WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

Sometimes it feels like actual enjoyment of sex is just a myth a marketing department made up to make women buy more stuff. And shave.

“You’re arguing with yourself again.”

Waylon isn’t nearly as patient as Jonathan. He lets out a heavy sigh like he’s exasperated with me. “What’s stopping you. Talk to me.”

“Well, you’re a criminal,” I point out. “Also, a patient who is handcuffed to my bed.”

“So you don’t fuck criminals or patients?” he asks.

I don’t like the teasing note in his voice. Like he’s laughing at me and my excuses. “No, I don’t do that with criminals or patients.”

“Then forget I’m either during our first lesson. Let me teach you how to do sex right, angel. Teach you so good, you’ll never have to tell a man you’re bad in bed again. If you want, you can call me teacher and forget about all the rest.”

Forget about all the rest…could I really do that? With him?

“If I told you to come here and sit on my lap, what would you do?”

I’d freeze.

I know that because every body part, every organ, every system in my body stills at the suggestion of placing myself in his lap. My breath stops. I can’t even feel my heart beating.

“You scared of me, angel?” he asks into all of my frozen silence.

I can’t talk…so I wordlessly nod.

He stares at me, his blue eyes burning. Then he asks, “You need me to make the decision for you?”

I don’t realize that’s exactly what I need until another nod shudders out of my body.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His smile is a feral thing underneath his glittering blue gaze. “Come here, angel.”

This is the part where I come to my senses.

The part where I go down to the grocery store again even though he hasn’t finished the snacks from my last run.

The part where I linger outside in the brisk fall night air until my body cools down and my ability to reason returns or he falls asleep—whichever comes first. Then tomorrow, I’ll tell him it’s time to scoot.

Because that’s the only way to handle the tiger in my bed. The handcuffed criminal who has nothing better to do than to flirt with me.

And teach me how to do sex right—I mean, is that even possible?

I don’t want to find out. I shouldn’t want to find out.

But I can’t speak. I can’t move. I can’t say or do any of the appropriate responses to his indecent proposal.

“First and most important rule of Good Fucking 101: Don’t be scared,” he says as if answering the question I didn’t dare say out loud. “Just do exactly what I tell you. No backtalk.”

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. My heart finally comes back online. But only to rush blood to my ears. My face is on fire, and my too loud heartbeat is the only thing I can hear.

Until he says, “I’m gonna need you to strip, angel.”

My body buzzes, both wanting and refusing to move.

“C’mon, you can do it. Show me what you’re hiding under that yellow pajama set.”

His voice croons and dares and commands.

I’m not sure what I’m responding to when I bend down to take off one house slipper and then the other.

The old clumsiness takes over when I reach for the second slipper. I nearly fall over.

“Slow down,” he tells me. “I like to unwrap my gifts nice and easy.”

Really, because I can’t imagine this guy doing anything but tearing into any and all gifts he receives.

You scared of me?

Yes. Yes, I am. But I take his advice. No more bad sex, I tell myself.

Imagine how much happier I'll be if this works, and I actually do learn how to be better in bed. Or decent even. If Jonathan ever decides to unpause us, he might even be ecstatic with the new me. At this point, decent without a trip to the fridge for frozen peas would be a huge win.

With those thoughts firmly pushed to the front of my mind, I take off everything below the waist.

“That’s enough,” he says, holding up his cuffed hand when I start to take off my shirt. He drops his eyes to my bare pussy and keeps them there like I really did unwrap a gift.

My face heats as the silence stretches on, and for lack of anything better to say, I point out, “We don’t have condoms."

“Oh, don’t worry about that, angel. There’s plenty of stuff I can teach you that won’t get you pregnant.” His eyes crackle with amusement. “Now come here.”

The embarrassment crawls up my body as it always does when it’s time to try to go further than first base. I’m going to mess this up.

I climb onto the bottom of the bed and crawl toward him as carefully as I possibly can—then reel back when I get close enough to his lap to see the heavy ridge imprinted underneath the boxers.