Chapter 9 #2
Donnelly’s eyes shot to his and held.
“I need to feel that tight ass of yours again,” Wyatt murmured. “I wanna gag on that cock of yours until you come down my throat again. I want more. I fucking need more.”
Donnelly cursed, breathing hard, jaw clenching.
“Say yes,” Wyatt commanded, stroking himself out, barely hanging on to his sanity, needing Donnelly to stop denying the sparks that were ricocheting off them.
Donnelly’s tongue slipped out of his parted lips. Panting, he gave a slight jerk of his head, indicating yes.
Thank fuck!
Wyatt growled in triumph, practically jumping on top of him, pinning him to the bed and furiously fucking his fist. Donnelly gasped, mouth open and… waiting.
Oh-fucking-yes.
He maneuvered his hips upward, and the orgasm slammed into his back and out his dick like a fucking rocket, spewing messily all over Donnelly’s lips, beard, and neck.
The sight of his captain's face covered in cum only unhinged him more as he chased the second wave of his climax, demanding more from his body and smearing his pulsating red tip over those slutty fucking lips.
“Fuck,” Wyatt breathed as he watched Donnelly suck in the tip of his messy cock, licking him clean.
His entire body trembled and he could barely hold himself above him. He felt a sweat break out on his brow as he watched Donnelly’s tongue slowly, lazily lick his sex like the tastiest lollipop imaginable.
“Fuucck…” he said again, this time dragging the underside of his cock over Donnelly’s bearded chin, intentionally making more of a mess for his captain to lick up. Which he did, all the way down to his balls.
Both of them were breathing hard, staring at one another, and Wyatt wanted to capture this moment—to remember every line of Donnelly’s face and the way he looked, soaked in his cum. It was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
Wyatt dropped down and kissed him thoroughly. Tonguing his bliss into Donnelly’s wet lips and feeling their tongues clash. He clasped his hand over his sticky beard, digging in the moisture, wanting to somehow mark him—claim him like a fucking dog.
Donnelly moaned into his mouth, and after several long, glorious minutes of kissing, he finally broke away. Donnelly’s lips were red and bruised from his rough kisses, and he smiled down at him.
“So… what are you doin’ tomorrow?” Wyatt drawled huskily.
Donnelly blushed. He fucking blushed. It was adorable.
He was tempted to kiss him again but resisted, waiting for his answer.
Donnelly paused, searching his face, “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“I just—” Donnelly stopped short, looking self-conscious.
“What?”
“I just had an existential breakdown in front of you, and you want to see me again?”
Wyatt smirked, leaned down to his neck, licking the cum off with the slow trace of his tongue. “Fuck yes.”
Donnelly sighed, and after a long minute finally pushed him away, slipping off the bed looking thoroughly ruined as he stumbled to the bathroom to clean up.
When he returned, dark bags hung beneath his eyes and Wyatt knew that there was no way they could continue this conversation in the exhausted state he was in.
“I need sleep,” Donnelly gruffed out before climbing into bed and practically collapsing.
Wyatt went to rinse off in the bathroom next, and when he came back, Donnelly was asleep. He hesitated, wondering if he should leave, but he didn’t want to. Not yet. He climbed back into bed beside Donnelly and within minutes, fell asleep too.
The early morning sunlight streamed through the curtain windows, illuminating the handsome contours of Donnelly’s face.
Wyatt, now fully dressed and sitting in the chair by the window sipping on hotel coffee, couldn’t take his eyes off him.
His dark brown beard matched the thick hair on his chest, which Wyatt was mildly obsessed with, wanting to rub his face in it like a cat. But he didn’t want to wake him.
The smattering of rich chest hair traveled down his stomach and over his navel to the epitome of his masculinity, which was an impressive fucking dick in his opinion. He wondered if he’d ever get a chance to ride it, because Wyatt enjoyed it both ways—top and bottom.
He liked Donnelly’s body, liked even more how perfectly they seemed to fit together.
He swallowed, imagining all the ways he’d like to taste, take, and ride this man…
because last night wasn’t nearly enough, and a part of him feared it would never be enough.
That he would always want more from this vulnerable, strong man.
But he could sense that Donnelly was guarded. Last night proved it. He refused to show his emotions, even when he was sobbing. Some men were like this, he understood that. And yet, he hadn’t expected Donnelly to be ashamed of his sensitivity. It was what made him such a good doctor.
“I never did ask you…” Donnelly’s groggy voice said, cutting through his thoughts. “Do you prefer Lawson or your first name?”
Wyatt’s eyes shot to his, and he saw that Donnelly’s dark blue eyes were focused on him, the tangle of white bedding hiding half his face. Donnelly had complimented him last night, but the truth was, he thought Donnelly was the sexier one.
“Honestly, I don’t mind it,” he admitted. “Friends call me Wyatt—you can call me Lawson.”
Donnelly perched his head on his hand, lying on his side, “Lawson it is, then.”
“What about you, Dr. Donnelly?” Lawson said in a light tone, sipping his coffee.
“John,” he answered. “Donnelly reminds me of work. My parents and sister call me Johnny—you can call me John.”
Wyatt’s throat bunched for some reason, and he cleared it. “John it is, then.”
The sound of his name said out loud in the space between them felt even more intimate than taking his glorious cock down his throat.
Fuck, everything felt good with John.
John.
“Did you make me any?” John asked, tilting his chin to the coffee mug.
“I did. Don’t know how you take it, though. How do you like it?”
“Dark and black like my soul.”
“You’re certainly not that.” He stood and handed him the paper cup of coffee in bed.
John pulled himself upright and took it, eyeing him self-consciously. “I’m sorry again for…”
Wyatt shook his head, deciding to play it off, knowing that it would be safer for John than admitting the truth. “Don’t. I did that to you. I sliced open that wound, and I should’ve known better. I knew you were in pain with your shoulder, I just hadn’t realized how much.”
John nodded, keeping his gaze averted, which bothered him. He reached down and clasped his fingers under his chin, fingering the beard as he tilted him upward, needing to see his eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed about.”
John blinked, shifting uncomfortably, and Wyatt let go, deciding not to push it. He returned to his chair across from him, propping his feet up on the edge of the bed. “We were supposed to have that talk about your rules.”
“Right. I forgot. I thought about them last night before everything went to hell at work,” he scrubbed the back of his neck, and Wyatt couldn’t help but imagine a stethoscope there, loving the way his big hands would constantly be touching his neck, beard, or face…
Wyatt felt the lightbulb go off in his head and leaned forward in realization. Dr. John Donnelly kept a hell of a lot to himself, and whenever he struggled to suppress it, he rubbed his neck, fingered his beard, or scrubbed a hand over his face.
That was his tell. It was right there all along, and Wyatt never saw it.
Fuck, I’m finally figuring him out.
It’s a start.
A start to what, he had no fucking clue. But he liked that he was slowly peeling back the layers to this man who clearly didn’t want to be seen beneath his steel armor.
“Well, we already broke two rules,” John muttered, sipping his coffee.
“Really?” he asked, feeling oddly pleased.
“Condoms, always. And no sleeping over.”
He hummed, unable to suppress a smile.
“I suppose we can adjust it,” John said, pulling the bedding over his waist, his naked back leaning against the headboard. “We can continue to not use condoms if we—uh—stay exclusive, as you asked.”
Wyatt certainly planned to, and now, hearing that John did too, he tried to smother his elation. He didn’t want another cute paramedic riding his Dr. Donnelly.
His? Where the fuck did that come from?
“Sleeping—well, considering we’re both ED doctors,” John drawled. “We may accidentally fall asleep on each other from time to time.”
“So, there’ll be a next time?” he asked.
John's dark gaze met his, vulnerably exposed. “Do you really want there to be?”
He knew what he was referring to—and it wasn’t the sex from last night, or their positions at work. It was about his breakdown last night.
“Yes,” Wyatt breathed, without hesitation.
Something flashed over John’s expression, but he hid it behind his coffee mug as he carefully took another sip.
“What else?” he asked impatiently, irritated that John was determined to hide from him. He didn’t like it. He wanted to know what was going on in his head. After his emotional display last night, he wanted nothing less.
Emotion was what made them all human, flawed and connected.
He couldn’t unsee that—couldn’t run from it like John clearly wanted to.
He supposed he could be patient with that, waiting for him to trust Wyatt enough to share his emotions, rather than having them spill out uncontrollably.
John didn’t seem to like being a man with a deep well of feeling.
And this man ran deep. Deeper than anyone he knew, besides himself.
“No attachments, no emotion,” John’s voice was rough when he said it, and Wyatt arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Minus what happened last night.”
“And what happens if feelings get caught?” Wyatt asked, unable to keep the edge to his tone.
“We’ll have to end it.”
Wyatt pressed him with a questioning look.
“We work together, Lawson. It’s complicated already. It was a mistake the first time…”