His hands find my face, tipping my head so we’re at a better angle. He sucks on my top lip, and I moan lightly into his mouth. He tastes like stale toothpaste and smoke and us, and nothing’s ever been sweeter.

I’d be embarrassed by the sounds coming out of my mouth if I wasn’t so relieved to finally have a taste of what’s been forbidden for so long. If I wasn’t so fucking gone for this boy. This damaged, drive-me-fucking-insane boy who’s managed to find all those pieces of my heart he broke years ago, and fit them back together. Like it was nothing at all.

He pulls back just enough to brush his nose along mine. “What was that for?”

“I don’t like when you talk bad about yourself,” I tell him honestly. I press another soft, chaste kiss right to the corner of his mouth. “So I took it upon myself to shut you up.”

He grunts. “That so?”

I drag my hand down his side, over the dip in his waist, before reaching around him to grab his ass and pull him into me.

The breath whooshes out of him.

I smile against his jaw. “You’re hard for me again.”

He reaches down between us, teasing his fingers over my shaft. “Seems we have something in common.”

We come together in a heated kiss, groaning deeply into each other’s mouths. Waylon’s all damp skin and toned muscle and delicious heaviness as he rolls on top of me.

Our noses bump awkwardly, bringing a soft, rumbling laughter out of each of us.

Waylon lowers his head, sucking a spot right under my ear that has me arching up into his hand. I grab and squeeze at his ass as I fuck his fist. His own arousal smears across my hip with each matching thrust.

A lifetime could pass by for all I care as we make out and grind against each other like a couple of horny teenagers. I know he’s not ready for more, so I don’t push it. Just having him in my arms is enough. Just kissing him is more than I ever thought I’d have.

“Is this okay?” he asks against my throat as he starts working our cocks over together in his hand. “Am I doing this right?”

“C’mere,” I say as I reach between us to grab his wrist.

He watches me, pupils blown with arousal—hardly a drop of green or gold to be seen—as I bring his open palm to my mouth and spit into his hand.

His nostrils flare, and his jaw ticks almost angrily as his eyes grow impossibly darker.

He liked that.