Love Finds a Home: Sweet with heat gay romance (Home in Hollyridge Book 3)
Page 3
“Doesn’t he need to see a veterinarian or something?” he asked Wyatt as they settled back into the truck, Wicket still snuggled against Wyatt’s chest.
“Yeah, I’ll call tomorrow. I should’ve done it today but, in my rush, I forgot.”
“Your apartment next?”
“Yeah.”
Bennett had never been to Wyatt’s place, although he knew he and his mom lived in a less desirable part of Hollyridge. The apartment was in an older building with nonexistent landscaping; the lawn in front was dry and brittle, and an abandoned lawn chair lay on its side in the middle of the grass.
“Here”—Wyatt pushed Wicket into Bennett—“I’ll be right back.”
Bennett watched as Wyatt jogged to the front door and disappeared inside. Jeez, as far as he could tell, there wasn’t even a security lock on the thing.
Absentmindedly, he scratched Wicket’s ears. “What am I going to do with the two of you?”
Bringing Wyatt home… bringing Wyatt to his house was a terrible decision. Maybe, he thought, this was some sort of test? If it was, he wondered if failing meant losing Wyatt from his life. He didn’t know if he would survive that.
Yes, he and Wyatt were nothing. But Wyatt meant everything to Bennett—Bennett had just never acted on it, had barely acknowledged it. Because Wyatt deserved so much more than a hometown failure, a man who’d snuck back to Hollyridge with his tail between his legs and still, eight years later, was hiding out on the Caesura vineyard, avoiding his family.
The family he hardly ever talked to, because when he did it put him in a crappy mood for days. Wicket grunted and Bennett released his grip, realizing he’d inadvertently squeezed the pup.
Being the oldest son of Wes and Nancy Meyer came with certain expectations, and Bennett had deftly managed to fail at every one of them. From a young age, he preferred action to reading and books. He strained against their rules that school and homework always came first. When he tried to explain that he just couldn’t, his words fell on deaf ears. He’d wanted to please his parents—what kid didn’t? So, at eighteen he’d gone off to college in Seattle and come home a little over two years later, having burned every possible bridge in the city.
The passenger door opened, startling him out of his depressing thoughts.
“That was fast.”
“Mom was sleeping. I left her a note. She’ll be fine, she’s already got friends coming over to hang out with her.”
Bennett lived in the small farmhouse that had come with the vineyard. It sat far back from the highway, perched over the Columbia River. The house had been unoccupied for years and Zach had planned on tearing it down. But when he first hired Bennett all he could pay him with was a place to lay his head and a couple hundred dollars a month. Bennett had leapt at the chance and he was still there. Over the years he’d done a few things to make it more livable, but it wasn’t anything special.
“Wow!” Wyatt spun in a circle taking in the comfortable living room Bennett had cobbled together. “This is amazing!”
He set Wicket down, who immediately started sniffing around.
Ignoring Wyatt’s compliment, Bennett asked, “Where should I put the crate?”
“Your house, Bennett, I’ve never been here before.”
“Right, let me give you the ten-cent tour and then we can decide.”
“Is there anything dangerous out here? Basement stairs or something you don’t want chewed on?”
“There’s a cellar, but the entrance is outside.”
It took Bennett three minutes to show Wyatt his house and the entire time he was figuring out where Wyatt would sleep. The house had two bedrooms, but Bennett had turned one into a home gym and the other one was… his. Looked like Wyatt was going to be sleeping on his couch.
“Bathroom here.” Bennett pushed open the door to the very basic bathroom. Its redeeming feature was an extra-long claw foot tub Bennett had installed himself. “Kitchen. There’s a— sleeping porch, I guess they’re called—out that door.”
“What’s upstairs?” Wyatt asked.
“A couple more rooms. I mostly use them for storage. Don’t really see the reason to spread out.” The rooms upstairs were a mess, with walls covered with discolored wallpaper from the 1940s, floorboards warped in places, and single pane windows in need of replacing. Bennett had considered cleaning them up since both rooms had a nice view of the Columbia River, but he never had. Instead he kept the door at the bottom of the stairs shut and ignored it as much as possible.
Wyatt decided the gym room was the best place for the crate. “That way we can take turns letting him out—it’s close enough for both of us to hear him.”
“Okay,” Bennett agreed. Wyatt’s plan sounded totally reasonable. If a damn puppy was reasonable.
It was… weird getting ready for bed with someone else in his house. Wyatt in his house. Tomorrow he and Wyatt would spend the entire day preparing for crush. There was so much to do and people to coordinate. Zach had already texted to let Bennett know the full crew would be arriving in two days—rain or shine, it was time to bring the grapes in.
Thirty minutes later everyone was in bed, including Wicket, who had not been impressed by the crate. He had everything he needed in there, including water. Bennett dug up an extra blanket and pillow for Wyatt.
“The couch isn’t all that bad, I fall asleep on it often enough.” He had bought the extra-long piece of furniture off Craigslist.
“’K, boss,” Wyatt replied.
Bennett wanted to linger but couldn’t come up with a reason, so he headed to the safety of his own bedroom, offering a quick, “Goodnight.”
Bennett dreamt Wyatt was in his bed. Wyatt’s long lean body was pressed against his own and his long legs were wrapped around Bennett’s, holding him close. Wyatt’s tricky fingers found his shaft and began to stroke him, up and back down with a little twist, just as he liked. Then the fingers travelled downward to his balls, already high and tight with need.
It wasn’t going to take much for Bennett to come. Sure, it was a dream, but he could even smell Wyatt, his earthy scent an aphrodisiac for Bennett on any day—and he actually got harder. Coming awake, he rolled over onto his front and let the dream sweep through him; he was so hard it edged on pain. The pressure of the mattress wasn’t enough; more awake now, he shoved a hand underneath his body and took himself in hand.
He drew his knees up a little to get a better grip and pumped his leaking cock. “Fucking fuck,” he grunted into his pillow. The dream whispered back into his consciousness and he pretended his fingers were Wyatt’s. That maybe Wyatt was kneeling behind him, getting ready to penetrate Bennett. He wanted that. He wanted Wyatt to fuck him until he couldn’t think. Bennett widened the space between his knees and slid his other hand so he could touch himself there. All he had to do was push the tip of his index finger inside himself and Bennett would be coming. He jackhammered into his hand with his finger up his own ass, thinking about Wyatt Reeser sleeping innocently on his crappy couch.
“Fuck, Wyatt!” he groaned loudly into his pillow, wanting more, needing to come now.
The bedroom door burst open. “Bennett, are you okay?” Wyatt asked in a panicked voice, followed by, “Oh.”
Five
Wyatt
“Oh.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Bennett Meyer, the man of his dreams, had been jacking off and Wyatt had thought something was wrong. Something was wrong. Bennett was masturbating when they could both come—together.
Wyatt was going to be changing that.
Bennett was naked and glorious; he was on his knees with his hips tilted upward. Maybe it wasn’t intended to be an invitation, but Wyatt was going to accept it. He stripped off his sleep pants. His erection, immediate upon seeing Bennett, demanded satisfaction. Now.
Wyatt said, “Don’t move. Don’t you dare move.”
“Wyatt.” Bennett’s voice was laced with need.
“I’m getting in be
d with you.”
Bennett nodded. It was the middle of the night, the room was lit only by moonlight, and Wicket had just been outside to pee. Wyatt’s ultimate fantasy was coming true.
“Bennett.” Wyatt lowered his voice, hoping he was making it clear Bennett was not to move. Bennett didn’t.
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
Bennett nodded.
“Condoms?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve got some. Always prepared, that’s me.”
In seconds he was back. Bennett still hadn’t moved. Wyatt tossed the condoms and lube next to him on the bed then climbed on himself.
He paused a moment. “Bennett, do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?”
“Less talking, more fucking.”
That sounded like the Bennett he knew and loved.
“I’m gonna, but we’re going to talk in the morning.”
“Fuck talking.” The arm under Bennett’s body started moving as if he was pumping himself.
“No.” Wyatt grabbed his shoulder to make him stop. “I’m the one getting you off.”
Kneeling behind Bennett, Wyatt ran his hands up and back down his strong back, reveling in the feel of him, his skin, the curve of his ass. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to last; he’d wanted Bennett for so long. Years of want.
Grabbing the lube, he squeezed some out onto his fingers and spread Bennett wider, watched his hole flex, another invitation. Wyatt dripped lube onto Bennett’s opening and slowly began to massage the ring of muscle. Wyatt was fairly sure Bennett hadn’t had anal, or any sex, in a while. He was going to do the best he could to make sure Bennett never forgot this.
His own cock throbbed and dripped onto the sheet as he began to finger Bennett, slowly but surely working one digit past the first ring, rubbing the lube in, feeling Bennett’s heat. Suddenly Bennett pushed backward, impaling himself on Wyatt’s finger.
“You want more?”
Bennett nodded.
Wyatt added a second finger and thrust in and out, getting Bennett ready, watching as his hole relaxed. Not that Wyatt had an enormous ten-inch dick, but prep (he’d learned) was always appreciated. He turned his hand and felt around, searching for—Bennett jerked and moaned—his prostate. Bingo.
Bennett was a different man when he was aroused and wanting, begging for Wyatt to fucking fuck him already. He had an abandonment to him, trusting Wyatt would take care of him, which Wyatt had suspected but hadn’t known for certain.
He pulled his fingers out and quickly rolled on a condom—he’d hoped for this to happen but hadn’t really believed it would. Scooting forward so he was flush against Bennett’s thighs, Wyatt pressed his cock against Bennett’s hole. His balls twitched, and it was his turn to moan with pleasure. Counting to one hundred in his head while slowly breaching Bennett’s ass was the only thing that kept Wyatt from coming immediately. Impatient, Bennett pushed backward, forcing Wyatt all the way inside his heat; Wyatt’s control wasn’t going to last long.
“Oh, fuck, Bennett.”
Grabbing Bennett’s hips, Wyatt tried to get ahold of himself, but he was close, the sensation so much and so wanted, threatened at every moment to erupt. Bennett growled, guttural and deep and the sound went right to Wyatt’s balls. Giving up on trying to control himself, Wyatt thrust into Bennett then pulled back out, dragging across his prostate over and over, watching for any sign his lover was not enjoying himself. From the grunts and shouts of “don’t you fucking stop now,” Wyatt thought he was doing okay.
Bennett released a howl of frustration before trying to drop his hips enough so he could touch himself. Wyatt got there first, reaching around Bennett’s body and grasping his rock-hard cock. He was molten steel, hot and pulsing in Wyatt’s grip. Wyatt pounded into Bennett as he pumped him.
Bennett shouted as his balls released, hot come spewing across Wyatt’s fist and onto the sheet. To keep himself from falling, Wyatt dropped his other hand to the mattress as his orgasm took over. Bennett’s ass clenched around him as if it didn’t want to let him go while Wyatt filled the condom, his balls aching from being so full; finally he slumped against Bennett’s back. They were both slick with sweat and smelled like come. Wyatt had just had the most incredible sexual experience of his life and they hadn’t even kissed yet.
As gently as possible Wyatt pulled out of his lover.
“I’m getting a washcloth and cleaning you up and then I’m crawling in your bed and staying here until we have to get up.”
Bennett grunted, still on his stomach, resting his head on one arm; Wyatt decided it was an agreeable grunt. When he got back from the bathroom, Wyatt saw Bennett had rolled over onto his back and his greedy cock twitched with want. Bennett’s eyes were half open, watching as Wyatt carefully wiped him clean and then covered the wet spot on the bed with a hand towel. Impulsively Wyatt leaned down and kissed the tip of Bennett’s mostly slack penis. He still smelled like come and Wyatt had to remind himself they needed to get up early, in only three hours if the digital clock next to Bennett’s bed was correct.
Then, as he’d promised, Wyatt slipped into the bed and pulled the top sheet up over both of them. After about two seconds of contemplation, Wyatt rolled so he was snuggled against Bennett’s side. Bennett was still for a moment, his chest rising and lowering as he breathed deeply, and then, as Wyatt had hoped, Bennett dropped an arm across his back, keeping Wyatt in place.
The alarm went off far too soon. Wyatt was in the middle of a dream where Bennett was stroking his morning wood and he was grinding his ass into Bennett’s groin. His eyes flew open. It wasn’t a dream; Bennett’s arm was around his hips and as he jacked Wyatt, he gently pumped against Wyatt’s ass, Bennett’s erection hot and heavy against his skin. Wyatt was in that half-awake state where there was no such thing as control. His hips had a life of their own, and as Bennett’s hand sped up, Wyatt’s balls pulled up and tightened, and in the next moment he was coming, gasping as the slick come made it easier for Bennett’s hand to slide up and down, caressing him. As he pumped his hips, Bennett’s cock slid in between his cheeks—fuck, that was hot.
“God, yes, come there, come there now.” He wanted to feel Bennett spill on him, he wanted to be marked so Bennett wouldn’t forget what they’d done.
Bennett continued to drag his cock between Wyatt’s thighs, back and forth across his perineum. Wyatt clenched his ass, Bennett tantalizingly close to his throbbing entrance—that would be next. He wanted Bennett’s rod inside him, and he opened his knees in invitation even knowing they didn’t really have the time. The action caught and held Bennett for a moment right at his entrance. Wyatt began to harden again in anticipation.
It was just light enough in the room that Wyatt was able to see the head of his cock slip in and out of Bennett’s large fist. His tip was red and almost angry-looking, and as he watched, his cock throbbed and a bead of precome pulsed out. Bennett immediately swiped his callused thumb across the sensitive head, making Wyatt quake with need, another bead following the first. He didn’t think he’d actually get off again but then Bennett orgasmed, groaning in his ear, thrusting again between his legs and biting down on the back of Wyatt’s shoulder with a deep needy groan. His slick come dripped between Wyatt’s ass, making him slippery and needy. Fucking hell, he was coming again, it was on the edge of painful as his balls completely emptied, but he pushed out a few more pulses of liquid onto Bennett’s fingers before sagging back into the mattress.
Bennett had his head buried in the crook of Wyatt’s neck; they were both breathing hard. Wyatt didn’t know what to say, he didn’t want to ruin the moment. Luckily Wicket chose that moment to whine, reminding them he needed to be taken care of before they left for the day.
“Jesus Christ,” Bennett began, “if I smoked, I think I’d need a cigarette about now.”
“Isn’t enough that you’re smokin’ hot?” Wyatt quipped, ignoring Wicket for the moment to roll over and look at Bennett.
Wicket barked again.
“You love my ridiculous.”
Wyatt immediately regretted letting the word “love” slip between his lips, but Bennett didn’t cringe or frown. As he often did, he acted as if Wyatt hadn’t said anything.
“Don’t you have a dog to let out?”
All this deflection, fine. Wyatt would wear Bennett down; he’d get past those defenses. Sex was just the beginning. What Wyatt really wanted was Bennett’s heart.
With a groan he sat up, his head spinning a bit, and grabbed his sleep pants from where he’d dropped them on the floor rug a few hours ago. Today was going to be a long day.
Aside from waking up in Bennett’s bed, the nice thing about staying at his house was the commute. Instead of a half hour or more, it only took ten minutes to drive from Bennett’s to where the sheds and equipment were set up. And this was only the first of many long days. The grapes were harvested by hand and sorted for quality before being transferred to the winery where the crusher-destemmer waited. At the winery, they were fed into the machine, destemmed, crushed, and then poured into stainless steel containers to begin the first part of the fermentation process. And repeat from now until November.
Zach was already waiting for them. If he thought it odd that Wyatt and Bennett showed up together, he didn’t comment on it.
Grape harvest was dirty, hot, and sticky work. The worst enemy was the fruit fly, something Wyatt thought was funny, but those little bastards were a pain in the ass, and everyone did their best to kill as many as possible. Because they collected the grapes by hand, everyone was armed with clippers and leather gloves, and wore bandanas to keep the worst of the bugs away. Zach and Bennett would decide which vines were ready and the crew would follow behind.