WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

He begins pumping his fingers inside me, the ball of his hand rubbing lightly on my clit as he does, and oh, oh….I don’t realize how sensitized I still am down there until my body immediately responds, hips pushing into his hand with needy expectation.

I let my eyes flutter closed. Just like that, all my self-conscious thoughts go away. I’m ready to submit to another explosion.

But then, he stops and asks, “What’s the first rule?”

“Um…”

“You do what I say. No backtalk,” he commands, his tone flat and hard, even as he begins pumping his fingers inside of me again. “Let me hear you say it, angel. ‘I do what you say, Teacher. No backtalk.’”

What a nasty thing to command somebody else to say. My head reels with the wrongness of it. But my body….

A shudder of pleasure ripples through me. I’m close to coming again. So close.

He stops again, his palm hovering over but not quite touching my clit.

“‘I do what you say, Teacher,’” he repeats. His voice is little more than a feral growl now. “Promise me. Give me what I want, so I can give you what you want.”

My pussy is throbbing. It clenches like a thing unhinged around his unmoving fingers, a desperate addict begging for more. But promises are serious things. I don’t…I shouldn’t…I….

“I do what you say, Teacher.” The words fall out of my mouth in a single breath of submission. It’s wrong. All of this is so wrong, but giving in feels like setting down a heavy burden I’ve been carrying too long.

Waylon immediately starts pumping his hand into me again. “You got any idea how hot that sounded? I knew you were built for this—built for me. From the moment I saw you. I knew it.”

He’s talking crazy. I’m not built for this. I shouldn’t be doing this with him. I shouldn’t be submitting to anyone like this. I shouldn’t be—

The orgasm slams into me before I can make it to the end of that last shouldn’t thought.

“Teacher,” I moan.

“Fuck, angel…just when I thought you couldn’t get me any hotter. Yeah, come for Teacher. Come all over this hand like you’ll be coming all over my dick tomorrow when you bring condoms home.”

No, no, I won’t do that. I shouldn’t.

But all I can do is helplessly whimper as the orgasm courses through me, brutal and unrelenting. Some parts of me beg for it to stop; other parts of me never want it to end.

Either way, by the time the orgasm is done with me, I’m done. No more squirming. No more protesting. I lie there like a limp noodle in his arms, unable to do anything but tingle in the aftermath of my second huge climax.

The tingling eventually recedes and gives way to a languid feeling that turns out to be a precursor to sleep.

“No more sleeping on the couch,” Waylon murmurs in my ear. “That’s an order.”

As I drift off, I’m not sure what to worry about more. That I couldn’t move to the couch even if I wanted to—or that I don’t want to. I like it just fine and a little too much in Waylon’s arms.

CHAPTER 11

Sierra sticks her head around the curtain of the cubicle where I’m picking glass out the arm of a single mom whose glass shower door imploded while she was giving her young son a bath.

“I need a consult as soon as you’re done here,” she lets me know, her tone grave.

I nod and handle the rest of the glass extraction before sealing up some of the smaller wounds with glue. Luckily, the cuts weren’t that deep or long, so glue should do the job just fine.

My body heats with the memory of the last time I sewed someone up. Two days ago with Waylon watching me in that intense way of his the entire time. Even then, the sexual tension had been set to crackling, and it eventually led to yesterday’s explosion—or should I say explosions?

Yeah, come for Teacher. Come all over this hand like you’ll be coming all over my dick tomorrow when you bring condoms home.

His words…his commands ring in my ears, not for the first time since I extracted myself from his arms this morning, washed up, then slunk off to work.

But, of course, I’m not going to do what he said. I still don’t know what got into me last night. But I do know it shouldn’t have happened. I’m not going to double down on that mistake by bringing home condoms.

I think you do know what got into you last night, a wicked voice suggests. His fingers. Twice. And you’re definitely curious about the other thing he wants to put inside of you.

Memories of last night flood my mind, along with the urge to visit the pharmacy near the hospital’s parking lot entrance where I know they carry Trojans.