Waylon (Ruthless MC 2)

No one gets hurt. There’s only pleasure.

“This is how it’s going to be with us,” he informs me as that pleasure builds. “I’m going to fuck you like crazy, and you’re going to take it. Because I’m your teacher. Your only teacher. Your last teacher. Now say you belong to me as I take your last virgin hole.”

“I belong to you,” I cry out, reveling in his dirty commands and the pleasure of being taken by my king.

“Say you’re sorry,” he commands. “Say you’re sorry for fucking another guy when you know you belong to me.”

Guilt cracks into the pleasure. I’m so ashamed. Not of this, though. Of what I did with Jonathan. I broke my promise. I shared myself with him while thinking about Waylon. I didn’t listen—I didn’t listen to my heart or my gut.

“I’m sorry!” I cry out again. “I’m sorry for everything I did!”

It feels like I’m talking to both Waylon and myself.

“Aw, fuck, angel….” He lets out a wounded animal sound as he pushes even deeper into my last virgin hole.

“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry for allowing you to kick me out of your life. For not taking you with me whether you wanted it or not.”

He drops down to fully blanket me again, to growl in my ear. “You could’ve married that asshole, and I still would have come for you one way or the other. You know that, right? Because you're mine. You belonged to me from the moment you were born. Do you understand? Come, if you understand. Come for me right now.”

I shouldn’t understand. I shouldn’t.

But all my shouldn’ts instantly disintegrate in a blinding orgasm.

This is how I’m punished. This is how I’m rewarded. This is how I’m claimed.

This is how I’m redeemed.

Then Waylon releases too, spilling into me with a triumphant yell.

For a few moments, we lie there together with him, covering me like the world’s heaviest blanket.

I’m drowsy, content to just lie underneath him without a conflicted feeling in the world.

He pulls my hair aside and lays a gentle kiss on the back of my neck. The touch of his lips, though gentle, send even more shivers through me.

He withdraws, and I lie there, boneless and twitching with his cum dribbling out of my ass as I listen to the sounds of him washing up in the bathroom. Then he comes out with a hand towel and cleans me up with a surprisingly gentle touch before rolling me over and putting me on my backside.

His eyes flare along with another part of him as he takes me in. Neither of us says anything, just stare at each other, frank and connected in a way we were before.

And even though he just got done cleaning me up, he puts on a condom and climbs on top of me again.

This time he simply has sex with me. There are no rough words, just long, consistent strokes until he grunts, and I whimper when we come together for another orgasm.

More cleanup, then he turns off the overhead light, The sun has fully set now, and it’s a different kind of black beyond the windows without any ambient city light. I feel rather than see him collapse heavily into the bed next to me.

“Alright, I guess we won’t be living together in my trailer, after all,” he teases, drawing me into his arms. “You won that fight, angel.”

I can’t see him. But I can sense him smiling.

Which makes me ask, “Is it true? What Lucinda told me about you never smiling or laughing. Like, ever?”

A beat of silence. Then he says, “Never had a reason to laugh or smile. Before you.”

I can’t believe he tried to claim he was bad with words earlier.

His answer makes me smile in the dark.

But then I say, “Waylon? About what I said earlier…”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds wary as if he thinks I’m about to renege on everything I told him.

And he’s kind of right. I do take one thing back—one very important thing.

“I was jealous. Very fucking jealous,” I tell him through clenched teeth. “I don’t want you to just tell that maid Cindy to put on some clothes. I don’t want her cleaning your trailer or any other place you occupy.”

Several beats of silence. Then the man who supposedly never smiles fills up the darkness with laughter.

“Okay, angel, okay. If that’s what you want.”

CHAPTER 17

Over the next three months, I discover that Waylon was right about his way being easy.

Easy like him teaching me long and hard on Sundays and driving me over to the medical trailer on the back of his bike the other six days of the week.

Easy like him pushing all the patients who come to see me for their physical to the top of the move-in list so that we can get the backyard clinic up and running that much faster. Not because he’s as passionate about preventative care as I am, but because he wants the extra teaching time in the morning.