Page 62 of Pucking Tangled
He knew that Casey was on edge.
And Waylon was more focused on Mia anyway.
Just to push his luck and set the tone for how things were going to work from here on out, he shifted slightly closer, slid a clean fork across the table toward her.
“You haven’t touched anything,” he whispered.
Mia’s eyes snapped to his. Wide. Surprised.Wary.
Waylon speared a bite of French toast, drug it through syrup, and lifted it to her mouth. Slowly. “Take a bite, Mia.”
Mia hesitated then parted her lips and let him feed her.
Jesus.
His cock was already hard but now he was painfully so.
Her tongue flicked against the edge of the fork as she pulled it into her mouth, and Waylon swore he felt it in his spine.
He didn’t look away.
Neither did Casey.
Or Luca.
That was the fun of it—the tensioncracklingbeneath every breath.
Mia chewed slowly, swallowed, her eyes locked on Waylon’s like she was trying to figure out what the hell he thought he was doing.
He leaned in a little, voice low and deliberate, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. “I bet you taste better.”
Boom.
Luca dropped his fork. It clattered loud against the plate. “Fuck, Waylon. Could you even let her catch her breath?”
Owen muttered, “Christ.”
Casey stood abruptly, muttering something about needing air, and left the room like the table had physically scorched him.
Mia still hadn’t moved. Instead, from the look on her face, he got the impression she wasn’t sure if she should slap him or straddle him.
He sat back, grabbed a piece of bacon, and took a bite like he hadn’t just declared war in the middle of breakfast.
Let them all stew in it.
Because now?
It wason.
And if they thought for two seconds that Waylon was going to sit back and wait it out any longer? They were all wrong.
TWENTY-FOUR
Luca
Luca staredat his plate and flexed his fist.
He shouldn’t be feeling this way.
