Chapter 10
TEN
For a second, after, when the hot pulse and twitch had faded, everything went still. It was like the weird silence of heavy snow, that same muffled feeling, the world gone soft at the edges.
But it couldn’t last.
Jesse wobbled, unsteady with his knees still held so tight together. Falling on his ass was more than a distinct possibility — but Wyatt had him.
He shifted just enough to shift the angle, spreading his legs wider under Jesse, one hand running through Jesse’s hair still, the other held tight to Jesse’s hip, letting Jesse’s ass throb unrestricted. His voice was so fucking gentle when he said, “You got something to say to me, bud?”
Jesse did, with a suddenness that kinda freaked him out. The words came in a rush, like Jesse’s breath, like his still-thrumming pulse. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll be good, I promise. I promise I’ll be good.”
Jesse was breathing hard, still, these useless, shallow pants that didn’t fill his lungs, not for all his wet gasping, because—
Fuck, was he crying?
He was, Jesus. His breath hitched on a pathetic sob. He tried to hold it in but he couldn’t. He just choked on his own breath instead.
Wyatt’s hand soothed through Jesse’s hair, his nails scritching across Jesse’s scalp. “That’s it, Jess.”
Jesse shook his head, denying he didn’t know what. He wiped a shaking hand across his face, chasing the tears. They didn’t stop. Not for a long minute. Wyatt didn’t try to make him stop, though. Just let him cry, like he knew Jesse needed it.
Jesse did.
It was so fucking weird, but he did. He needed to cry just about as desperately as he’d needed to come.
Because everything inside was brand new.
He’d been wiped clean, like the huge fucking vat of guilt Jesse had been lugging around had emptied itself out under the weight of Wyatt’s hand — all of it, from the first life he couldn’t save, from the first fuck-up Wyatt had fixed, all the way up until then, in that exact moment, Jesse laid out in Wyatt’s lap, fresh from a spanking, from coming in his own damn panties, from falling the fuck apart.
“I’m sorry,” Jesse whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Wyatt shushed him. His hand swept up and down the line of Jesse’s spine, a soothing, grounding touch.
Jesse melted under that touch, down and down and down. He shouldn’t have been comfortable. Wyatt’s knee was pressed hard against his sternum, the other wedged up at his groin.
Didn’t matter. Jesse was putty. Taffy. Shaped and held by Wyatt’s big hands and graveled voice, by the forgiveness in it, by the freaking penitence that Wyatt had offered and Jesse had taken so fucking gratefully.
A spike of awareness as Wyatt hooked his thumbs under the waistband of Jesse’s panties and pulled them down. “Don’t wanna get them messy.”
Jesse bit his lip, the sting reaching him in the floaty place. He shook his head, lips brushing his own arm, making him shiver, but he lifted his hips anyhow, just like Wyatt wanted. “They’re already messy,” he whispered, his panties tangling up with his tangled-up jeans.
“They’re fucking perfect, sweetheart,” Wyatt told him, shaping both big hands over Jesse’s hot cheeks, squeezing them, kneading out the stinging burn. “Just like you.”
The words sank deep, right down to where Jesse was, wrapping up around him and warming him from the inside out, floating him up, a horny buoy in a sea hot enough to bleach coral.
Jesse came back to himself in fuzzy increments.
Wyatt was still kneading Jesse’s stinging ass, palming at it, his big thumbs working together, just grazing Jesse’s hole, then one thumb — god, just one — pressed against the tight clench of muscle and pushed in, dry.
Jesse made a noise like a keen, a broken-up, broken-down whine. The feeling wasn’t much of anything. Blunt and shallow. It still took his breath away.
“Fuck.”
He was hard again. Or still, maybe, his bare dick rubbing up against Wyatt’s calf, the denim stiff and the friction too much to be comfortable but too good to stop.
“You take it, Jess,” Wyatt whispered. “You’ve been so good for me. You take what you need.”
Jesse needed it bad. He shouldn’t. He’d come last night. He’d come that morning. He’d come laid out over Wyatt’s lap, and now he was was gonna come again, trussed up, still, in Wyatt’s lap, bare freaking assed, humping Wyatt’s leg.
It was humiliating. Jesse was actively humiliating himself in the name of horniness, and he couldn’t stop. It made it better almost, knowing he should feel pathetic and ashamed, but not feeling it. Just feeling really fucking free instead.
Jesse slapped a hand to the couch cushions. His dick was raw, rubbed raw. The edge was right there, and Jesse was almost close enough, but the overstimulation was too much, holding him still, like swimming against a rip.
“I need—” More, maybe. Or less. Needed something, anyhow. “I need—” Jesse’s hips stuttered, pushing back, another kind of plea, “Fuck, Wyatt, please—” that broke in a cracking moan when Wyatt spat on Jesse’s hole.
“Oh god.” Jesse mouthed at his own bicep, too gone to bite down like he wanted to. But it was so much. The friction and the heat, Wyatt’s thumb resting just inside, but deeper now and easier too, stretching Jesse out just a little ways, the tease slicked with spit.
It was so much, too much, and it was exactly what Jesse needed. One fucked-up, hitching breath and he was coming, untouched and unmoored, shooting off down Wyatt’s calf, his cum streaking the worn denim as he whined high and wild in his throat.
“That’s it, bud,” Wyatt murmured. His hand was to Jesse’s spine again, the sweep of it. Reassurance in every touch, pride warm in every freaking word.
Jesse didn’t know how long he lay there. He was gasping hard. Gasping kinda stupidly, honestly, like he just couldn’t get a full breath. He was shaking again, a heavy tremor running down through his arms and legs, rocking up into his core.
What the fuck was wrong with him? Nutting had never hit like this before, even if he’d never nutted from getting his ass spanked and his hole fingered.
“Jesus, Jess.”
Wyatt scooped him up. Jesse went where Wyatt wanted him to go, jeans yanked all the way down and kicked to the floor, Jesse wrapped up in a blanket from the back of the couch and bundled tight in Wyatt’s lap.
Wyatt’s big hand soothed over Jesse’s cheek, skimming his tear-streaked cheekbones, gentle across the warm, lit-up skin. “You’re good, bud. I’ve got you. You did so good for me.”
Jesse felt good. Like a sad little caterpillar wrapped up in his cocoon, except the cocoon was all the sweet shit Wyatt was saying to him and Jesse wasn’t sad. Because Jesse was good instead. He was good. He’d been good for Wyatt. Wyatt said so.
Jesse was cracked open with that shit, knowing he’d made Wyatt proud. Cracked open and filled up so much that it spilled out of the cracks, the shiny warmth inside.
Must have spilled out of his eyes too, everything Jesse was thinking and feeling, because the look in them then made Wyatt shudder through an unsteady breath.
“God, Jess.” His lips pressed against Jesse’s, hardly anything, not even a kiss, just closeness, just words and breath. “You’re so fucking— You’re perfect.”
Jesse shivered, the want burning him up from the inside out, spilling out the cracks too. “Please,” he whispered, his lips moving against Wyatt’s. “Please, please. Fuck, please.”
Wyatt kissed him. Finally, he did. Nothing dirty. Sweet more than anything. Their lips brushed together, a sweep, bottom and top, soft and dry. Jesse fell into it. Got lost in it. The touch of their noses, the press of their cheeks, Wyatt’s stubble, the heat of his breath.
And those kisses, fuck.
Jesse was wearing panties, tangled up somewhere by his ankles. He’d come in his panties. Wyatt had made him come twice by wailing on his ass. There was nothing innocent about any of that.
But this felt innocent. Was innocent, in some twisted-up way. Wyatt’s lips pressing soft to Jesse’s, brushing against them and across them, gentling Jesse, bringing Jesse back from the edge, kissing him so fucking carefully, like Jesse was worth caring about, like Jesse was worth anything at all.
“God,” Jesse whispered. His voice was garbage, chopped-up and rough.
His lungs were garbage too, had been since the first time Wyatt put his hands on Jesse.
He couldn’t get a full breath, fucking still.
He was dizzy with want, gone dopey with it.
The urge to laugh was weirdly overwhelming — so he did.
Jesse laughed kinda giddy, half-hysterical. There was wetness tracking down his cheeks again. Stupid plopping tears running down to his chin so hard and so fast that Wyatt had to wipe them away. God, what the fuck was wrong with him? Had to be one huge freaking heap of shit.
Except…
Nothing felt wrong, not then, in that moment, all wrapped up in Wyatt’s arms, held safe and protected. Jesse had honestly never felt more right, and that realization should have scared the fuck out of him, but all it did was settle him instead.
Wyatt touched a kiss to Jesse’s temple. Left his face there, forehead pressed to Jesse’s sweaty hair. “Needed that, huh?”
Jesse let out a shaky breath. “Needed to learn a lesson, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Wyatt echoed on a rumbling laugh. “But I bet you’re gonna remember to lock that damn door now.”
“Maybe sometimes.”
Wyatt’s mouth hooked up. So did the kiss he pressed to the burning-hot apple of Jesse’s cheek. He lifted the blanket enough to palm at Jesse’s tender ass. “Brat,” he murmured.
Jesse’s grin felt kinda wavering, but he made it work. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”
“You got any shoes left that fit?”
“Nah,” Jesse said, laughing for real now. “Not a single fucking one.”
Wyatt was laughing too as he hauled Jesse more firmly into his lap and pulled him into another kiss.
It was still ridiculously soft. The barest brush of lips. It was the kind of kiss that Jesse hadn’t kissed in years, not since the first time, but that’s what this was, in a way. A first time. Maybe the first time that mattered most.