

“Okay,” he says, not climbing off me, both of us just feeling.

Feeling things we won’t say.

Chapter Seventeen

WAYLON

“Goddamn, Waylon.” Chance looks at me excitedly, shaking my hand. “You got him here. You got Justin St. James back in the recording studio. That is fucking fantastic.”

I grit my teeth, trying to smile, but it doesn’t work. I know I kind of pressured Justin into this, but I’m hoping this is the right move. His songs are perfect, and this studio is one of the biggest ones in Nashville. Chance may be a sleazeball, but he knows what he’s doing.

It’s the fastest way to get this done. And we go way back. “You think he’s ready?”

I look at Justin, already in the booth, his guitar in hand. “I do. These songs, they’re different from what everyone is used to from him.”

He nods at that, but then he shrugs. “But it’s Justin St. James. It’ll sell. And it’s not like we can’t fix it up.”

“No,” I say firmly, my eyes meeting his, which are full of surprise.

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean he has the creative control. You don’t touch his songs. That’s the deal.” I promised him, and I’ll make damn sure I keep my word on that part.

“You know we know what we’re doing.” He motions toward the records all over the walls, showing off the studios achievements.

“I do.” I look over at Justin again and offer him a reassuring smile. “But so does he. He’s back, but under his conditions.”

“Well, let’s just listen to them first before we get all worked up,” he says I think more to his assistant than to me, but it doesn’t matter. I won’t back down on this. He doesn’t need the money. Or the fame.

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