Chapter 11 #4
“Sorry,” he tossed him a cool smile. “So, Mateo and I had a good season. A really good season. And then it ended, pretty abruptly after my dad found us. I left the ranch and stayed with my aunts for a while, trying to figure out my life. One day, I got word that a ranch hand and a horse had gotten hurt.” A wave of emotion washed over him like it always did when he told this story.
“It was Mateo. The horse got spooked on a tough trail up a mountain pass, fell, and crushed him. Broke his spine and right leg. The horse had to be put down on the trail—they couldn’t save her. ”
“Jesus. I’m so sorry,” John murmured.
“I visited him a few times in the hospital. His doctor…” Wyatt shook his head, anger filtering through his bloodstream. “His doctor told him he’d probably never ride a horse again, and something broke in Mateo. He went into surgery and never came out.”
John reached for him, a soft curse under his breath.
“That doctor stole his hope. And sometimes, that’s all we’ve got,” his throat bunched. “I realized that if I had been Mateo’s doctor, I would’ve given him hope, given him something to fight for. That’s when I knew what I needed to do, and I haven’t looked back since.”
John pulled Wyatt’s hand from his lap. He hadn’t realized his fingers had balled into a tight fist until he gently pushed his fingers through, drawing them up to his lips and kissing him. “You’re a good man.”
Needing more than words, he leaned forward and captured his lips, tasting the wine off his lips. “So are you.”
John deepened the kiss, fingers grasping the back of his head, and they fell into one another. Wyatt was on top of him, straddling him on the wide couch, feeling their bodies brush and burn together.
He trembled.
Mateo had opened him to the possibility of something more during a time in his life when he didn’t have much.
John gave him something else entirely—the space to make mistakes and, in the same breath, be forgiven, and the courage to be more vulnerable, the permission and reassurance to stay the course even when everything looked bleak.
John, without saying it, gave him love.
Because that had to be love.
He grasped John’s bearded jaw, opening it to slide his tongue inside as his hips undulated into him, the couch dipping beneath their combined weight.
John arched into him, his cock straining against him from beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants.
Thank God for easy access, Wyatt thought wickedly, as he reached between their bodies and pulled John’s erection free, sliding his hand down the elongated, throbbing cock and stroking it root to stem.
John’s face pinched with desire, lips parting and back arching once more off the couch.
“Fuck, you are so goddamned sexy,” Wyatt hissed, doing the same motion again and watching nearly the same reaction from John, but this time his dark gaze locked with his.
“So are you…” John whispered breathlessly.
His jaw clenched and he sat back, quickly tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the floor.
John did the same thing with Wyatt’s help.
Their naked chests touched, and Wyatt raked his fingers through his glorious chest hair and over his nipples.
They hardened, and Wyatt grazed his lips over one, sucking it into his mouth and biting, drawing it upward to a pointed peak.
John let out a long breath, rubbing against him. “Fuck… your mouth feels so good, baby.”
Baby.
That word again. He used it in the alleyway behind the Hot Dog Palace, and they never talked about it. And they certainly never brought up ‘good boy’.
Wyatt’s cock hardened ruthlessly between his legs, and he yanked his belt off and opened the button and fly to his jeans, granting himself relief from the strain of the material over him.
He then went to work on the other nipple, doing the same thing, hand stroking between John’s legs. “Tell me what you want…” he demanded, pressing the pad of his thumb over John’s leaking cock.
John bucked wildly beneath him, shuddering.
“Tell me what you want, daddy…”
John gasped, staring right through him and into his soul.
“Suck my cock,” he rasped. “I wanna see me in your mouth.”
Trembling, Wyatt moved down his body and between his legs, licking his lips before drawing the tight, hard flesh into his mouth, tonguing the precum off his tip.
John watched him work his shaft with his hand and mouth, his dark gaze on his mouth bobbing up and down over him. He quickened the pace, heat spilling in his veins at the angry, almost hungry way John was looking at him.
“That’s it. Suck me down your throat, let me feel how much you want me.”
Wyatt smothered a wet moan over his cock, so hard he thought he would burst. Instead, he took all of John’s lengthy member down his throat, his muscles convulsing and tightening around him.
John cursed, grabbing him with both hands at the back of the head and arching upward, spearing into his mouth.
Wyatt choked, gagged, and swallowed, his own cock spurting more precum, making a mess on John’s nice couch. He liked the mess. The chaos. The authority. The power. All of it.
“Uh…” John gasped, hips bucking beneath Wyatt, fucking his mouth. “Good… fucking… boy…!”
Wyatt felt his release coming and wanted more—wanted total fucking annihilation. He pulled back, eyes locked with his. “Fuck my face until you come, and when you're about to, sit up.”
John shuddered, lips parted as he whimpered a glorious, sexy fucking moan and dragged Wyatt back down on him, all restraint gone, replaced by utter carnal lust. John's hips pounded upward, spearing into Wyatt’s throat, and he took it, saliva dripping out of his mouth, the sounds of his grunting need with John’s flesh driving into him.
He raked his fingers through Wyatt’s scalp and pushed himself so deep that his nose and chin were in John’s pubic hair, and he forced himself to breathe through the nose, taking in his musk, his cock twitching in painful need.
Oh god, he was going to come without touching himself. All from the dirtiest blow job he’d ever given.
“Fuuuck…!” John nearly shouted, a sound of utter abandonment rippling from his throat. “Lawson… God—fuck…”
John suddenly sat up, and Wyatt braced himself, exhaling a deep breath, knowing he was about to be smothered, and fucking needing it.
John pushed further down over him as his cock heated and pulsed in Wyatt’s mouth, down his throat, unloading everything—hot, sticky, and wet.
He clasped his hands onto John’s waist as John simultaneously pushed Wyatt’s head down, smothering him completely into his lap.
John began to uncontrollably shiver, his cock continuing to spasm.
He swallowed him, his throat contracting around him, his breath held in his chest, lungs burning, and cock so painfully swollen, he knew one touch would send him spiraling.
John released him, and Wyatt came up for air, gasping. John stared at him in shock, eyes fully dilated, almost black. “Wyatt…”
He heard his name, breathy and in reverence, and he couldn’t wait.
He couldn’t. He shoved John back down on the couch, lifted his hips, spread his cheeks, and licked and spat into his tight hole.
He pushed his face between John’s legs, tonguing his entrance.
John groaned, gripping the couch and levitating upward in his grasp.
Wyatt did it again and again, ruthlessly driving his tongue into his hole.
“Jesus, Wyatt!”
He said his name again.
Fuck!
Wyatt devoured his asshole, brutally digging into him with his tongue, needing to climax, delusional for it.
He abruptly sat up, straddled John, and without even taking off his jeans, because there wasn’t time for that, shoved his aching cock into him.
Both men moaned together, and Wyatt, knowing it wasn’t going to take much, pumped into him three quick thrusts.
He knew he was rough and also knew John liked rough rides. A lot.
He saw the evidence of it, as John’s deflated cock started to stiffen again.
Wyatt shoved John’s legs up and around his waist, burying himself deep into his asshole, nearly coming at the feel of being fully sheathed inside him.
John bucked, cheeks clenching around him, tightening his hold.
“Fuck,” Wyatt breathed.
John’s blue eyes flew to his. “Ride me hard, baby.”
Wyatt’s groan was low and rumbling, knowing what he was asking, and he wrapped his hand around John’s throat, pounding into his tightness, a wild madness taking hold.
He maneuvered one of John’s legs down so he could lean in closer to him, their breaths mingling with the same heat in their gazes. Hand still collaring John’s throat and hips thrusting, the orgasm closed in on him. He grasped John’s cock and tugged, milking him for another orgasm.
John clung to him, shivering violently. He speared into him, hitting that sweet heavenly spot inside John. He could feel the man unhinging beneath him. His body had completely surrendered over to Wyatt’s whim and will, and he never wanted to leave the tight sheath of John’s perfect fucking body.
Wyatt licked John’s lips, deepening his tone into a low, gravely husk, “Give your good boy another orgasm, daddy…”
A guttural cry tore through John’s parted lips and his cock spasmed in Wyatt’s hand for a second orgasm.
“That’s it,” Wyatt ground out, fisting his cock. “God, you ride so fucking good.”
“Yes, yes!”
He thrusted hard, panting between each pound and slamming home. “The best fucking ride I’ve ever had…” he admitted hoarsely. “I don’t ever want to stop.”
John whimpered, eyes locked with his.
He broke. The orgasm whooshed through his body like the thundering gallop of a thousand horses, and he unleashed his hot seed inside him.
The roaring in his ears finally subsided after what felt like the longest minute of unloading in his life. John’s shivering, quaking body bore the mess of his orgasm, and he looked so blissfully spent and utterly relaxed, panting.
But Wyatt wasn’t through.