He pictured Wyatt at his side during the holidays with his family… saw him move in—living with him, sleeping in his bed, together. He’d never have to come home to an empty house again.
His throat tightened, and he blinked rapidly as the emotion bubbled up.
It’s been one date, John. And we’re still on it.
Don’t mess this up and start thinking too far ahead.
But he couldn’t help it. Everything just felt easier being around Wyatt—natural, even. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he laughed this much.
“Ladies and Queens,” Jin announced from a microphone on stage, drawing his attention. Jin’s wonderful pink glasses framed his face and his confidence oozed from him as he walked the length of the stage that sat behind the bull arena. “Welcome back to the Bull Horn!”
Cheers erupted from the crowd, followed by whistles and shouts.
“I’m so glad everyone could come out and support not only the art, but the artists. This year, we’ve raised over twenty thousand dollars on behalf of the Queer Love Art Collective!”
Another round of applause broke out, and John caught a glimpse of a familiar white hat emerging from backstage, quickly making his way through the crowd toward the bar where John sat.
Jin kept talking about the art show and the people involved, but he heard none of it. All he saw was his cowboy, white teeth flashing in a grin over his tanned, stupidly gorgeous face, his sandy blond hair tucked beneath his white hat as he emerged from the crowd and spotted John.
He was wearing tight, light-blue jeans, a faded white T-shirt, a sizable golden medallion belt buckle, and… was his skin shining? Wyatt’s exposed, muscle-bound arms glistened under the flashing lights of the bar and by the time hefinally reached him, Wyatt was practically panting, grabbing the extra beer out of John’s hand and taking a long drag.
John traced a finger over Wyatt’s forearm and felt the silky oil.
“Body oil,” Wyatt explained gruffly, setting his beer down on the bar. “For the fans.”
“Fans—what?” John asked, trying hard not to gape like a fish.
“Fans—money, for charity. The better I look straddlin’ and ridin’ the bull, the more money we make,” Wyatt said triumphantly, flashing him a grin.
“How many times have you done this?”
“Once, last year. It was my idea to do this as an after-party,” he gestured to the mechanical bull. “Mostly for people like me who weren’t interested in purchasing art but still wanted to donate.” He edged closer to John, his pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief that licked up his spine. Wyatt slid between his legs on the barstool, invading his space. The smell of liquor, body oil, and musk filtered through his nose.
Jesus fuck, this kid is gonna kill me.
John tipped his head back, heat pooling low in his belly. Wyatt saw something in his gaze and moved closer still, their bodies brushing, and not a single person paid them the slightest attention. Here, they were free to touch, taste, and marvel.
“Last year, they made more doing this with me than they expected. So apparently, Jin and the gallery are making this the official after-party from here on out. They even brought in another guy to ride after me.”
“Was it just you last year?” he asked.
Wyatt hummed, and somehow John felt it in his chest. “I can put on quite a show.”
Something about the way he said it, about the confidence radiating from him, lit a fire beneath John that he felt in only rare moments in the ED, and now… with Wyatt. John, without thinking, without needing to, reached up and grabbed Wyatt’s thin shirt and jerked him down, their eyes colliding and holding.
Wyatt’s pupils dilated, capturing John’s open mouth, spearing his tongue inside and nearly rocketing John off the stool.
Wyatt’s lips peeled back, whispering heatedly against the shell of his ear, “You’re the only ride I can’t stop thinkin’ about.”
His cock reared to life and he gasped at the sensation of Wyatt’s eager, urgent kisses at his neck, caressing him, sucking, licking.
“I ride first,” Wyatt murmured breathlessly. “There’s a trailer out back for the cowboys to change and go into if they take a hard fall.”
John tensed.
“Which I won’t,” he reassured, grazing his teeth against his neck. “I do get a little worked up doing this, though…” he husked.
Holy fuck.
