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Back Where There's A Will Save as PDF
Chapters (39)
  1. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  2. PROLOGUE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. Interlude
  37. Acknowledgements
  38. Content Warning
  39. About the Author

I shut him up with my mouth, crushing our lips together once more in a powerful, resounding kiss that rips whatever thread of doubt I had left.

He freezes at first, but the shock is quick to give way to surrender as he all but melts into me. His mouth rises into a smile against my lips, and I find myself mirroring it with one of my own.

I bunch his shirt with my fists, taking the lead this time as I start walking him backward toward the bed.

A moan breaches his lips just as he shoves his fingers through my hair, digging his heels into the carpet to stop us as he pulls my head back, breaking our kiss.

Chest heaving against mine, he searches my face with heavy eyes and swollen lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers breathlessly.

I bite my bottom lip as he tips my face back to trail kisses over my jaw, vividly contradicting his words.

Moaning, I say, “Doing just fine by me.”

He lets go of me abruptly, taking a step back, putting him right against the bed.

Not taking his eyes off mine, he reaches back, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere on the floor.

His smooth, hard chest rises and falls with his heavy pants. My mouth waters when I spot that godforsaken piercing through his left nipple. The dark ink swirling around his rib cage and pec. His toned, tatted up arm.

I drag my gaze down, taking in the fine dusting of dark hair trailing down from his belly button, disappearing behind his black joggers. Leading right to where his cock strains against the material.

Jesus Christ, I need to touch him.

Taste him.

I want it all.

Cheeks flushed, Waylon shrugs and spreads his hands as if daring me to stake my claim. As if to say, Is this what you want?

My mouth crooks up wickedly.

Baby, you’ve no fucking clue.

He arches a knowing, challenging brow. “Show me, City Boy.”

28

28

Waylon McAllister

“Show me, City Boy.”

The words have about the same effect on us now as they did the night of the storm, when I bared my teeth to him and breathed hate into his mouth.

With those two simple words, I manage to snap whatever little restraint he had left.

One second I’m standing there, shirtless and breathless as I finally give in to the want that’s been boiling just under my skin for what feels like fucking forever.

And the next I’m

falling,

falling,

falling—

Shoved onto the bed, I hardly have a second to register the ceiling above me and the mattress beneath me before a large body is crawling its way up mine. Hands find my wrists, pinning them above my head in a vice-like grip that hurts in all the best ways.