Wasted Words by Staci Hart

And then he lowered himself down, hovered over me, caged me in his arms, guided his crown until he was pressed against me. I moaned a word, his name, a plea, and he flexed, stealing my breath as he filled me.

Full, so full I still couldn’t breathe, though he still could fill me more, but he pulled out with a shuddering breath, his eyes nearly closed, lips parted as his nose brushed against mine. And he flexed again, harder, filling me more.

Before, I had control over the depth, but this time was different. He hit me deeper, pressing gently. It was a dream, only heartbeats and sensations, breaths and visions. His face, his body, mine, coming together, parting, slow and steady. I rocked against him, legs raising to bring him deeper still, knees high against his ribs, thighs trembling. He rolled his hips against the sensitive spot where our bodies met, pulled out to hit the sensitive spot inside, and with every motion my heart beat faster, legs squeezed tighter, breath shallow, until he whispered:

“Let go.”

Two words, and I came unraveled, heart stopping before surging along with my body that squeezed and held him. And it was too much. Too much for me, for him, and he was right behind me, coming with a thrust that hit the end of me, on the breath of my name. He was everywhere, surrounding me, inside of me, in my heart, in my soul. He was mine. I was his. And I knew then I’d never give myself to anyone else.

Our bodies slowed, and he dropped his head, burying it in my neck. I cradled him in my arms, fingers in his hair, and I closed my eyes and breathed, feeling his heart beating against mine until they beat together.

When he raised his head and looked at me, there was so much love, so much that I was overcome, my eyes filling with tears that spilled over, and down into my hair. And my eyes mirrored his, my heart and soul mirrored his — we were one, the same, together.

I couldn’t speak, and even if I could there weren’t words for the moment. So I kissed him and promised him forever, and he promised me the same. And I lay in his arms, where I’d stay.

EPILOGUE

Tyler

TYLER

CAM STOOD IN FRONT of the bar at Wasted Words with a champagne glass in her hand, tapping it with a swizzle stick to get everyone’s attention. The crowd turned to face her, my beautiful girlfriend who looked quite at home in heels and a dress, red lips smiling at Bayleigh and Martin.

“Hi, everyone. I wanted to thank you all for coming tonight.”

A voice came from the back, saying, “Where you at, short stuff?”

Everyone laughed, and Greg appeared next to her with a chair, helping her up to stand on it.

“Better?” she asked, and everyone gave their assent. “Good. So thanks for being here to celebrate Bayleigh and Martin’s engagement.”

The crowd clapped and whistled, and Bayleigh blushed, leaning into Martin.

“Now, some of you may or may not know that I was actually one-hundred-percent anti-Martin at first.”

A few joking boos came from the back, but she laughed and held up a hand, nodding. “I know, hear me out. I sort of have a reputation for setting people up, and I thought I had the two of them figured out, and had big plans for them that didn’t include each other. But I couldn’t see what was right in front of me — that these two were perfect for each other. No matter what I did to keep them apart, they just kept finding each other. The force that binds the two of them is stronger than any one person could break, and I know. I tried. But if ever there was a time I was glad to be wrong, it was then.”

Everyone cheered Hear, hear, and Martin raised his glass, wrapping an arm around Bayleigh’s shoulders.

Cam lifted her glass in the air. “To Bayleigh and Martin: may you always defy the rules and truths of the universe, if it means you’ll always be together. Congratulations, my friends.”

The crowd uttered their own cheers, glasses raised, and took a drink.

I stepped over to Cam to help her off the chair, and she beamed up at me. “I need a drink that’s not so bubbly.”

I chuckled. “Whiskey?”

“Yes, please.”

We stepped over to the bar where the new bartender, Sascha, smiled at us.

“Halloo, Cam,” he said in his thick German accent, long face bent in a smirk of cartoonish proportions. “Something to drink?”

“Makers on the rocks, thanks.”

“No problem,” he answered as he scooped ice into the glass. “So has Miss Matchmaker found a date for me yet?”

She chuckled. “Not yet, Sascha.”

“Well, you know I am still looking for my green card,” he joked, crooked smile still on his face.

“Oh, I know,” she said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you haven’t found one for yourself. You seem to go home with a new lady every night.”

He laid a hand on his chest as he poured, smiling in a way that was self-deprecating and cocky all at once. “Well, you know, the ladies love the accent.”

She laughed. “It’s true, they do. You’re everyone’s new favorite bartender. Now, if I could only figure out how to get you to come to work in lederhosen, we’d be all set.”

“Ah, but I left mine in Frankfurt,” he said with a smile and a shrug as he handed her drink over.

“Thanks, Sascha. Tell your mom to mail it. I’ll pay for postage.”

He leaned on the bar. “Deal. Anything for you, Tyler?”

I held up my drink. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” A girl walked up to the other end of the bar and he stood up straighter, his smile pulling up higher as he kicked on the charm.