by Beth Bolden
“I don’t have any complaints so far,” Wyatt said, a little teasing edge to his voice.
“You’d tell me if you did, right?” Ryan asked.
Wyatt toyed with a chip, crumbling it onto his empty plate. “Why wouldn’t I?”
The truth was Wyatt was curious why Ryan had suddenly decided he needed a private chef when he didn’t even have a personal assistant, but that wasn’t exactly a complaint. Besides, Wyatt had a feeling he’d discover the truth eventually, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it.
The secrecy alone should turn him off, but he was in too deep. It was that blasted attraction, rearing its head again.
“You would,” Ryan confirmed. “I’m just . . . maybe you’re not being entertaining enough.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “That’s something you’re going to have to get used to, unfortunately. I’m pretty boring.”
“You like to cook, but what else do you do for fun?”
“In high school, I surfed,” Wyatt said. “I’ve been wanting to get back to it.”
“I know a lot of good spots. Maybe we can go together sometime,” Ryan said. “I don’t get to go during the season much, so I need to get all this in before spring training starts. So, cooking, surfing. And your bike. What else makes Wyatt Blake tick?”
If Wyatt hadn’t already acknowledged this felt like a first date, he definitely would have thought it now. “The first thing I try to do if I have any free time is see my nana. We’re really close.”
“Cooking, surfing, your motorcycle, and Nana’s boy.” Ryan sounded approving, and he was smiling. “Never mind that sound you make when you lose control. How is a guy like you single?”
Wyatt didn’t want to talk about it. He definitely didn’t want to talk about it with Ryan, who had taken the chance to come out at the most impactful moment in his career.
“You finished?” he asked, getting to his feet. His voice sounded rough, a little of his desperation leaking into it. Desperation to avoid the question. Desperation to get Ryan naked underneath him, on top of him—whichever, Wyatt didn’t even care.
Ryan’s dark eyes were knowing as they stared up at him. “With the food, yeah. With you, not quite.”
“Then let’s go,” Wyatt said.
He never would have dreamed of voicing that sort of demand to his old boss, but it was becoming very clear that his old job and his new job were fundamentally different. Ryan kept saying he was nothing like Bastian Aquino, and maybe it was time to hold him to that. Ryan had also claimed they could keep their professional and personal lives separate, and had driven that point home by taking him out to dinner tonight. So, he was off the clock, right?
Wyatt scooped up the empty plates and tossed them in the trash on his way to the parking lot, hoping that Ryan was trailing after him.
He could hear footsteps behind him, and it was all the confirmation he needed to drop his helmet on the seat, and wrap one hand around Ryan’s waist and pull him close. “This what you had in mind?” he demanded, right before he kissed him.
He hadn’t been able to forget how intensely Ryan had kissed him the other night, and even though at the time he’d believed he’d given as good as he got, it was impossible not to catalogue every missed moment.
This time Wyatt wasn’t going to miss a thing.
His mouth covered Ryan’s, his arm pulling him tight against him, and he let him know explicitly, with his lips and his tongue, just how much he’d wanted him the last few days. That he hadn’t stopped wanting him, that he’d wanted him even before he’d dropped him off at his front gate.
All Ryan’s teasing had done was push him to a point of desperation—a point of no return. He didn’t care if it was over tomorrow morning or next week or next year. He just wanted as much of Ryan as he could get, in whatever time they had.
Ryan broke away, panting, but Wyatt didn’t let up. His lips only shifted to his neck, feeling the pulse point there racing. Ryan definitely wanted him just as much. His cock was a hard, burning pressure against Wyatt’s thigh, and he kept shifting a little, like he was just as desperate to take the strain off. But Wyatt wasn’t going to let him go that easily.
“You didn’t even let me finish my beer,” Ryan said, and his voice was breathless.
“I’ll buy you another one,” Wyatt said, between kisses against the soft skin just behind Ryan’s ear. Soft and sensitive, if the way Ryan kept squirming was any indication.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Ryan laughed, and it was still breathless. “How am I supposed to drive home like this?”
“Like I’ve been,” Wyatt said, pushing his thigh right against Ryan’s cock. “Like I’ve been wanting and suffering.”
“Suffering?” Ryan’s voice went higher. “That does sound serious.”
Wyatt made sure that all his desire was in his eyes as he looked straight at him. “Oh, it is.”
“Maybe we should . . . uh . . . try to help you out, then?” Ryan questioned.
“I’m a pretty relaxed guy,” Wyatt admitted. “Until you drive me crazy.”
Ryan laughed, and it was the exact laugh that Wyatt had been dying to hear since the first moment he’d seen him sitting and bored at Temple. “I guess I have been entertaining you, then.”
“You have no idea,” Wyatt muttered.
Ryan licked his lips, and Wyatt felt a pulse of something at the sudden nervous hesitation in Ryan’s eyes. “Why don’t you show me?”
* * *
They needed to make it back to his house in one piece though, so Ryan deliberately didn’t think about it.
He didn’t think about Wyatt’s hands on him, clasped tightly around his waist, his thighs and stomach pressed firmly against his body.
He didn’t think about how insistently and passionately Wyatt had expressed what he wanted. He definitely didn’t think about the kiss they’d shared in the taqueria parking lot, or he probably would have said fuck it, pulled off the road, and let Wyatt demolish him in public with not a single damn ounce of shame.
But it would be worth the wait. Ryan believed that, and believed that the adrenaline spiking through his blood at the possessive curl of Wyatt’s fingers into his leather jacket were going to mean fantastic things.
Wyatt had passively let him take over last time, barely issuing a single protest when Ryan had sunk to his knees in the gravel. He’d hoped that it wouldn’t be like that every time, that Wyatt might appeal to the adventurous side of him that craved something different.
And Wyatt, without even having a clue, had done exactly that, yanking back the power between them in one smooth move.
Ryan pulled into the garage, and flipped off the engine. Wyatt didn’t move immediately, but stayed where he was, pressing even closer into him, until Ryan didn’t know where his legs ended and Wyatt’s began. His fingers dug beneath his t-shirt, but instead of the rough touch he’d expected, his fingertips were featherlight on his abs, stroking all the skin they could reach, then meandering up to circle a nipple.
The visor in his helmet was fogging over, and Ryan felt lightheaded with desire, all the blood in his body rushing south. He moved restlessly against the leather seat, but Wyatt’s hands were suddenly clamped around him, holding him immobile in place.
Ryan’s hands clenched around his helmet, and he yanked it off. “Don’t move,” Wyatt said, and to Ryan’s surprise, somehow he’d pulled his own off, even though it felt like his hands, those dynamite hands, had never left his body.
“Why not?” Ryan demanded, a little petulantly. If they weren’t going to move off the bike, they could have taken care of this raging inferno of desire thirty minutes ago.
“Because I have too many plans for you to get off so easily,” Wyatt said softly in a gravelly voice that Ryan was going to be using to get himself off for probably the next fifty years. He’d known Wyatt had a sexy voice, had experienced it on their last late-night drive, and felt the visceral impact of it during the interview. Had wanted to
call him half a dozen times until Wyatt had showed up here this afternoon.
And now hearing it ordering hell and promising heaven was almost too much for Ryan.
“I’ll be good,” he swore, too far gone to care how shaky his voice was.
“You’d better be,” Wyatt said. “Drop your helmet.”
Ryan did as instructed, not even caring as the heavy plastic clattered onto the garage floor. Normally he took good care of his equipment, but right now, he didn’t give a damn.
He felt the loss of Wyatt sliding off the bike, his back and ass suddenly cool without the heat of Wyatt pressed against him. “Get off the bike,” Wyatt continued.
Ryan had strong knees. Non-surgically impacted knees. He still felt them shake as he dismounted.
“Good,” Wyatt said from behind him. It was dim in the garage with only the emergency night light on, and he could only feel him, not see him.
“I told you I’d be good,” Ryan said.
“Remains to be seen,” Wyatt said. “Take me to your bedroom.”
He hadn’t said a word about hands, and normally Ryan wouldn’t have, but he reached out and grasped Wyatt’s hand. He’d asked Ryan to lead, and so Ryan was going to lead. Plus it felt good to finally be touching Wyatt back. Not nearly as much as he wanted to, but the strong clasp of his hand in Wyatt’s was still a flood of sensation.
He led Wyatt through his dark house, not turning on a single light, to the master bedroom. He kicked his boots off and Wyatt followed suit. He’d deliberately omitted this part of the house in his tour earlier, imagining that they’d have sex in Wyatt’s little cottage. He rarely ever invited anyone to his own bed—it always felt too personal for a hookup—but Ryan found he wanted it to be personal. He felt a little shaky with nerves, at how this whole evening had developed, even though he’d been subtly pushing Wyatt to see how far he could be pushed.
He hadn’t really imagined what it would be like when Wyatt pushed back.
Wyatt hadn’t issued any other instructions when they reached the bedroom, so Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, and just watched him. Wyatt flipped a bedside lamp on, barely even fumbling for the switch. “I want to see you,” was all the explanation he gave. The light glinted on his blond hair, shadowing his cheekbones, and full lips.
“Then see me,” Ryan said, pulling off his jacket, and then his shirt, dropping the clothes where they fell.
Wyatt took a step into the V of Ryan’s legs, and kissed him again, so much like he’d kissed him in the parking lot, like he was starving and Ryan was a meal he couldn’t wait to devour.
His tongue was hot and insistent in Ryan’s mouth, pushing his head back, until they both fell back onto the bed together. Ryan pulled up on Wyatt’s shirt, dragging it over his head. “Too many clothes,” he panted into Wyatt’s mouth. He blindly rutted right onto Wyatt’s crotch, feeling he was just as hard as Ryan was.
Ryan trailed his hands down Wyatt’s chest, his abs, his waist. He wasn’t an athlete, but like he’d said their first hookup, he was powerful. Strong. Built like a linebacker, almost. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, strong arms, thighs Ryan could have wept over.
“You want me to take your clothes off?” Wyatt asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You take them, or I’ll take them,” Ryan said, a little aware at how close to begging he was.
“That’s an easy decision, then,” Wyatt said, and he unbuttoned Ryan’s jeans and lowered the zipper, making quick work of them, leaving him in his boxer briefs.
“I’m taking my time with you tonight,” Wyatt announced after Ryan had reached up to kiss him again, derailing any more clothing removal.
“Whatever you want, just get on with it,” Ryan panted. Wyatt cupped his hard bulge, Ryan’s head falling back against the pillow. “Yeah, just like that.”
“Don’t want anything else, just my hand?” Wyatt teased, an unholy light in his light-blue eyes. “I’m a little disappointed.”
“I want it all,” Ryan panted as Wyatt pulled his briefs down. “I want you to fuck me.”
The smug look on Wyatt’s face was such a turn-on, Ryan had to bite his own lip.
“I was hoping you’d want that,” Wyatt said.
Wyatt didn’t know that Ryan almost never asked for it. That even for someone who liked the adrenaline rush of a risky thrill, he almost never trusted anyone to do it. Never trusted anyone to take care of it. But he trusted Wyatt, which was crazy because he was still practically a stranger.
A stranger that Ryan had lied to and persuaded to practically move into his house. He shoved that thought away. “What are you waiting for? Lube and condoms, in the drawer,” he panted, eyes glued to the thick bulge in Wyatt’s jeans as he perched on the bed.
Ryan was afraid Wyatt would hesitate, and his hesitation would impact Ryan’s certainty, but he opened the drawer and pulled out the required items, but still didn’t finish shedding his own clothes. From the flex of his abs as he positioned himself between Ryan’s legs, it was clear how turned on he was, but he didn’t make a move to take his pants off.
Ryan squirmed as Wyatt trailed a finger up his hard, aching cock. Like earlier, when Ryan was expecting a rougher, more intense touch, he only got a delicate, exploratory one. Like Wyatt was trying to catalog him and every single one of his reactions.
“More,” he straight-up begged now. “Give me more.”
Wyatt’s eyes darkened. “I’ll give you more,” he vowed, this time his finger trailing back down, past Ryan’s balls, circling his hole.
Ryan thought he might have to beg again for something more than that light, exploratory touch. But like Wyatt had presented at the interview, he was a genius with his hands. Admittedly, he’d promised he was great with his hands in the kitchen, but he could have also sold them as genius in bed too, because it was the most mind-blowing prep of Ryan’s life.
By the time Wyatt had worked a second finger alongside the first, he had found his prostate and was wringing moans Ryan would have been embarrassed about if it didn’t feel so good. He was desperate for more, desperate to come, desperate to feel something more lasting than just the ephemeral brush of Wyatt’s fingertips against his spot.
He knew Wyatt could give him more, and was just holding back. “I can take it, I promise,” Ryan begged, too aware of the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “God, give it to me, please.”
Wyatt didn’t budge, didn’t go any faster than the inexorable, painfully good teasing of the past few minutes. “If you come now, can you come later?” he asked, his voice soft, but hard at the edges. The same desperation that Ryan was dying from.
He pushed harder, even though he wasn’t sure he could. Wyatt’s fingers felt like magic, his cock probably would feel even better. “Sure, yes, just . . . please fuck me.”
“One more finger,” Wyatt coaxed, and slid a third in with the other two, but still just barely grazed against the spot that kept Ryan swearing a blue streak.
“God damnit,” Ryan yelled. He’d never been happier for the advice of the contractor in charge of his remodel who had suggested better soundproof insulation.
The contractor had probably been thinking about loud movies or wild parties. Except Ryan was taking advantage by having loud and very close to wild sex, if Wyatt fucking Blake would ever fucking get on with it.
“I’m good, I’m good,” Ryan babbled. “I promise.” He’d known Wyatt was going to be good in bed, but nothing had prepared him for the reality.
“Not quite,” Wyatt said, and leaned down, and took Ryan’s cock in one long suck right at the same time he suddenly pressed against the spot he’d barely been dancing around all night. Ryan barely had a second to screech before he was coming so hard he saw white spots at the edges of his vision, pleasure coursing through him like a gigantic wave.
“You promised,” Wyatt reminded him, suddenly leaving him empty of fingers and, wiping his mouth on the back of his other hand. And that was all the warning Ryan got before he lined up and sli
d right in.
Ryan didn’t even remember when he’d taken his pants off, and suddenly full of a really great cock, he realized he didn’t care. Wyatt could be a fucking pants magician, and everything was still great.
Wyatt pulled back and thrust, hard, and everything wasn’t just great, it was fucking fantastic. A little sensitive, a little raw, a little too much but still exactly what he wanted.
After the first few strokes, Wyatt pulled out and flipped him over, and Ryan went, like the limp raggedy doll Wyatt had turned him into. And then holding his head against the bed, one hand against his neck, the other at his hip, proceeded to fuck him into oblivion.
Ryan would be embarrassed at the sounds he was making, but Wyatt was grunting plenty too, spouting lots of sappy gibberish that Ryan would wish later that he could remember.
But all he remembered later was the feel of Wyatt’s cock pounding into him, dismantling him from the inside out. And just when he thought it was all too much, and he was about to beg for something—not for him to stop, not for him to keep going, but some unknown action that he didn’t even know—Wyatt wrapped a hand around his cock, gave him a few strokes, and Ryan managed to come all over himself for the second time that night.
He barely registered Wyatt’s following bellow, or how his fingers clamped down hard on his neck. It took him a long moment to even remember his own name.
“You are a maniac,” Ryan said, as Wyatt came back to bed from disposing the condom. He had found a washcloth and had wet it. The water was even warm, Ryan marveled as he took it and wiped down.
“You seemed to like it okay,” Wyatt said with a blush and a self-deprecating shrug that made it even sexier. He wasn’t naturally that intense; Ryan just brought it out of him. They brought it out of each other.
“It was some of the best sex I’ve ever had. If not the best sex,” Ryan admitted. His brain-to-mouth filter was gone, obliterated by two fantastic, world-destroying orgasms.
Wyatt blushed again, and then shocked the hell out of Ryan for about the millionth time that night by leaning over and giving him a sweet, affectionate kiss. “You’re welcome,” he said when he pulled away.