And damn, did he want to suck this man down until there was nothing but grunting, gasping curses. Wyatt couldn’t stop the weak noise that escaped from the back of his throat, which Donnelly heard, and he quickly snatched his hand back, eyes fully dilated with the same scorching lust that rippled through Wyatt’s body. Both men breathed heavily, knowing they were inches away from crossing the line.
“That was wrong,” Donnelly said, his voice hardening. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“You always touch me,” Wyatt replied, letting his leg drop and brush against his beneath the bar top. The older man stiffened but didn’t retract. “I like it…”
Donnelly scrubbed a hand over his lips, unable to keep his gaze away, seeming just as transfixed as Wyatt felt.
“I want you to touch me every time you walk by,” Wyatt admitted. “I—I ache for it.”
Donnelly let out a shaky groan, laced with the same desperation Wyatt felt coursing through his body.
That simple, breathy groan unraveled whatever last resistance he had left to reason.
Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the clear, stark hunger reflected in Donnelly’s face. Maybe it was this reckless, vulnerable moment. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Wyatt was ready to worship at the altar of his captain and take more than his thumb deeper into his mouth if he’d let him.
Wyatt, feeling bold, slipped his hand beneath the bar, clasping Donnelly’s thigh, squeezing through the layer of material. Donnelly stiffened instantly as though he’d burned him, but he didn’t jerk away. Instead, without looking, hefirmly grasped Wyatt’s hand. He waited for Donnelly to fling him away, but was surprised when he squeezed him.
Was he giving in?
Or fighting it? Wyatt couldn’t tell, and it bothered the hell out of him.
“No one has to know,” Wyatt murmured.
Donnelly closed his eyes, conflict tightening around his lips, his jaw clenching.
Say yes.
Don’t think about how wrong this is for both of us.
Don’t think—just say yes and give us both what we want.
“Thanks for the offer, Lawson, but we both know that’s not possible.” He released him, shifted fully away, and signaled for the bartender. “Put our drinks on my room, please,” Donnelly instructed the bartender, smoothly getting to his feet. “Have a good night, Lawson.”
The dismissal was so casual, yet so dispassionate, that it left him confused.
Wyatt watched as Donnelly headed toward the hotel lobby elevators, his heart pounding.
No fucking way. He was not ending the night getting rejected by a man who clearly wanted the same thing he did. And if Wyatt was good at anything, he was good at chasing after what he wanted.
He slammed down the rest of his whiskey, preparing for the chase. Maybe it was insanity. Whatever it was, he was going to try again because images of Dr. Donnelly sitting alone at the bar, and then sitting alone in the hotel room, would not be tolerated.
Wyatt was on his feet in an instant, running after him.
Donnelly slammed his finger into the elevator button, the only person in the hotel hallway this late at night.
“Wait,” Wyatt said, breathing fast from the adrenaline pooling in his chest.
Donnelly shook his head, “I’m not interested, Lawson. Besides, it crosses so many ethical boundaries…”
The elevator dinged, and Donnelly quickly stepped inside, hitting the button for his floor. This was it, he thought. Now or never. Once Donnelly was in that elevator, this opportunity would never come again.
Fuck it.
Wyatt rushed inside, the elevator doors sliding closed behind him.
“What are you doing?” Donnelly snapped, sounding frayed and unexpectedly emotional.
Wyatt had sensed the undercurrent of emotion from Donnelly at the bar, but had been distracted by his desire to explore it further. But now, it was here again, brimming and cracking beneath his carefully controlled façade. Donnelly’s shoulder was ridged and cramped against his neck, his posture stiff, and he appeared more vulnerable than ever in the tight confines of the elevator.
