WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

No…

I explode.

“That’s it,” he croons in my ear. “Come for Teacher. Just like that.”

The orgasm booms inside of me then floods my body in sensation—wave after wave of pleasure washing over me.

I can’t believe it. He invited me to learn, but I came—came for the first time in my life with another person.

He pulls his fingers out of me.

“You alright?” His gruff voice heats my neck.

And I remember, I’m not the only person in this equation.

I’m better than alright, but without his fingers inside of me, I can feel his erection beneath my wet folds. Hard and pulsing through the cloth of his sweatpants.

“Should I…I could…” I start to offer—then my face heats, and I sit back when I realize I still don’t have any man-pleasing skills to speak of.

“Maybe you could give me a hand job tutorial?” I suggest, and everything inside of me cringes up because I’m such a dweeb.

Heat flares in his eyes. But then he says, “Not yet. I’m hard as a rail, but I want inside you too bad to let you use your hand or your mouth.”

His refusal to let me try to get him off makes a new kind of desire tug through me. I don’t just want to be decent with him. I want to blow his mind the way he blew mine.

I want to learn.

“You said you’d teach me. Please, Teacher?” My voice takes on a simpering quality as I grind my still wet pussy against the thick ridge.

He groans, low and feral, then pulls me in for another kiss—this one isn’t nearly as slow and patient as the last one. His tongue invades my mouth, hungry and demanding. And though I just got off, a renewed desire stirs below my waist. I’m somehow ready to go again like the multi-orgasmic women in my books.

Wait, is that really a thing that happens in real-life? I stopped marking those passages in my early twenties—when I figured out the hard way that dating and especially sex was nothing like what happened in romance novels.

But the way desire creeps up my spine as he kisses me has me re-thinking everything I thought I knew about sex and my ability to enjoy it as I begin to grind myself against his erection.

At least I try to not-so-dry hump him again. As soon as my hips start moving, he brings his free hand down to stop them.

“Un-uh. None of that, angel. Not unless you’re willing to do this with me without a condom.”

No…no, I wasn’t willing to have sex with him without a condom.

Sense comes back over me in a cold whoosh, along with all the nurse thoughts. What did I just do? With a patient…a criminal?

What was that? Why did I perform for him, explode for him like I’d never done for anyone else?

I scramble out of his lap and try to leave the bed—only to find myself caught by my wrist.

“Un-uh, Angel,” he says, pulling me back down to the bed. Easily. "No wham-bam-thank-you-Waylon. Sixth rule: we spoon after lessons.”

We spoon….

I lie down on my side, but I don’t quite know what to do with my body.

But it turns out, I don’t have to worry about that with the biker. He lays my head down on his handcuffed arm like it’s a pillow and drapes the other arm over my waist like a blanket. Then he nuzzles into my neck and pushes the back of his leg into mine.

Leaving my naked butt to rest on his still hard penis.

I start to squirm—then make myself stop.

“Waylon…is that your name?” I ask just to distract myself from the steel rod pressing into my ass.

“Yeah…mom was a big fan of outlaw country.”

“And your Dad?”

Silence. “Another long story.”

“Am I ever going to hear any of these long stories?”

“Probably not.” The “probably” should open up the possibility of him telling me his back story at a later date, but his tone makes the two words sound the same as “Hell no.”

I think. Then decide to tell him, “My name is Amira.”

I feel him smile against my neck. “That’s a beautiful name. But I’m going to keep calling you angel.”

“But I’m not any kind of angel,” I remind him. Especially not after tonight.

“Mmm-hmm, go to sleep, angel.”

I try, but self-conscious thoughts pile up.

I think of the careful odor checks I did before I attempted sex with Jonathan. I can smell myself, still wet and throbbing.

“I should go clean up,” I tell him. “And I’m fine sleeping on the couch.”

His hand is between my legs without warning. He parts my folds with his outer fingers while pressing in deep with the middle ones.

I buck at the unexpected invasion, but he keeps me pinned tight under his arm. Even if I wanted to elbow him, I couldn’t do it easily in this position as his fingers stroke and rub. And soon, I don’t want to elbow him. Not at all.