Chapter 12
John
He woke from the deepest sleep of his life, his body thoroughly sedated and well-fucked. He smiled lazily, remembering Lawson’s hands and tongue on his body, sinking into the pillow. Last night was a sexual revelation. The things Lawson…
No, his mind whispered, Wyatt.
He shuddered.
The things Wyatt did to him last night, pushing him to the brink and pulling him back, had been incredible.
He’d never had sex like that before. Never thought he could.
And yet Wyatt, the skilled lover that he was, somehow managed to get not two, but three orgasms out of him.
John bit his lower lip, skin tingling and body vibrating with a delicious warmth.
Sunlight streamed through the thick blackout curtains over his bedroom window and he blinked, rolling over.
Heart fluttering, he hoped Wyatt had decided to stay.
He was greeted by a rumpled, empty bedside, and he frowned disappointedly.
He knew he shouldn’t have wanted him to stay, but he did.
He found himself tracing the outline of the place where Wyatt had slept beside him last night, the soft rays of morning sun seeming to suspend him and his heart, which oddly…
hurt. Before he could process the feeling, John’s phone vibrated on his bedside table and he sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face and wiping away the last dregs of sleep.
It was Sally.
His heart skipped, and he opened it.
Thanks for last night.
He watched as bubbles appeared and disappeared, and John hesitated, writing out his own text: “I think we should talk”. His finger hovered over the send button. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat up a little straighter, reaching for his reading glasses and focusing.
Last night had been the best night he’d had in months, maybe even years. And he didn’t know what the hell to do about this situationship they were in.
They couldn’t be boyfriends, at least not where the hospital was concerned.
It was against their policy for senior residents to date anyone beneath them.
Workplace romances were strongly frowned upon.
But they were consenting fucking adults and could be together outside of the hospital.
And for the first time, John realized that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted Wyatt to be his.
Swallowing the nerves, he was about to push the send button when Wyatt texted.
My friend has an art show tonight. If you're free…would you want to come with me?
The breath in John’s chest exhaled in a sigh, and he smiled.
Yes.
Really?
Really.
I should’ve stayed.
He glanced at the empty pillow and realized that it was not hurt he was experiencing, it was longing. A deep, unshakable thing. It was longing for more. More days in the sunshine with Wyatt. More nights like last night.
John texted back.
Yes, you should’ve. I planned on making us breakfast.
Shit. I fucked up.
You did. Maybe next time.
Tonight?
John’s heart was racing and he swallowed, letting his heart answer for him.
Ok.
Is it tonight yet?
He laughed, a blush forming on his cheeks.
Wyatt started texting again, and then the bubbles stopped. John waited, feeling both nervous and excited.
Can I kiss you at the art show? Would that be ok?
His’s chest tightened, and he placed his hand over his heart, rubbing the spot.
Yeah, I would like that.
We should talk, John.
Agreed.
Send me a picture.
He blinked, blushing some more.
I’m with Reyes for the day, cleaning out his garage. And I wouldn’t mind thinking of something other than dust bunnies and possibly rats.
John chuckled and snapped a picture of himself, uncaring that he was still wearing his glasses, and sent it.
Wyatt’s response was quick.
Jesus. Those slutty glasses make me so fucking hard.
He scrubbed a hand over his red cheeks, giggling like a damned schoolboy.
And your smile… I’m obsessed with the crinkles around your eyes.
Heart doing rollercoaster swoops, John texted, deciding to be as bold as Wyatt.
Send me a picture. I’d like to see you sweaty and covered in dust bunnies.
Yes, sir.
The picture Wyatt sent him had blood shooting to his cock, and he nearly yanked his phone away, as though seeing something he shouldn’t.
Except it was sent to him—only for him. Wyatt had lifted his shirt, revealing the hardened muscles of his torso and the sharp V lines that ran down to the hemline of his jeans, which John was tortuously envious of and infatuated with.
He let out a strained breath, staring a little too long at those heavily defined muscles.
The next picture Wyatt sent was of himself, but wearing not his white cowboy hat, but a trucker hat, backward, his hair messily sprouting around the edges of his ears. His playful smile was mischievous, intentionally teasing John.
Feeling utterly reckless, John texted.
Good boys don’t tease their daddies.
He reached for the sheet covering his semi-hard on and began stroking it to life, looking at the image of Wyatt in that sexy fucking hat. Deciding to bait back, he snapped a picture of his hand over the sheet and sent it.
A second later, Wyatt was calling him on video. John nearly laughed and answered it.
Wyatt’s voice was clipped and low, “Don’t say anything.”
He watched as Wyatt walked through Reyes’s garage and out onto a driveway, his beautiful face illuminated by the sun, his skin sweaty from moving boxes all morning. “Reyes, where’s your bathroom?”
“Yeah, man, straight through the dining room and down the hall on the left.”
“Thanks.”
Wyatt, without looking at the screen, moved quickly through the garage and into the house. John, smiling like an idiot, scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck as Wyatt made it to the bathroom, closing and locking it behind him.
Panting, Wyatt finally looked at the screen—at him, their eyes locked. “Fuck. You kept the glasses on. Thank God.”
John, pulse racing, watched as Wyatt set the camera down on the bathroom sink and began unbuckling his jeans. Was he really about to…?
“Seriously?” he asked, astounded, watching Wyatt’s fumbling hands over his own jeans, eagerly reaching for himself.
“Seriously,” Wyatt husked. “You started this.”
“Oh, absolutely not, you started this.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt let out a tight, suppressed groan, hand fisting around his cock. “I may have wanted to see what you’d do.”
Oh fuck.
He watched the younger man’s primal, unashamed display as he yanked off his hat, followed quickly by his thin white T-shirt, giving John exactly what he wanted.
“Put the hat back on,” John croaked, causing Wyatt to smirk, eyes heatedly glancing back at the screen before slipping the hat on and rotating it backward.
“Good?” Wyatt asked in his low, timbered tone.
“Good,” he panted, desire trickling down his spine like warm water at how much Wyatt seemed to like—no, need—to please him.
“Let me see you,” Wyatt demanded.
John flipped the screen around, pulling back the sheet and revealing his hardening erection.
“No,” Wyatt said breathlessly. “I want to see all of you.”
He shivered at the sexy drawl in Wyatt’s tone, quickly arranging the pillows and sitting back against the headboard, making sure everything could be seen.
“Good?” he asked, settling into the position, refusing to feel self-conscious about how exposed he felt under Wyatt’s scrutinizing gaze. He lifted his knee, widening his thighs apart and stroking his thick cock in his hand, already beginning to breathe hard.
“Good…” Wyatt horsed out. “Damned good.”
John dropped his head back, eyes low and on Wyatt’s, as they both stroked themselves, looking at each other.
“Talk to me,” Wyatt murmured. It sounded strained and laced with need.
He realized what he was asking, and he expected to feel that flush of embarrassment, but didn’t. Seeing the stark hunger reflected in Wyatt’s expression inflamed him.
“Show me,” John ordered coolly, indicating with a dip of his chin to his cock. Wyatt obeyed immediately, withdrawing himself from his jeans, revealing his beautiful sex, which was already leaking with precum on that perfect, thick tip.
“Good boy,” he hummed, stroking himself in tandem with Wyatt.
“Fuck.” Wyatt leaned over the bathroom sink, fingers gripping the smooth marble as he thrusted his cock into his clenched fist.
“But you weren’t a good boy this morning, were you, baby?” John growled, bolstered by Wyatt’s reactions to him.
“No…”
“You left to move fucking boxes.”
“…so… fucking… stupid,” Wyatt groaned, pumping himself, back arching.
“You’re not stupid, Lawson,” John said, shifting into his Dr. Donnelly tone. “You made a mistake, we all do. This feeling is a teachable moment. Remember this for next time, so you know not to leave when you’re wanted.”
Wyatt’s panted, whispered moan rasped through the phone speakers. He was attempting to muffle the sounds he was making for John, and something about that fact aroused him even more.
“You wanted me to stay?” Wyatt’s eyes flickered to his.
Impaled by his gaze, John realized that this wasn’t part of the dirty talk. Something was telling him that a small part of himself, the sensitive one he had locked down years ago, was demanding to be heard—to speak.
“Always,” John admitted in a rush, cheeks burning from the furious blush staining his cheeks, but he didn’t want to stop and think about how wrong that had been.
How vulnerable. His hand matched Wyatt’s pace, mimicking the hard stroking.
His thighs and cheeks clenched, feeling the build between his legs and the tightening around his balls.
“Me too,” Wyatt replied, his tip leaking over himself. “I want you so fuckin’ bad it hurts.”
John’s heart fluttered like a storm of butterflies through his entire body. His legs widened, body throbbing with pleasure, and something else—something primal, something carnal. “If I were there… I’d be fucking you. God, I wanna fuck you…”
“Yes.”
“I’d bend you over that sink and fuck you so hard that you wouldn’t be able to bend over without feeling me still inside you.”