Diego
It was another few hours before they were able to leave for the night, having to give their testimony to the police and Frank, too, since Frank had a lot of questions once he learned it was Cody Wallace under the mask.
And what did that mean?
“We always leave that door open. How the hell are we supposed to haul trash to the dumpster if it’s locked?” Wylie argued.
“If anything it’s my fault for always feeding him,” Wylie said. “Should I have told Frank about that? I mean, it’s not like he can fire me.”
“You were doing a good thing. I’ve never known Cody to be violent before.” Though he had known him to be a thief. They both had. Diego really didn’t want to think about his former self, but he felt it was important to say, “Addicts can be unpredictable.”
“He seemed out of his mind,” Wylie said. “Almost like, he wasn’t even himself.”
Diego had recognized that whale-eyed mania, thinking you were invincible. He could practically taste the bitter bite of cocaine at the back of his throat, the phantom rush of a high so perfect, you’d sacrifice anything to experience it again. A devil’s bargain, one that you were bound to lose.
Diego didn’t like to lecture, but he couldn’t let it go unsaid, “Listen, Wy, when you get up there to Gainesville, and there’s people around you telling you that you need to take drugs to stay awake or party or be at your peak performance, whatever the fuck it is they claim, don’t do it.”
Wylie blinked his beautiful blue eyes and stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. I don’t mess with drugs. Never have, except nicotine and weed and shrooms and LSD. Molly but only when I’m out at a rave.”
Diego growled with frustration. Even that was too risky. “Any of that shit could be laced with something else.” God forbid Wylie take something cut with fentanyl and fucking die on him. “Get your weed from the dispensery where it’s legit. And don’t fuck with pills.”
“I know. I know. And you’re right.” He laid his hands on Diego’s shoulders to calm him. It would have to do, and besides, it wasn’t like Diego could make these demands. He wasn’t his dad. Wasn’t even his boyfriend because they were just friends.
It was nearing two in the morning, and Diego had to say goodbye to Wylie the next day. This wasn’t how he’d intended their last night together to go, and he wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow either. Their time together was ticking away by the second, but he was so goddamn tired.
As if sensing his exhaustion, Wylie said, “You look beat. Let’s go to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”
Diego appreciated the grace and that Wylie hadn’t mentioned the “L” word once since he’d said it.
Diego’s fault too. He shouldn’t be sending mixed messages, not that he was confused on that front.
He knew his own feelings for the man were real, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to alter the plan.
Wylie was leaving. He was starting a new life in Gainesville. That was it.
Still naked from the shower, they climbed under the cool bedsheet with the AC doing its level best and ceiling fan turned on high. Even with Wylie’s octopus arms wrapped around him, Diego was content. This might be his last opportunity to be held by the man he loved.
“I didn’t like that Frank blamed you,” Wylie said softly while nuzzling the back of Diego’s neck, one of their many nighttime rituals.
“No, me neither,” Diego admitted. He didn’t say it to Wylie, but he probably deserved the suspicion, just based on his past behavior, though he’d really hoped that he and Frank had moved beyond all that.
“You really took care of me tonight,” Wylie said. “I was so stunned and terrified, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Thank you for letting me handle it. If he’d hurt you…” Diego didn’t want to finish that thought. He would have fallen apart. Just broken into a million little pieces.
“My hero,” Wylie said and squeezed him tighter. “Tomorrow morning, I am going to make you feel so goddamned good.”
Despite still being a mess of emotions, Diego thought to himself with a pleasant anticipation, you always do.
Wylie had two fingers inside him and his warm mouth on his cock.
They’d been at it for what seemed like hours already.
Wylie was drawing it out, deliberately—painfully—slowly, perhaps because this might be their last time together, which only served to remind Diego how sexually compatible they were and how closely Wylie paid attention.
This man could draw pleasures from him that Diego hadn’t known existed.
And all of it was done to him with a knowing smirk and a slight sense of superiority that Diego shouldn’t find as sexy as he did.
“That’s it, big boy,” Wylie crooned as his fingertips massaged Diego’s trigger with just enough pressure to tease and frustrate him. “Think you’re going to come?”
“No,” Diego grumbled, annoyed because Wylie knew what he was doing, giving him just enough and no more. “Put your mouth back on my cock.”
Wylie gave in to his demand but didn’t suck it properly, didn’t even lick it, just held Diego’s stiff prick in his mouth like it was a delicate glass bauble. The sensation was maddening.
“Suck me,” Diego demanded and thrust his hips forward because he was so goddamned close and Wylie was being a cocktease. This had to be round three already of Wylie bringing him right to the brink of orgasm and then backing way the hell off.
Yes, Diego had agreed to it. Yes, they’d established a safe word. And yes, Diego was having serious second thoughts. But he wasn’t ready to end it. It wasn’t his pride, but his own stubbornness and a burning curiosity to see just how far Wylie might take it.
“You’re so handsome,” Wylie purred, leaning over him now to block out the morning light, still with his fingers wedged deep inside him, keeping him open and ready. His dirty blonde hair was haloed by the shafts of sunlight, giving him an ethereal look. Or demonic.
Patron saint of cockteasing, Diego thought bitterly.
“I like this position because I can see your face and think about how lucky I am to be inside of someone so gorgeous,” Wylie continued, his unique version of sweet talk.
“Save it, Shakespeare,” Diego gritted out while glaring at the menace above him.
While sincere, Wylie was just stalling to torment him, thus proven when the man smiled devilishly and crooked his fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through Diego’s entire body.
The initial electric shock mellowed into a nice, heady buzz.
His cock bobbed, dribbling steadily, begging to be stroked or sucked or given any kind of stimulation that would bring him over the edge.
“Wy,” Diego said, practically pleaded. He’d never cried during sex before, and he’d certainly never begged before Wylie, but this seemed to be what the man wanted, the complete surrender of his control.
“Yes, baby?” Wylie asked in a lilting voice.
“Could you fuck me now? Please?” Diego asked, making his voice as gentle and imploring as possible.
“You want my big dick?” Wylie asked, playing dumb because he clearly knew the answer already.
“Yes,” Diego said tersely while vibrating with need. His legs were spread wide and his hole was primed for penetration. A few good strokes were all he needed. He couldn't be any more ready.
“Say it then. Tell me you want my big dick,” Wylie coached, ever the conductor of whatever erotic game they were playing.
“I want your dick, and I want it now,” Diego growled, trying to sound tough about it but absolutely coming off as desperate.
“How big is it?” Wylie demanded, studying him closely as if his orgasm depended on him getting the answer right.
“Massive.”
“Is it the biggest you’ve ever taken?” Wylie asked.
“So far,” Diego said, because he didn’t want to feed the man’s ego too much.
“Try again,” Wylie said, starting to ease back. Oh, fuck no.
“Yours is the biggest dick I’ve ever taken, and the only one I want. Now quit playing around and get inside me before I strangle you.”
“Yes, sir.” He grabbed the lube and squeezed a generous line down the length of his shaft. “Rub it in for me, babe. My hands are full.”
Diego propped himself up on one elbow and massaged Wylie’s thick dick with one hand, his mouth practically salivating at the sight of it.
Wylie continued to finger his asshole—fuck, that felt good.
Diego ground his ass against the mattress to get more from the sensation–more depth, more friction–but what he really wanted was the main course.
“I want that massive dick inside me,” he said in a pleasure-drunk daze.
“I want it so deep I can feel it in my throat.”
“Kiss me,” Wylie commanded and Diego offered his mouth freely, to be ransacked and owned. He’d do whatever this lunatic demanded, because Wylie always delivered.
“Mmm,” Wylie hummed, still with his tongue down his throat.
The kiss was aggressive with an edge of domination that Diego greedily accepted.
He was man enough to acknowledge that he liked getting fucked in a manner that went beyond simply sex position.
There was a psychological component to their dynamic that they were still testing.
It wouldn’t work with just anyone; Diego had enough sense to know that.
After excavating his mouth thoroughly, Wylie pushed him back onto the bed. “You’ve been so good for me, baby, so patient. As soon as my dick is inside you, you can come, but I’m not going to pull out. I’m going to finish inside you. Will you try and wait for me?”
Was it really a choice? Diego wanted to share in every peak and valley, even as the urge to come burned like a wildfire inside him. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my good boy,” Wylie said warmly, and even that sent a ripple of satisfaction through Diego. Despite his grumbling, he wanted to be good for him, to be perfect.