Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Wyatt’s hands slid to cup the back of Jesse’s head, the weight of his palms familiar, the shape of them, the heat.
He was kissing Jesse, and Jesse was kissing him. It didn’t start slow and build. It was desperate from the get-go, an uncoordinated press of mouths.
“Fuck,” Jesse said on a gasp. He was grinding his dick against Wyatt’s hip, unthinking but with all kinds of intent. He stopped doing that. “God, fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
Jesse blinked himself out of his horny stupor. “Huh?”
“Why are you sorry?” Wyatt asked.
“Uh.” Jesse nodded to his crotch, where he was bricked up stupid from nothing more than a little kissing with tongue.
“Then you don’t gotta be sorry,” Wyatt said. He said it way down in the register, buried in that weirdly sexy gravel bed. “I want you to feel good, Jess.”
Jesse’s laugh wheezed out of him. “Feels too good, honestly.”
“And that’s a problem?”
It had been one longass time, is all.
Morning wood faded before Jesse could even get a hand on it. Fantasies of Wyatt stuttered and sidetracked into waking nightmares. The actual nightmares were worse, an undead Wyatt leading a zombie horde, horny for nothing except Jesse’s blood.
The last time Jesse got it up, let alone did something about it, was a months’ old distant memory. But he was up right then — freaking vertical, jeez — and aching, and more than ready to do something about it.
So was it a problem, even at all? Jesse shook his head.
And that was all Wyatt needed.
He yanked off Jesse’s shirt, hauled off Jesse’s sweats. His own pants and boots. Pushed Jesse down onto the bed and followed him.
And Jesse went easy until—
“Wait.”
He leaned over and scooped up Wyatt’s shirt. Shrugged into it, then collapsed back down onto the mattress, making it bounce. “Okay, where were we? Because there were dicks involved, for sure.”
Wyatt came up onto his elbow, watching Jesse the whole time. He tugged at the hem of Jesse’s stolen shirt, and his face wasn’t saying much of anything, but his eyes were, the warmth there, the laugh waiting.
“Shut up,” Jesse told him, his cheeks burning.
“Lips are sealed, bud.”
“Better not be.”
They weren’t, and Wyatt proved that by slipping Jesse some tongue. Then by kissing all the way down Jesse’s chest and his belly and the throbbing line of his cock to slip him some more tongue.
“Fuck,” Wyatt murmured, “I dreamed about this.”
“About eating my ass?” Jesse hiccuped out a laugh. “Man, Wyatt, my dude, we gotta find you some better jerk-off material.”
“Nothing better than this,” Wyatt said, and if he said anything else, Jesse didn’t hear it, what with Wyatt’s face being buried between Jesse’s cheeks and his tongue otherwise occupied.
“I mean, I can think of something better,” Jesse gasped out. “A whole heap better, one might argue.”
Wyatt popped up from between Jesse’s thighs. “One might, huh?”
“Queen of England’s a zombie.” Jesse thunked Wyatt’s shoulder with his heel. “So somebody’s gotta flex that third-person rizz.”
Wyatt’s mouth tipped open, but nothing came out. He shook his head. He shook it some more. Then, “I didn’t understand a single damn word you just said to me.”
“Washed,” Jesse told him, sincerely.
“Jesus.” Wyatt pressed his forehead to Jesse’s hip bone and buried his laugh somewhere in Jesse’s hip crease.
The vibration and the buzzing puff of air made Jesse shiver. He tugged at Wyatt’s hair until Wyatt let himself be tugged — up and up, all the way to Jesse’s mouth.
Kissing, and a little grinding, and Wyatt sliding his hand under his own shirt to palm the span of Jesse’s lower back, then to slip down, the pads of two fingers circling dry over Jesse’s hole, sending the wriggly shivering into overdrive.
Jesse flailed out a hand until he struck gold under his pillow: a nondescript tube of lubricant, which Jesse may or may not have procured less than legally from his place of gainful employment. But wasn’t like they paid him shit for working his ass off, so he figured his ass was due.
Jesse whacked the tube against Wyatt’s arm, then against his braced hand, then pushed down on the mattress enough to slide it under Wyatt’s palm.
Wyatt smiled against Jesse’s mouth. “Want something, bud?” He didn’t wait for a smart reply, though. Just leaned back enough to get to work, working two thick fingers and a whole lotta lube into Jesse’s hole.
The stretch was already too much, but Jesse fucking relished it. “God.” He clawed his fingers into the short hair at the back of Wyatt’s neck and hauled him back down.
Wyatt came easily. He kissed Jesse and finger-fucked him until Jesse’s cock was beading out precum like it wanted to craft up a bulk order of friendship bracelets.
“Gonna fuck you now,” Wyatt told Jesse. His voice was low, kinda mesmerized, just like the look in his eyes as he traced the thrust of his own fingers, Jesse’s body opening up for him, a hot clench, then a lube-slicked yield. “Gonna fuck this perfect ass. This perfect hole.”
Jesse could do not a single thing more coherent than moan out his agreement.
“Want it on your belly, bud?” Wyatt asked. He brushed a kiss across Jesse’s cheek. “Might be easier for you that way.”
Jesse shook his head against the sheets. “Don’t want easy. Want this.” He squeezed at Wyatt’s shoulders, hooked his arms around Wyatt’s neck, pulling him closer. “Want you.”
Wyatt’s eyes did some kinda something. “Okay, Jess.” He eased his fingers free, a slow, careful slide. “Okay.”
Jesse bit down on his next moan, clenching around nothing, already achingly empty. He sucked in a shaky breath — because Wyatt was gonna fuck him. God. Unreal that they’d only done this once. A mindfuck, legit.
The best night of Jesse’s life before Jesse’s life had gone to shit, and he remembered it in crazy high detail, every single second. Not so great for his raging PTSD, after everything that came after. But for what came before?
God, mostly he remembered how overwhelming it had been.
How much Wyatt had worked for it, just to get Jesse ready for him, then to open Jesse up, so slow and careful, so much lube, so much patience, like there was nothing he wanted to do more, like nothing mattered more than Jesse’s comfort and Jesse staying safe.
Wyatt sat back. Got his knees under himself and lifted Jesse’s butt up into his lap. He folded Jesse’s legs back so that Jesse could hang onto them, leaving Jesse as open and as wide as Jesse could go.
The first blunt nudge of Wyatt’s dick against the snugged-tight rim of Jesse’s hole made Jesse moan loud, no hope of holding it in.
Wyatt didn’t push in, though. Just circled the head of his dick around Jesse’s hole like he’d circled his fingers.
Not a tease, way too even for that. But some kinda touchstone, maybe, Wyatt setting a respawn point Jesse could find again through the fuzzy haze of his arousal, grounding Jesse, keeping him in his head and right there with Wyatt.
And it worked. The tingle across all those little nerve endings made Jesse shiver. He wiggled it out against the sheets, chasing goosebumps. He got a hand on himself and jerked it, sloppy, way too much lube, gazing up at Wyatt the whole damn time.
Wyatt’s approval was warm in his eyes and rough in his voice. “Being so good for me, bud.”
Jesse wanted that. No talking shit, no being a little shit, no angling for a spanking — just good and sweet, on his best behavior.
Being good, for Wyatt.
Being Wyatt’s good boy.
“Fuck,” Jesse gasped out, on the thought and on the feel of Wyatt pushing in. “God. Fuck.”
Jesse hadn’t forgotten. That would be impossible. The first time — jeez, the only time — he’d ever taken Wyatt’s cock had been a goddamn formative moment. Wyatt had rearranged his guts and his brain chemistry in one thickass thrust.
So of course he hadn’t forgotten. But reality was flying past memory like a rig running hot. The size, the thickness, that deadass girth — Jesse felt impossibly full. He wasn’t. But he felt it.
Jesse writhed through a hot hit of panic. This wasn’t going to work. He braced his hands on Wyatt’s thighs, holding Wyatt in place, because if Wyatt moved even a single half inch more, Jesse would split in two.
Wyatt went so still, just watching Jesse writhe, caught up there on the tip of his cock.
“It’s so big, Jesus,” Jesse told him, gasping the words out, gone breathy as shit. “Fuck, Wyatt. Fuck.”
“I know, bud.” Wyatt soothed a hand over Jesse’s flexing belly, down and round across Jesse’s asscheek, his fingers brushing the stretched-tight rim of Jesse’s hole. “But you’re doing so good.”
Jesse was already shaking his head. “It’s too big.” He sounded so freaking pathetic. Felt it too, caught in that fuckass hinterland between what his body wanted and what his body could take. “I want it so bad,” he whispered, frustrated tears already welling in the corners of his eyes. “I want it.”
“I know,” Wyatt said again. He jacked Jesse slow, because Jesse was soft now, but his thumb slicked the slide each time he brushed across Jesse’s slit, spreading precum. His big hand engulfed Jesse entirely.
Jesse hiccuped a breath as he watched his cock disappear. Even as he got hard and grew in Wyatt’s grip, he was still lost in it. And Jesse got a little lost too, watching.
He liked it so much. All of it. God.
Wyatt bent low over him, offering Jesse up soft kisses, touching Jesse so carefully the whole time, like Jesse needed careful, like Jesse was something small and dainty and breakable, and Jesse liked that too, maybe a little too much to be healthy — but Jesse was a medical professional. He’d be the judge of that.
The smallest thrust. Jesse made a noise in the back of his throat, a needy, reedy whine. He was messy with lube. His dick, his hole — so much of it. Too much, realistically. Everything was frictionless. Just pressure and heat, pushing in.
“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Wyatt kissed the spot behind Jesse’s ear. He kissed Jesse’s cheek. He kissed the freaking tip of Jesse’s nose. “You can do it. I know you can.”