Page 57 of Playing With My Heart Strings

“Baylor, it is a pleasure to meet you. Anyone who can put up with my son here is special.” He shakes my hand with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“He’s not as bad as I originally thought,” I admit. “When I first met him, I thought he was just another self-centered superstar. But I was wrong.”

“He definitely has a way of surprising people,” Mitch grunts. “Son, help me carry some things out here?”

Dusty nods, and they disappear back into the house, leaving us out in the sunshine.

“So, when did you first realize you were in love with my son?” Gen asks, completely catching me off guard.

I almost choke on my drink, and I cough to clear my throat. “Pardon?”

“How long have you been in love with Dusty?”

“I—”

“I’ve been watching the show, you know. You look at him like he put the stars in the sky.

And I know my son. He’s head over boots for you.

If he wasn’t, he would have sent you home after the concert in Atlanta.

” She pauses for a moment then continues in a soft tone.

“When us Wilders fall in love, we fall hard, and I can see it in his eyes. He’s all in.

So, if you don’t feel the same way, you need to tell him. ”

I nod. “I feel the same way. I’ve been falling for him for a while now.”

She reaches out to place her hand over mine. “Thank you for taking care of my son.” There’s both acknowledgment and approval in her voice.

The sliding door opens to Dusty and Mitchell before I can respond. Dusty kisses his mom on the cheek before taking a seat next to me.

“You didn’t scare her off, did you now, Mom?” he teases.

“Oh, my son. If you haven’t already scared her off, nothing will.”

They banter back and forth, and, for once, my heart isn’t heavy seeing this type of family dynamic. It’s full.

“Come on, let me give you the tour.” Dusty pulls me up from my chair.

I’m able to catch a quick glimpse of Gen exchanging a bemused smile with Mitch before Dusty pulls me into the living room and slides the screen door shut.

“I like your parents,” I whisper as he tugs me along to a staircase on the other side of the house.

“They like you, too.”

“So, where’s this tour I was promised?” I wink as he presses my back against the wall and undresses me with his eyes.

“Well”—he peppers my neck with kisses—“these are the stairs. Conveniently out of view of the backyard.”

“Tell me more,” I moan when he nips my ear.

“Up the stairs to the right is a bathroom, and down the hall is my childhood bedroom. Wanna see?”

“Mhm.”

He stops kissing me, but only so he can scoop me up in his arms bridal style, and walks up the stairs. When we reach the end of the hall, he puts me down. The door in front of us has a decal that says Dusty’s Room on it.

“Cute.” I snicker, and he rolls his eyes.

“I was an angsty teenager, all right? And it won’t come off. I tried,” he mutters before opening the door.

The inside of his room is small, but it matches Dusty’s personality to a T. Guitars hang on the wall with posters of classic country singers, and a gray comforter lies on the perfectly made full-size bed.

“Like it?” He wraps his arm around my waist, his hand splayed out across my stomach.

“It’s almost exactly how I pictured it.” I lean into his chest. “You’re so lucky.”

“Yes, yes I am,” he agrees. Flipping me around so I face him, he tucks my hair behind my ear. His eyes trace lines from my eyes down to my lips and back up.

“Are you going to kiss me, or not?”

Dusty yanks me close to him, crashing our lips together.

His back is turned toward the wall this time, so I push him against it, pressing my body against his.

With a gentle stroke of his tongue, he deepens the kiss, tangling it with mine.

His hands roam across my body, through my hair, across my breasts, down my stomach to my hips.

I grind my hips against his front, eliciting a groan from his lips. His length hardens against me, stretching against the fabric of his jeans.

“Baby, I want you so bad, but you’re going to have to be quiet,” he rasps. “Can you do that for me?”

I nod, because I want him, too. He flips me around so my back is flush against the wall.

For a moment everything pauses, our hushed pants the only audible sound.

Until he slips a finger beneath the waistband of my jeans with one hand and tugs the zipper with the other.

Dragging the fabric down my thighs, he slowly strips my clothing off.

“Arms up,” he instructs.

I raise them, and he pulls my shirt over my head. Before he unclasps my bra, he pushes my breasts together, deepening my cleavage.

“Perfect tits, perfect ass, perfect pussy, perfect woman,” he purrs, his voice turning my legs into Jell-O.

All it takes for me to arch my back, pushing my chest toward him, is grazing my nipple with his knuckles.

“So sensitive. I’d bet you’re fucking soaked for me and I’ve barely even touched you. ”

“Please,” I whimper. My body tingles, an aching sensation moving up from my toes to my core.

When he slides a finger between my legs, the pleasure intensifies, blazing through me like an inferno.

My body writhes against his hand, begging for more.

He adds another finger, curling them inside me.

I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips.

Dusty clamps his palm against my mouth, withdrawing his fingers. “Only good girls get fucked. I’m going to ask again. Can you be a good girl and be quiet?”

His palm is still pressed against my lips, so I nod, warmth pooling between my legs.

He flicks my clit then glides a finger down my slit, only to bring it back up to circle my clit again, using my arousal as lube.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to make a sound, even when he thrusts two fingers inside me, creating unbearable pressure and making my legs quiver underneath me as he brings me closer and closer to release.

“That’s my girl.”

I throw my head back at his words, the praise sending me unraveling, panting, heart racing.

“I’m going to fuck you now, baby. I need you to stay quiet, okay?” He kisses me then pulls his fingers out, popping them in his mouth and sucking me off them. Then he flips me around, holding my hands then placing my palms against the wall.

From behind, I can hear the pull of a zipper and the thud of his jeans and shirt hitting the floor. Before I know what’s happening, his palm is in front of my mouth.

“Spit.”

Oh, fucking hell.

I spit in his hand then turn my head as he strokes his cock, my spit dripping down his shaft.

Dusty drags the head of his cock across my pussy then pushes inside me until he’s fully seated in me.

His hands find my waist, and he starts thrusting inside me at a torturously slow pace.

I wiggle my hips against him, trying to get more.

“Dusty,” I growl. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

I don’t need to tell him twice as he piles into me over and over. I move my hips with him, our bodies moving together in sync. I slide my hand down to my clit, drawing circles around it, only adding to the shockwaves that ripple up and down my spine.

“Oh, God, you’re so deep, Dusty. I’m so close,” I moan. My body is putty beneath his fingertips. He’s the sculptor, and I’m the clay. He’s claiming me, and I’m claiming him.

“Fuck. Fuck, Baylor. Baby,” are his last string of words before his cock twitches inside me and I shatter.

Warm lips leave wet prints against my shoulder, and Dusty pulls out of me, his hot cum dripping down the inside of my thigh.

I bend down to pick up my clothes, but he’s already beat me to it, tucking away my underwear.

“For safekeeping.” He winks.