Without letting go of his knee, I use my free hand to smooth the tips of my fingers over the swirls of ink decorating his collarbone. It looks like some sort of tribal piece with flowers interwoven, and words. Lyrics, maybe. I wish I could see better to read what they are. What was so important he had to have it engraved into his skin.

I wish I had the time to explore him properly.

Waylon watches me through slitted eyes. He looks angry. Fucking wrecked. He’s never looked more beautiful than he does now—light bruises from my mouth littering the column of his neck. His collarbone. Right above that fucking hot-as-sin piercing.

He’s a goddamn wet dream.

Licking my lips, I let my eyes dance over his abs, watching the way they clench and release with each ragged breath.

I take in the fine smattering of dark hair just under his belly button, a trail leading to the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen. It’s hard and glistening and perfect.

A smile pulls at my face as I let my fingers ghost over the swollen head, watching the way the wetness beaded at the top clings to the tips of my fingers when it jerks up at my touch.

He wants me.

Waylon makes a frustrated noise, somewhere in between a growl and a groan.

Not taking my eyes off his cock, I twist my other hand, sliding it so it’s now splayed just under his thigh. Light hairs tickle my palm as I open him further for me. I watch the way his balls draw up tight, and I wish I could take each one in my mouth. Roll them under my tongue until he’s shooting from that alone, leaving sticky trails up his torso.

More than that, though, I wish I could taste him.

Wish we had more than just tonight so I could have everything.

Waylon digs the sock-clad foot of his free leg into the hard floor as he all but fucks up into the air. “Will.”

My tongue peeks out, swiping over my top lip. I can’t believe this is actually happening.

Waylon.

Way, Way, Way.

I give my head a little shake just as I reach out and fist his cock. Keeping him in my firm grasp, I climb back over him, seeking his mouth as I groan, “So fucking perfect.”

Waylon snarls angrily, hungrily, reaching up and roughly grabbing my cheeks in a death-grip. Bringing our lips together in a heated, messy kiss, giving me no choice but to drop my lower half to his. Crushing him. Us.

I open my fingers, seeking out my own rigid length to join with his. Using our pre-cum as lube, I squeeze and stroke us together as we bump and grind and hiss like rabid, rutting beasts.

I don’t know how long this goes on for.