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Jackson helped him pull out, then his bigger body rolled them so Jackson was on top of Wyatt like a broad, sweaty blanket. Wyatt wrapped his arms around Jackson’s waist, unable to find the words for anything more demanding than a satisfied grunt as their slick, softening cocks continued to rub together.
“That was fucking awesome,” Wyatt whispered when words finally came to him. “Wow.”
“You were pretty wow yourself.” Jackson stroked his fingers across Wyatt’s shoulders and chest. “Pretty damned great for your first time.”
“Yeah?” He licked the underside of Jackson’s chin, because it was the only part of his face Wyatt could reach, loving the lightly salty taste. “Did we go long enough?”
“We went fine. Sex isn’t always about stamina. Sometimes it’s as simple as two good orgasms, and if that takes sixty minutes or sixty seconds, it’s about the people involved. And I had a pretty great time.” Jackson held him by the chin, his expression serious now. “Did you?”
“That’s a stupid fucking question.” He pressed his hips upward, wishing they were both still hard, but this was good, too. “I feel amazing.”
“Me too. I had a fantastic time. Maybe more than’s good for me.”
He yanked his chin out of Jackson’s hold. “Why’s that?”
“Because we had sex today but tomorrow I’m still gonna be your supervisor.”
Not wanting to think about that tonight because the afterglow was too amazing, Wyatt pulled on a terrible bit of humor. “You aren’t going to use some cheesy line like you don’t know how to quit me, are you?”
Jackson’s belly laugh had the older man falling sideways onto the bed, hooting like Wyatt had told a million-dollar joke. “No, not doing that. Got no use for quoting tragic movies, so if you try to use some ‘king of the world’ crap line on me, we’re done.”
“So we aren’t done now? This wasn’t just a one-off fuck?” The idea delighted Wyatt to no end. “Sweet. And I promise, no cheesy movie lines. I’m honestly not that great at them because I don’t watch a lot of movies, especially the stuff people consider quotable classics. I like the stuff most guys have never heard of like small indies, foreign films, super-low-budget things. The more obscure the better.”
Jackson sat up now that his laughing fit was over, legs crossed, hands clasped over his groin. “I don’t watch many movies or shows in general, I guess. The movie lines I know are from other people sayin’ ’em, me looking at ’em funny, and them having to explain. Although I did get yourBrokeback Mountainreference all by myself. It’s one of those pop culture things that’s hard to completely miss unless you live in a hole.”
“True.” Wyatt adopted a horrifically comical Austrian accent. “I’ll be back.”
“Funny.”
“I know, but I really will be back. Need to dump the rubber and get a washcloth.”
“A washcloth?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt gazed at him, confused by Jackson’s surprised smile. “My best friend Jared said it’s polite to help clean up the person you just fucked. Is that wrong?”
Jackson reached out and stroked a single finger across Wyatt’s left cheekbone. “No, it’s not wrong. It’s actually very kind. Some guys fuck, dump, and go. But yeah, lube gets sticky and into uncomfortable places, so I’d appreciate the washcloth.”
“Cool.” Glad he hadn’t fucked up or come across as a bumbling hayseed, Wyatt slid off the bed and stripped off the condom, careful not to let its contents drip on the vintage shag carpet on his walk into the bathroom.
A walk free of shame, and full of pure delight and eagerness to do this again soon.
Very, very soon if he had his way.
Chapter Ten
Jackson had imagined sex with Wyatt would be pretty great, based on their chemistry, but reality was so much better. Wyatt cleaning Jackson up turned into an erotic wrestling match that left Wyatt flat on his stomach while Jackson rubbed off on his back. Then Jackson relaxed next to him while Wyatt beat off, which was an erotic adventure of its own, because Wyatt had a bit of an exhibitionist streak. He stroked and played and tugged at his own balls, while making the most delicious faces at Jackson. Faces that made Jackson want to kiss him senseless, but he refrained in favor of watching the erotic show happening in front of him.
After Wyatt came, Jackson took great pleasure in licking him clean.
They lounged on the bed for a while with some movie playing on Wyatt’s phone for background noise and chatted about nothing important, until Wyatt’s stomach released a loud, amusing growl. Hungry himself, Jackson drove them back to the truck stop diner for lunch. A chicken club sandwich with no mayo for Jackson and a double cheeseburger, extra pickles, for Wyatt, whose stomach had apparently bounced back since this morning.
Jackson drove them back to the motel, but instead of stopping there, continued down the dead-end road to the washout. Water no longer ran in the dry gulch, which had once been a flooded creek that had taken out the bridge and sank part of the road on both sides, but there was something beautiful to Jackson about the way the sand had dried in waves that reminded him a bit of the rings of trees.
He backed up to the washout, just to the side of the road so they didn’t have to stare at the ugly orange sign reading Road Closed, and they settled in the truck bed to eat. Both meals came with bags of generic potato chips, and Jackson set his aside for a snack later. The sandwich with its three pieces of bread and stacks of sliced chicken and bacon was more than enough. The truck’s radio played some local station, which Wyatt had requested, and it amused Jackson to realize that Wyatt didn’t like complete silence. He needed noise of some sort. A funny personal quirk Jackson liked knowing about the kid.
Not kid, he doesn’t like being called a kid.
Wyatt might not want to be called a kid, but he sure made Jackson feel like an old man sometimes. He was literally half Jackson’s age, and Jackson still wasn’t entirely sure he trusted Wyatt. He had fun with Wyatt, for sure, and they shared intense sexual chemistry. But this was a fling, an infatuation and nothing more. It could never be more than sex.
