CHAPTER FOUR

“Hi.” Wyatt shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and tried not to feel like he’d fucked up already by knocking on the front door instead of doing something silly like going to the back of the house.

But mostly he tried the hardest not to stare, because he had definitely not anticipated Ryan opening the door only wearing a pair of low-slung athletic shorts and a thin sheen of sweat on his bare, muscled torso.

“Hi back,” Ryan said, smiling so brightly it dismissed all of Wyatt’s concerns. “Is that all you came with?” he asked, glancing at the duffel bag at Wyatt’s feet.

“I have a few more boxes that are shipping down here next week,” Wyatt admitted. “Other than that, yeah. I like to travel light.”

“Live light too,” Ryan said, and there was definitely an approving light in his dark eyes. “So do I. Come see the house.”

Wyatt wasn’t sure if he and Ryan had different definitions of “living light,” because Ryan definitely had more than a duffel bag and a handful of boxes to his name. The house wasn’t as big as it looked from the street and the gate that protected the driveway from the main road. But everything was clean and simple—lots of modern lines tempered by a worn-in homey quality that Wyatt appreciated.

“Living room,” Ryan said, as Wyatt trailed behind him, trying really hard not to admire the firm roundness of his ass in those clingy shorts. “Dining room, you probably sort of care about that,” he said absently. “And here’s the one room you definitely care about.” Ryan made some cute flourish with his hands and they stepped into the kitchen.

It wasn’t a huge space but it had been well-designed, with a big island for prep, and good, professional-grade appliances. But if he was being honest, if there was one thing that could distract him from high quality appliances, it was a cute boy leaning against them. “Is there a pantry?” Wyatt asked, when he realized he’d been staring—and not even at the kitchen.

He felt the exact same magnetic pull to Ryan that he had that night. He hadn’t really expected it to diminish but he also hadn’t expected it to be blazing stronger than ever. Especially when they still hadn’t addressed any of the growing baggage between them. Attraction didn’t magically make any of that shit disappear, but it sure made it easier to ignore.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Ryan said. He walked past Wyatt, and Wyatt got one whiff of him. No cologne, but something earthy, like sunshine and dirt and grass. Wyatt wanted to know what his sweat tasted like on his tongue, what it felt like against his palms. But he kept his hands and his tongue to himself. Whatever was going to happen with them, there was no point in rushing in before they’d even talked about it.

There was a big pantry, with lots of empty shelves that Wyatt would enjoy filling. “This looks really great, actually.”

Ryan shot him a lopsided, very charming smile. He probably even knew how charming it was, and it still didn’t diminish the sheer wattage of it. “Are you just saying that? You can be honest with me, you know. Like I said last night, I promise no thrown dishes or hissy fits when my meat isn’t precisely the right temperature.”

Wyatt leaned back against the counter and shoved his hands in his pockets. Better to keep them where they needed to be, and not against Ryan’s damp skin. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Ryan flushed, and looked ashamed. That had been Wyatt’s original intention—to remind him that out of the two of them, Ryan had been the only one who’d lied. Despite that, Wyatt couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that he’d brought it up first.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you,” Ryan said. “About the interview, that is. I kept meaning to that night, and then I thought if I did, you’d really just take me home. Would you have?”

Wyatt was pretty sure Ryan already knew the answer to that question. So he deliberately skirted around it. “I don’t want to be a joke or a toy to play with. Especially now that you’re my boss.”

“It’s not like that, I promise.” Ryan sounded and looked very earnest. Trustworthy, even. But Wyatt still wasn’t sure that wasn’t his attraction to him annoyingly surfacing and interfering again.

“Look,” Ryan continued, “it’ll stay separate. The professional stuff, the you’re my boss stuff, and the personal stuff. And for the record, I don’t really consider myself your boss.”

“You pay my salary?” Wyatt pointed out, a little incredulously.

“Well,” Ryan smiled, “technically that’s Eric. And yeah, he’s my agent, but it gives some separation, right?”

Wyatt wasn’t sure he entirely agreed, but the attraction was still flaring up, brightly and almost painfully. He’d come here, hadn’t he? He’d given up his job at Terroir, and packed his bags, and drove here, intending to work for Ryan Flores. And, if he was being really honest with himself, a good part of that was because he’d wanted more. More money and more time with Ryan. Was it so wrong that he might get both in the same position?

“Okay,” Wyatt said, hoping that he wouldn’t regret his agreement later. Hoping that even if he did regret it, that there would be some spectacular memories to make it worth it in the end.

“I guess that means I should show you the ADU,” Ryan said.

“ADU?” Wyatt asked as he followed Ryan out of the kitchen, through the back door, and out to the lawn. There was a cute little cottage set a ways back from the main house, surrounded by flowering bushes and a palm tree.

“Attached dwelling unit,” Ryan said, opening the door and leading Wyatt inside. “Eric said I should have it built when I remodeled the house, in case I wanted someone to stay with me but wanted to make sure we each had our privacy.”

Wyatt was briefly tempted to tell Ryan that he wasn’t sure he needed the privacy. He’d much rather be right in Ryan’s pocket. He’d never considered his first instinct reckless before, but he knew he was acting reckless now.

“Eric seems like a good agent, that way,” Wyatt said instead. Even though he’d done a very good impression of a human being encasing a blood-thirsty piranha the only time they’d ever met.

“Oh, he’s an asshole,” Ryan chuckled. “But he’s my asshole. So it works out. Anyway, this is all yours. No kitchen, other than this little sink, mini fridge and microwave, but feel free to come use the one in the house at any time. I really mean that.”

There was a tiny living room with a flat screen TV and a comfy-looking couch. A separate bedroom with a queen bed and dresser—even a miniature walk-in closet. A bathroom, with a clever closet enclosing a small washer and dryer unit, finished out the cottage.

It was everything Wyatt needed, barring the kitchen, which was just a few steps away.

What he wanted was standing in the kitchenette, examining the contents of the mini fridge.

“I told Gabriela to stock this,” Ryan said, pointing out the empty shelves. “I’ll have to talk to her.”

“I can stock it, it’s not a big deal.” Wyatt was already a little embarrassed at the ridiculous salary that Ryan was paying him, never mind that he was dying to get into his pants again. He didn’t need Ryan to pay for his groceries.

“Gabriela does the housekeeping, and runs the odd errand but she doesn’t live here,” Ryan said. “I don’t really have a personal assistant. If I need help, Eric will usually loan me his. Nicole is intimidatingly efficient so I try to avoid it if I can.”

“So it’s just . . . me and you.” Wyatt tried not to make that sound like an invitation, but he was acutely aware of Ryan’s bare chest and the big fluffy bed in the next room. It was impossible not to think of what they could do in it. After all, it had been so good when it was just Wyatt’s bike and a swath of gravel. The bed opened up endless possibilities that had Wyatt’s head swimming and his cock half-erect in his jeans.

“Yep.” Ryan smiled brightly. He seemed just as happy about this turn of events as Wyatt.

Wyatt wanted to reach over and pull Ryan against him, their first kiss and its incendiary intensity in sharp, perfect detail in his mind. The second, he knew, would be even better. The third might outdo every kiss he’d ever experienced before.

It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t kissed Ryan yet. He didn’t want this to be a casual, hookup sort of thing. He wanted to show Ryan that he wanted more. More than just a quick afternoon in bed together. Or a quick ride up in the Hills followed by a convenient blowjob.

And everything tempered by the sobering realization that Ryan was his boss. He’d never wanted to blow his boss before.

“We should talk about expectations,” Wyatt said, dropping his duffel on the floor and digging out a worn pad from the side. He’d written a list of questions he’d needed to ask last night, after ducking out on his own farewell party.

“Expectations? You feed me when I want food. That’s about it,” Ryan said, and even though Wyatt didn’t like the tiny crease forming Ryan’s brows, he forged on.

This was stuff he needed to know to do his job. And for what Ryan was paying him, he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities or his duties, all because he was desperate to get into his boss’ pants.

“Expectations sounds more formal than I was intending,” Wyatt confessed. “I just have a long list of questions, basically.”

“Questions?” Ryan frowned. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow. Tonight’s your first night in LA. It’s nice out; let’s go for a drive. And this time we’ll take my bike.”

“Oh, uh, okay, sure.” His first day at Terroir, Bastian Aquino definitely hadn’t invited him out. Or issued the invitation with quite that fiery glint in his eye either. Ryan definitely looked like he was up to something. Wyatt might still be unsure, but he didn’t think he had the willpower to turn this man down.

“I’ll take a quick shower, and then we’ll head out,” Ryan said. “Feel free to settle in.”

Settle in while Ryan was in the shower? Naked and dripping wet and only half a house away? Wyatt felt his temperature spike at the thought.

“I think I’m going to take a quick inventory in the kitchen,” Wyatt said, because that felt so much safer than fantasizing about joining Ryan in the shower.

———

Wyatt was headfirst in a cupboard, cataloging mixing bowls, when he felt a warm hand rest on his back.

“Find everything you needed?” Ryan asked when Wyatt straightened. The athletic shorts had been swapped for a pair of jeans tight enough they made his heart thump harder. He’d done something cute and swoopy to his hair, and he smelled delectable, like spicy vanilla. Wyatt’s mouth watered, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of his own faded jeans and old t-shirt.

He hadn’t dressed to go out. Or to impress a cute guy, even though he’d known Ryan would probably be here. He’d dressed to drive six hours on his bike, and hadn’t put anymore thought into it. Maybe he should have, instead of spending the last twenty minutes digging through Ryan’s kitchen drawers and cupboards.

“You have the basics,” Wyatt said, trailing after Ryan as they headed towards the garage. “I’m probably going to have to pick up some stuff.”

Ryan seemed completely unconcerned by this, and Wyatt felt an awkward, embarrassed pulse at the acute financial gap between them. Ryan had enough money he didn’t have to keep track, while Wyatt scraped by, even now with the increased salary.

That feeling when Ryan opened the garage door, a light shining down on a Range Rover, a Bentley, and a Tesla. And a really sweet street bike that had clearly been modified for speed, and then painted a flat, sexy matte black. In a pair of leathers, Ryan would look like fucking Batman.

It made Wyatt’s serviceable bike look like garbage in comparison. And even though Ryan never seemed to compare, Wyatt couldn’t help doing it.

Ryan passed by the cars without a second glance and pulled a sleek black helmet from a cubby on the wall. He extended the helmet Wyatt’s direction. “You up for it?” he asked, that sly challenge back in his eyes.

It wasn’t a question of what Wyatt was up for, but if the night would end without Wyatt getting everything he was up for.

He grabbed the helmet, and slid it on, watching as Ryan picked up another one, and did the same.

Ryan was maybe only an inch shorter, with slightly narrower shoulders, but it felt just as good to climb on the bike behind him as it had to feel Ryan’s arms wrapped around him. It gave him hope that Ryan might echo his own versatile preferences.

Sliding his own hands around Ryan’s waist, he let one drift down and feel the flexing muscle of his thigh as he pulled the bike out of the garage. Ryan’s glance backwards was bright and challenging.

It shouldn’t have surprised Wyatt that Ryan liked to go fast; after all, he’d seen the collection of cars, even though he only had a vague idea of what they were capable of. Wyatt knew more about motorcycles, and had definitely known this was custom and tuned for speed, but he still wasn’t expecting the way Ryan floored it when they pulled onto the freeway.

The acceleration pushed Ryan’s body more firmly into the cradle of Wyatt’s, and he knew there was no way Ryan was going to miss how hard he was, cock aching in his jeans. He wanted everything they’d had last time they’d been on a bike like this, and so much more.

But while Ryan seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere—weaving in and out of the traffic on the freeway, expertly maneuvering the bike even with the extra weight on it—he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go somewhere specific. They hit Highway 1, and even the early evening traffic didn’t seem to phase Ryan.

The sun was setting, the sky ablaze with color as they headed further up the coast, and to his surprise, Ryan did finally pull off the road, but not towards an abandoned parking lot, but to a busy taqueria with a nearly full parking lot.

He stopped the bike with a spray of gravel, and pulled off his helmet, grinning like a loon. Wyatt reluctantly removed his hands from Ryan’s waist, and took off his own helmet.

“And I thought I drove fast,” Wyatt teased, pushing his hair back.

Ryan winced. “I might like speed a little too much.”

“The adrenaline can be addictive,” Wyatt acknowledged.

“Yeah,” Ryan admitted. “You been here before?” he asked, gesturing to the building behind them.

The last thing Wyatt had expected was for Ryan to take him to a restaurant. But here they were. Wyatt shook his head, wondering if he should ask Ryan what the hell he was thinking.

“I haven’t. I’m assuming I’m off the clock,” Wyatt said, because he couldn’t just let it go, not the way Ryan did. Probably because Ryan had all the advantages here, and almost certainly kept forgetting that Wyatt didn’t have any.

“Of course you are.” Ryan grinned recklessly. “Though maybe the apprentice has something to teach the master?”

“Master of what?” Wyatt scoffed. “You definitely know how to handle yourself on that bike.”

“Master of good food, duh,” Ryan said, slinging his helmet under his arm. “This place makes the best tacos in Southern California. Pretty good view, too.”

Wyatt didn’t even pretend to look out at Malibu, spread out underneath them. “Yeah, I really like it.”

Ryan flushed. “You wanted to ask me some questions. I figured it might be good to grab some food.”

“I’m not complaining. If you want to feed me, I’m not going to stop you,” he teased back. If Ryan was going to act like this was a date, then he wasn’t going to stop him from doing that either. In fact, he could definitely hold his own, if that’s what this was.

Not everything had to be so black and white—either professionally or personally. Weren’t the best things a gray-hued combination of both? Wyatt reminded himself of his good friend Miles and his boyfriend, Evan, who worked and loved and fought together, sometimes all at once.

If they could do it, then Wyatt could too, especially if it was Ryan he was doing it with.

There was a lengthy line at the little shack, and a lot of the picnic tables were already full of people enjoying their tacos. Wyatt half-expected someone to recognize Ryan, but everyone ignored them.

“I keep expecting everyone here to mow me down to get to you,” Wyatt half-joked. “Am I going to end up being part-chef, part-bodyguard?”

Ryan shot him an incredulous look as they settled in the back of the line. “Please, I’m definitely not that famous. If Eric ever tried to saddle me with a bodyguard, I’d laugh in his face. Or something worse, like question his manhood or his net worth.”

“You don’t ever get people who recognize you?” Wyatt had known who Ryan was instantly, but then he’d been touched and undeniably impacted three years ago when Ryan had come out of the closet. Also he’d definitely thought he was hot back then. That feeling hadn’t changed three years later, when he’d found him at Temple and had spent too many hours staring at him.

“I’m a baseball player, not a celebrity.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Every once in a while, yeah, I get someone who wants a selfie or an autograph, but it doesn’t really happen all that often. Eric probably wishes it happened more. He’s always wanting me to sign more deals to raise my public profile, but like I said, I’m a baseball player, not a fucking influencer, or whatever they call those assholes who take impossible Instagram pictures. If I’m going to take pictures it’s going to be of all the sick places I visit.”

“You like to travel?” Wyatt asked. He kept trying to ignore how much like a first date this felt like, but it kept cropping up. But the truth was, however it felt, he wanted to get to know Ryan.

“Confession,” Ryan said, leaning closer, and nudging his shoulder against Wyatt’s, “it’s one of my favorite parts of being a baseball player. We don’t get a lot of time in cities, sometimes, but every place just feels different, you know? And it’s an experience to be in every single one.”

Wyatt wished he did know, but he didn’t. He’d worked his ass off getting through culinary school, had spent some time in Chicago, then Portland, and then had gotten the job at Terroir, and had jumped at the chance to come back to California. But his truth was that he’d barely ever left California since he was born, and even though he felt a little wistful at the thought of exploring the world and all the culinary delights it had to offer, he’d never really felt the lack of travel.

“I haven’t really traveled much,” Wyatt confessed. “Not much opportunity.”

Ryan’s smile was bright and infectious. “Maybe we can change that.”

Wyatt didn’t really understand how he could do that; it wasn’t like Wyatt was going to go with Ryan on road trips as his personal chef. And that was the whole issue, wasn’t it? Ryan had never defined his job role, and Wyatt had a feeling that wouldn’t change. Ryan wasn’t really a definer. He liked the adrenaline rush of making it up as he went.

“We’d better figure out our order,” Wyatt suggested, gesturing towards the menu. “What do you usually get?”

Ryan rattled off half a dozen types of tacos, and added, with a lopsided grin, “And definitely beer. I wasn’t supposed to drink during the season so I definitely want a beer with my tacos.”

“Let’s get a bucket then,” Wyatt suggested. “We can share. And I definitely want to try those authentic shrimp tacos. And the al pastor.”

When they were about to get to the register, Ryan shooed him away, with directions to find a table. Wyatt decided that he didn’t care if Ryan bought him some tacos and a beer. It was fine. It didn’t mean this was a date. It didn’t mean anything, necessarily. It was a guy welcoming his new employee. Except it hadn’t felt precisely professional when they’d been pressed together on his bike earlier, and it wouldn’t feel that way on the way home either. Especially with Wyatt desperate for Ryan to pull over for every dark corner.

Ryan ventured over to the table Wyatt had found with his very capable hands filled with plates and the bucket of beers dangling from one finger.

It shouldn’t have reminded Wyatt of the other night, but pretty much everything reminded Wyatt of the other night. The way Ryan walked, the way he smiled—brighter now, and more spontaneously—the way he bit his lip or wet it with his tongue, and definitely his strong, calloused hands.

“Food,” Ryan crowed with excitement, sliding the paper plates across the table. “And beer!”

“Do you think there’s anyone on the planet who doesn’t like tacos?” Wyatt asked, digging a chip into the salsa verde, heat prickling his tongue as the jalapeños hit his taste buds. “Tacos are god’s food.”

“Tacos are amazing,” Ryan agreed.

“What else do you like to eat?” Wyatt asked, squeezing a lime over his shrimp tacos.

Ryan glanced up, attention distracted from the food in front of him. “Is this part of the interrogation? Should I find my handcuffs?”

Wyatt thought Ryan would be sufficiently pleased at how his heartbeat picked up at the mention of his handcuffs. “No,” he scoffed wryly. “I promise, it’ll be fine. Just a few questions. I definitely find that food is a personal thing. Besides, I want to prevent you from tossing your meal at me, and keep your broken-plate rule intact.”

“It’s not going to be hard,” Ryan said. “I’m really laid-back about food. Most of the time, I don’t really care, honestly. Just put it in front of me, and I’ll eat it.”

Wyatt was skeptical but maybe that was from a history of working at the most exacting restaurant in America. “Okay, tell me this. When it’s just you, what do you eat? Start with breakfast.”

“A banana? An orange? Sometimes a mango or a papaya if I can get my hands on it. I like to buy those pre-boiled eggs from the store for protein. Maybe a frozen turkey sausage or two, if I’m feeling like making the effort.”

Wyatt had seen Ryan’s kitchen and how pristine it was. He had a feeling Ryan very infrequently “made the effort.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t mention any protein shakes,” Wyatt said, swallowing a big bite of fantastic fresh and spicy shrimp. He’d done a little research, and the shakes seemed to be the ubiquitous item that most athletes imbibed.

Ryan’s grin was too cute, all lopsided and embarrassed. “Those go without saying. I like to put low-fat peanut butter in mine.”

“Smooth or chunky?”

Ryan choked on his beer. “Oh, smooth.” An unholy glint lit his dark eyes. “Very smooth.”

Wyatt had to swallow hard, even though he wasn’t even eating at that moment. “Noted.”

“But you’re not writing anything down?” Ryan teased.

“I have a feeling I won’t have any trouble remembering any of this. So far, it’s not exactly complicated. What about lunch or dinner?”

“Eric is going to be really happy that I hired someone who takes his job so seriously,” Ryan said. “I don’t really care, honestly. Feed me something. Whatever you feel you want to make. October and November, I don’t worry too much about what I’m eating, though towards Thanksgiving, I’m going to have to watch it a little, because I have an Adidas commercial shoot. And knowing Eric, who’s arranging the whole thing, they’ll have me mostly naked.”

Wyatt’s cheeks heated at the thought of all that bare skin. Except he wasn’t picturing it on an Adidas set, he was picturing it in his bed, with Ryan raising his eyebrow the same he had the night they’d met. Daring Wyatt to do everything he wanted.

Maybe a pair of those handcuffs of Ryan’s thrown in for good measure.

He was all quicksilver heat, hot and swift but possibly not lasting. Considering that Wyatt already wanted more, he wasn’t sure he could settle for what Ryan might give him.

Who am I kidding? Wyatt asked himself. He was going to take anything Ryan would give him, love every second, and then somehow deal with it when it ended.

Maybe if he did a really great job, Ryan might keep him on after, no matter how wretched that would feel. It wasn’t something to look forward to, but Wyatt needed the money.

“Everything okay?” Ryan asked, pulling Wyatt out of his depressing thoughts. Thinking about flings ending before they even began, worrying about fallout and finances.

Wyatt grimaced. “Sorry, just got distracted.”

“I must not be entertaining you enough,” Ryan insisted, and suddenly, there was his foot, his boot nudging Wyatt’s. And even through two layers of leather, the impact blasted through him. It wasn’t the first time Ryan had touched him since he’d arrived, but this wasn’t just a simple touch. It had a purpose and intent.

I’m going to touch you a lot more tonight.

“I don’t have any complaints so far,” Wyatt said, a little teasing edge to his voice.

“You’d tell me if you did, right?” Ryan asked.

Wyatt toyed with a chip, crumbling it onto his empty plate. “Why wouldn’t I?”

The truth was Wyatt was curious why Ryan had suddenly decided he needed a private chef when he didn’t even have a personal assistant, but that wasn’t exactly a complaint. Besides, Wyatt had a feeling he’d discover the truth eventually, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it.

The secrecy alone should turn him off, but he was in too deep. It was that blasted attraction, rearing its head again.

“You would,” Ryan confirmed. “I’m just . . . maybe you’re not being entertaining enough.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “That’s something you’re going to have to get used to, unfortunately. I’m pretty boring.”

“You like to cook, but what else do you do for fun?”

“In high school, I surfed,” Wyatt said. “I’ve been wanting to get back to it.”

“I know a lot of good spots. Maybe we can go together sometime,” Ryan said. “I don’t get to go during the season much, so I need to get all this in before spring training starts. So, cooking, surfing. And your bike. What else makes Wyatt Blake tick?”

If Wyatt hadn’t already acknowledged this felt like a first date, he definitely would have thought it now. “The first thing I try to do if I have any free time is see my nana. We’re really close.”

“Cooking, surfing, your motorcycle, and Nana’s boy.” Ryan sounded approving, and he was smiling. “Never mind that sound you make when you lose control. How is a guy like you single?”

Wyatt didn’t want to talk about it. He definitely didn’t want to talk about it with Ryan, who had taken the chance to come out at the most impactful moment in his career.

“You finished?” he asked, getting to his feet. His voice sounded rough, a little of his desperation leaking into it. Desperation to avoid the question. Desperation to get Ryan naked underneath him, on top of him—whichever, Wyatt didn’t even care.

Ryan’s dark eyes were knowing as they stared up at him. “With the food, yeah. With you, not quite.”

“Then let’s go,” Wyatt said.

He never would have dreamed of voicing that sort of demand to his old boss, but it was becoming very clear that his old job and his new job were fundamentally different. Ryan kept saying he was nothing like Bastian Aquino, and maybe it was time to hold him to that. Ryan had also claimed they could keep their professional and personal lives separate, and had driven that point home by taking him out to dinner tonight. So, he was off the clock, right?

Wyatt scooped up the empty plates and tossed them in the trash on his way to the parking lot, hoping that Ryan was trailing after him.

He could hear footsteps behind him, and it was all the confirmation he needed to drop his helmet on the seat, and wrap one hand around Ryan’s waist and pull him close. “This what you had in mind?” he demanded, right before he kissed him.

He hadn’t been able to forget how intensely Ryan had kissed him the other night, and even though at the time he’d believed he’d given as good as he got, it was impossible not to catalogue every missed moment.

This time Wyatt wasn’t going to miss a thing.

His mouth covered Ryan’s, his arm pulling him tight against him, and he let him know explicitly, with his lips and his tongue, just how much he’d wanted him the last few days. That he hadn’t stopped wanting him, that he’d wanted him even before he’d dropped him off at his front gate.

All Ryan’s teasing had done was push him to a point of desperation—a point of no return. He didn’t care if it was over tomorrow morning or next week or next year. He just wanted as much of Ryan as he could get, in whatever time they had.

Ryan broke away, panting, but Wyatt didn’t let up. His lips only shifted to his neck, feeling the pulse point there racing. Ryan definitely wanted him just as much. His cock was a hard, burning pressure against Wyatt’s thigh, and he kept shifting a little, like he was just as desperate to take the strain off. But Wyatt wasn’t going to let him go that easily.

“You didn’t even let me finish my beer,” Ryan said, and his voice was breathless.

“I’ll buy you another one,” Wyatt said, between kisses against the soft skin just behind Ryan’s ear. Soft and sensitive, if the way Ryan kept squirming was any indication.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Ryan laughed, and it was still breathless. “How am I supposed to drive home like this?”

“Like I’ve been,” Wyatt said, pushing his thigh right against Ryan’s cock. “Like I’ve been wanting and suffering.”

“Suffering?” Ryan’s voice went higher. “That does sound serious.”

Wyatt made sure that all his desire was in his eyes as he looked straight at him. “Oh, it is.”

“Maybe we should . . . uh . . . try to help you out, then?” Ryan questioned.

“I’m a pretty relaxed guy,” Wyatt admitted. “Until you drive me crazy.”

Ryan laughed, and it was the exact laugh that Wyatt had been dying to hear since the first moment he’d seen him sitting and bored at Temple. “I guess I have been entertaining you, then.”

“You have no idea,” Wyatt muttered.

Ryan licked his lips, and Wyatt felt a pulse of something at the sudden nervous hesitation in Ryan’s eyes. “Why don’t you show me?”

———

They needed to make it back to his house in one piece though, so Ryan deliberately didn’t think about it.

He didn’t think about Wyatt’s hands on him, clasped tightly around his waist, his thighs and stomach pressed firmly against his body.

He didn’t think about how insistently and passionately Wyatt had expressed what he wanted. He definitely didn’t think about the kiss they’d shared in the taqueria parking lot, or he probably would have said fuck it, pulled off the road, and let Wyatt demolish him in public with not a single damn ounce of shame.

But it would be worth the wait. Ryan believed that, and believed that the adrenaline spiking through his blood at the possessive curl of Wyatt’s fingers into his leather jacket were going to mean fantastic things.

Wyatt had passively let him take over last time, barely issuing a single protest when Ryan had sunk to his knees in the gravel. He’d hoped that it wouldn’t be like that every time, that Wyatt might appeal to the adventurous side of him that craved something different.

And Wyatt, without even having a clue, had done exactly that, yanking back the power between them in one smooth move.

Ryan pulled into the garage, and flipped off the engine. Wyatt didn’t move immediately, but stayed where he was, pressing even closer into him, until Ryan didn’t know where his legs ended and Wyatt’s began. His fingers dug beneath his t-shirt, but instead of the rough touch he’d expected, his fingertips were featherlight on his abs, stroking all the skin they could reach, then meandering up to circle a nipple.

The visor in his helmet was fogging over, and Ryan felt lightheaded with desire, all the blood in his body rushing south. He moved restlessly against the leather seat, but Wyatt’s hands were suddenly clamped around him, holding him immobile in place.

Ryan’s hands clenched around his helmet, and he yanked it off. “Don’t move,” Wyatt said, and to Ryan’s surprise, somehow he’d pulled his own off, even though it felt like his hands, those dynamite hands, had never left his body.

“Why not?” Ryan demanded, a little petulantly. If they weren’t going to move off the bike, they could have taken care of this raging inferno of desire thirty minutes ago.

“Because I have too many plans for you to get off so easily,” Wyatt said softly in a gravelly voice that Ryan was going to be using to get himself off for probably the next fifty years. He’d known Wyatt had a sexy voice, had experienced it on their last late-night drive, and felt the visceral impact of it during the interview. Had wanted to call him half a dozen times until Wyatt had showed up here this afternoon.

And now hearing it ordering hell and promising heaven was almost too much for Ryan.

“I’ll be good,” he swore, too far gone to care how shaky his voice was.

“You’d better be,” Wyatt said. “Drop your helmet.”

Ryan did as instructed, not even caring as the heavy plastic clattered onto the garage floor. Normally he took good care of his equipment, but right now, he didn’t give a damn.

He felt the loss of Wyatt sliding off the bike, his back and ass suddenly cool without the heat of Wyatt pressed against him. “Get off the bike,” Wyatt continued.

Ryan had strong knees. Non-surgically impacted knees. He still felt them shake as he dismounted.

“Good,” Wyatt said from behind him. It was dim in the garage with only the emergency night light on, and he could only feel him, not see him.

“I told you I’d be good,” Ryan said.

“Remains to be seen,” Wyatt said. “Take me to your bedroom.”

He hadn’t said a word about hands, and normally Ryan wouldn’t have, but he reached out and grasped Wyatt’s hand. He’d asked Ryan to lead, and so Ryan was going to lead. Plus it felt good to finally be touching Wyatt back. Not nearly as much as he wanted to, but the strong clasp of his hand in Wyatt’s was still a flood of sensation.

He led Wyatt through his dark house, not turning on a single light, to the master bedroom. He kicked his boots off and Wyatt followed suit. He’d deliberately omitted this part of the house in his tour earlier, imagining that they’d have sex in Wyatt’s little cottage. He rarely ever invited anyone to his own bed—it always felt too personal for a hookup—but Ryan found he wanted it to be personal. He felt a little shaky with nerves, at how this whole evening had developed, even though he’d been subtly pushing Wyatt to see how far he could be pushed.

He hadn’t really imagined what it would be like when Wyatt pushed back.

Wyatt hadn’t issued any other instructions when they reached the bedroom, so Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, and just watched him. Wyatt flipped a bedside lamp on, barely even fumbling for the switch. “I want to see you,” was all the explanation he gave. The light glinted on his blond hair, shadowing his cheekbones, and full lips.

“Then see me,” Ryan said, pulling off his jacket, and then his shirt, dropping the clothes where they fell.

Wyatt took a step into the V of Ryan’s legs, and kissed him again, so much like he’d kissed him in the parking lot, like he was starving and Ryan was a meal he couldn’t wait to devour.

His tongue was hot and insistent in Ryan’s mouth, pushing his head back, until they both fell back onto the bed together. Ryan pulled up on Wyatt’s shirt, dragging it over his head. “Too many clothes,” he panted into Wyatt’s mouth. He blindly rutted right onto Wyatt’s crotch, feeling he was just as hard as Ryan was.

Ryan trailed his hands down Wyatt’s chest, his abs, his waist. He wasn’t an athlete, but like he’d said their first hookup, he was powerful. Strong. Built like a linebacker, almost. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, strong arms, thighs Ryan could have wept over.

“You want me to take your clothes off?” Wyatt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You take them, or I’ll take them,” Ryan said, a little aware at how close to begging he was.

“That’s an easy decision, then,” Wyatt said, and he unbuttoned Ryan’s jeans and lowered the zipper, making quick work of them, leaving him in his boxer briefs.

“I’m taking my time with you tonight,” Wyatt announced after Ryan had reached up to kiss him again, derailing any more clothing removal.

“Whatever you want, just get on with it,” Ryan panted. Wyatt cupped his hard bulge, Ryan’s head falling back against the pillow. “Yeah, just like that.”

“Don’t want anything else, just my hand?” Wyatt teased, an unholy light in his light-blue eyes. “I’m a little disappointed.”

“I want it all,” Ryan panted as Wyatt pulled his briefs down. “I want you to fuck me.”

The smug look on Wyatt’s face was such a turn-on, Ryan had to bite his own lip.

“I was hoping you’d want that,” Wyatt said.

Wyatt didn’t know that Ryan almost never asked for it. That even for someone who liked the adrenaline rush of a risky thrill, he almost never trusted anyone to do it. Never trusted anyone to take care of it. But he trusted Wyatt, which was crazy because he was still practically a stranger.

A stranger that Ryan had lied to and persuaded to practically move into his house. He shoved that thought away. “What are you waiting for? Lube and condoms, in the drawer,” he panted, eyes glued to the thick bulge in Wyatt’s jeans as he perched on the bed.

Ryan was afraid Wyatt would hesitate, and his hesitation would impact Ryan’s certainty, but he opened the drawer and pulled out the required items, but still didn’t finish shedding his own clothes. From the flex of his abs as he positioned himself between Ryan’s legs, it was clear how turned on he was, but he didn’t make a move to take his pants off.

Ryan squirmed as Wyatt trailed a finger up his hard, aching cock. Like earlier, when Ryan was expecting a rougher, more intense touch, he only got a delicate, exploratory one. Like Wyatt was trying to catalog him and every single one of his reactions.

“More,” he straight-up begged now. “Give me more.”

Wyatt’s eyes darkened. “I’ll give you more,” he vowed, this time his finger trailing back down, past Ryan’s balls, circling his hole.

Ryan thought he might have to beg again for something more than that light, exploratory touch. But like Wyatt had presented at the interview, he was a genius with his hands. Admittedly, he’d promised he was great with his hands in the kitchen, but he could have also sold them as genius in bed too, because it was the most mind-blowing prep of Ryan’s life.

By the time Wyatt had worked a second finger alongside the first, he had found his prostate and was wringing moans Ryan would have been embarrassed about if it didn’t feel so good. He was desperate for more, desperate to come, desperate to feel something more lasting than just the ephemeral brush of Wyatt’s fingertips against his spot.

He knew Wyatt could give him more, and was just holding back. “I can take it, I promise,” Ryan begged, too aware of the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “God, give it to me, please.”

Wyatt didn’t budge, didn’t go any faster than the inexorable, painfully good teasing of the past few minutes. “If you come now, can you come later?” he asked, his voice soft, but hard at the edges. The same desperation that Ryan was dying from.

He pushed harder, even though he wasn’t sure he could. Wyatt’s fingers felt like magic, his cock probably would feel even better. “Sure, yes, just . . . please fuck me.”

“One more finger,” Wyatt coaxed, and slid a third in with the other two, but still just barely grazed against the spot that kept Ryan swearing a blue streak.

“God damnit,” Ryan yelled. He’d never been happier for the advice of the contractor in charge of his remodel who had suggested better soundproof insulation.

The contractor had probably been thinking about loud movies or wild parties. Except Ryan was taking advantage by having loud and very close to wild sex, if Wyatt fucking Blake would ever fucking get on with it.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Ryan babbled. “I promise.” He’d known Wyatt was going to be good in bed, but nothing had prepared him for the reality.

“Not quite,” Wyatt said, and leaned down, and took Ryan’s cock in one long suck right at the same time he suddenly pressed against the spot he’d barely been dancing around all night. Ryan barely had a second to screech before he was coming so hard he saw white spots at the edges of his vision, pleasure coursing through him like a gigantic wave.

“You promised,” Wyatt reminded him, suddenly leaving him empty of fingers and, wiping his mouth on the back of his other hand. And that was all the warning Ryan got before he lined up and slid right in.

Ryan didn’t even remember when he’d taken his pants off, and suddenly full of a really great cock, he realized he didn’t care. Wyatt could be a fucking pants magician, and everything was still great.

Wyatt pulled back and thrust, hard, and everything wasn’t just great, it was fucking fantastic. A little sensitive, a little raw, a little too much but still exactly what he wanted.

After the first few strokes, Wyatt pulled out and flipped him over, and Ryan went, like the limp raggedy doll Wyatt had turned him into. And then holding his head against the bed, one hand against his neck, the other at his hip, proceeded to fuck him into oblivion.

Ryan would be embarrassed at the sounds he was making, but Wyatt was grunting plenty too, spouting lots of sappy gibberish that Ryan would wish later that he could remember.

But all he remembered later was the feel of Wyatt’s cock pounding into him, dismantling him from the inside out. And just when he thought it was all too much, and he was about to beg for something—not for him to stop, not for him to keep going, but some unknown action that he didn’t even know—Wyatt wrapped a hand around his cock, gave him a few strokes, and Ryan managed to come all over himself for the second time that night.

He barely registered Wyatt’s following bellow, or how his fingers clamped down hard on his neck. It took him a long moment to even remember his own name.

“You are a maniac,” Ryan said, as Wyatt came back to bed from disposing the condom. He had found a washcloth and had wet it. The water was even warm, Ryan marveled as he took it and wiped down.

“You seemed to like it okay,” Wyatt said with a blush and a self-deprecating shrug that made it even sexier. He wasn’t naturally that intense; Ryan just brought it out of him. They brought it out of each other.

“It was some of the best sex I’ve ever had. If not the best sex,” Ryan admitted. His brain-to-mouth filter was gone, obliterated by two fantastic, world-destroying orgasms.

Wyatt blushed again, and then shocked the hell out of Ryan for about the millionth time that night by leaning over and giving him a sweet, affectionate kiss. “You’re welcome,” he said when he pulled away.

“I believe,” Ryan said, reaching for his boxer briefs, even though moving seemed very overrated, “that you owe me a beer. And there’s some in the fridge, with our name on them.”

Wyatt didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands without being able to shove them in his pants pockets. Ryan wasn’t surprised to see him reach for his jeans, like he needed the comfort they provided. “I could go for a beer.”

Maybe a beer would give Ryan the liquid courage he’d need tell Wyatt that he wanted him to be his fake boyfriend, with all the real benefits they’d just enjoyed.

But he knew, as he slipped down the hall towards the kitchen, shirtless with jeans hanging at his hips, that he wouldn’t ask tonight. Maybe he’d find his courage tomorrow. Because he suddenly wasn’t sure that Wyatt was going to settle for a fake relationship, even with the real benefits.