“Dr. Sawyer.”
Wyatt blinked and shook his head, “No. She’s incredible, but we’re just friends.”
He sat forward, deciding to be brave for five fucking seconds and just tell Donnelly the truth. After all, he had been honest with him. “I um… prefer… men.”
Donnelly stared for half a second longer than usual, and Wyatt saw his eyes darken before sliding down to glance at his lips, chest exhaling before he immediately drew back, pushing his forearms off the bar top, creating space between them.
Wyatt noted his knee hadn’t moved, though.
Not yet.
All he had to do was widen his legs another inch, and they would be touching.
Because Dr. Donnelly—in that split second—had considered kissing him, and Wyatt saw it like an exposed vein. Real and pulsing, and full of life.
Fuck me.
Gasoline pouring rapidly into his bloodstream, Wyatt’s voice grated as he said, “I, uh, figured it out when I was a teen on my father’s ranch. I grew up on a dude ranch, surrounded by desert and mountains, horses and cowboys. Lots and lots of cowboys.” He glanced sideways at Donnelly and saw that he had leaned forward again, that half-hearted smile dancing on his lips, appearing relaxed once more.
Feeling braver, Wyatt continued. “I had plenty of crushes, but none of the cowboys stayed too long—a season or two at most. Probably because my dad is such a hard ass. But, one day, when I had just turned nineteen, I…” he cleared his throat, stunned he was admitting this story, but it felt right. Easy even—with him. “I seduced one of my dad’s ranch hands.”
Donnelly’s jaw unhinged, and he covered it quickly with a hand, looking amused.
Wyatt smirked, “What?”
He shrugged, looking thoughtful, “You don’t seem the type.”
“To seduce ranch hands?”
He nodded, revealing his smile as he laughed.
“I couldn’t stop myself,” Wyatt admitted. “I used to think all these handsome cowboys coming in and out of my dad’s ranch had turned me gay. Their uncompromising work ethics, their values, the waythey used their hands…” his eyes, unable to resist the temptation, looked at Dr. Donnelly’s hands. Strong, sure hands that grew steadier under pressure.
He wondered how they would feel on his body, tracing over the seam of his lips, the groove of his backside, the length of his cock…
He glanced up and stilled, their eyes colliding.
“I figured out that I had a type…” Wyatt drawled, intentionally dropping his tone into a seductive rasp. “Cowboys, much older cowboys, that had hands of steel and beards that I could sink my fingers into.”
Donnelly made a sound from the back of his throat, his nostrils releasing a hard breath, as he quickly looked away. He knew he was treading a fine line, but at that moment, Wyatt didn’t care. He liked seeing the faint blush on his captain’s cheeks.
“My dad found me in the barn with one of his seasonal cowboys,” he continued, tone lightening, wanting to relax Donnelly again. He had to take this slow, he thought. He didn’t want to spook his controlled, tightly wound captain. “It was my first time, and I was butt ass naked, and a happy, ruined mess. Right then and there, my dad disowned me. Kicked me out. My aunts let me stay with them until I got accepted into UCLA. I’ve been doing everything on my own ever since.”
“I’m sorry,” Donnelly said.
“It’s all right. I still love my dad even though he’s—well, an asshole.”
“Not everyone could do that,” Donnelly breathed quietly, and as if seeing him for the first time, he said, “You’re a good man, Lawson.”
Donnelly’s hand casually grasped the back of Wyatt’s shoulder, fingers brushing along his neck. Wyatt closed his eyes, arms braced on the cool marble bar top. His entire body, every fiber, every muscle, heated under the simple touch. He felt the vibrating awareness pulsating between them and knew, with absolute certainty, that he would be replacing the paramedic who was supposed to be in Dr. Donnelly’s bed tonight. That thought alone stirred something inside him. Unable to deny himself any longer, he leaned into Donnelly’s touch, the bottom of his chin grazing his strong fingers, and he melted into him.
Donnelly let out a strained breath, and Wyatt’s eyes shot open and saw the desire—the lust etched in the lines of his face.
Wyatt trembled, feeling Donnelly’s fingers slip upwards, capturing his jaw, and the rough pad of his thumb grazing tantalizingly close to his lips.
Oh, fuck yes.
He stopped breathing, waiting for more, needing more. Feeling his stomach clench, Wyatt leaned even deeper into the touch and dipped his chin downward, forcing Donnelly’s thumb over his lips. Heat flooded his limbs as his tongue slipped out, licking the pad of his thumb, desperate to take it fully into his mouth and suck.
