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“Says who? Pretty sure Wilson here’s got a mind of his own.”
“Sure he does.” He stroked his thumb up and down the knobs of Wyatt’s spine. “Who you goin’ home with tonight, firebrand?”
Goose bumps rose along the exposed skin of Wyatt’s neck. He slowly turned around in his stool, eyes gleaming and cheeks flushed. “Now there’s my drink of Tall, Dark and Handsome,” Wyatt said in a seductive purr that sent blood to Jackson’s groin.
The stranger grabbed his drink and left.
Jackson left his hand on Wyatt’s neck and leaned down. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I know. You like it.”
“Might need to give you a small pain inyourass, maybe from a good spanking.”
Wyatt’s lips parted. Nothing in his expression hinted at fear or dislike of the idea. Jackson wasn’t really much for hard spanking and shit, but Wyatt could probably use a few good swats just to pink up his pale ass cheeks.
“You ready to get outta here?” Jackson asked.
“Soon.” A sly smile twisted those pretty lips. “You need to dance with me first.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Too bad.” Wyatt grabbed his shirt and tugged Jackson lower. Put his mouth right by Jackson’s ear and whispered, “One song if you want this dick tonight.” Then he sucked on Jackson’s earlobe, reminding him vividly of what that mouth felt like around his cock.
“Fine. One song.”
Fortunately, this wasn’t the hearts-and-flowers kind of place that put slow songs on in between the dance music. Jackson did not do slow dancing. The floor wasn’t too crowded, which was typical for a random Tuesday in winter. Jackson didn’t resist Wyatt leading him toward the small cluster of men gyrating to whatever techno stuff was currently being piped over the speakers. It was usually mixed with more traditional country music and pop songs, depending on whatever the manager was in the mood for that night.
Since Jackson had agreed to one song, he held Wyatt back until the current tune switched over to something new. Fortunately for him, it went from techno to country, and this was the kind of dancing he was actually good at. Fun footwork and timed spins, and he kind of liked that Wyatt was a little out of step when they started. Okay, a lot out of step. For all Wyatt’s “let’s dance” bravado, he didn’t know actual dance moves too well. Thanks to his adopted mother, Jackson did.
He showed off a little, enjoying the way Wyatt let him spin him around the dance floor and manhandle him into the right positions. They got a bunch of wolf whistles and cheers from a gathered crowd of observers. It wasn’t proper line dancing, and they’d never win any awards on reality shows, but Jackson put on a good show for the audience. And for Wyatt, in an expression of dominance he wasn’t fully aware of making until the song ended.
The applause made him laugh out loud. It had been a long time since he’d let go like that, and Wyatt clung to him, red-faced and panting from the exertion. Another similar song came up, but Jackson was tapped out. He pulled Wyatt over to the bar and before he could ask for water, Darlin’ passed them each a beer.
“You two dance like that every night,” Darlin’ said, “and you’ll have folks creaming their jeans left and right. Great job, sugars.”
Jackson shoved one of the beers away. “The kid will have water, thanks.”
Wyatt sulked, then chugged from the water bottle offered. Jackson drank both beers, positive he’d be okay after all that exertion. But once he and Wyatt left the bar and were in the cold parking lot, he handed over his keys anyway. No sense in risking it. “If you remember the way to my place,” Jackson said, “then you are getting very lucky tonight.”
“Oh, I remember.” Wyatt snatched up the keys and practically shoved Jackson into the passenger side. This slightly aggressive side made Jackson smile at the dash while Wyatt figured out his truck and how to drive it. It was at least twice the size of Wyatt’s own car but he navigated the parking lot without much trouble.
Wyatt drove with an attractive amount of confidence, taking every correct turn like he’d done it a hundred times. Jackson stretched out on his side of the bench seat, half a mind to lean over and tease the kid. Maybe stroke his dick over his jeans or kiss his neck a few times. But holding back seemed to amp Wyatt up more, because he kept tossing eager looks at Jackson. Looks that said Wyatt would pounce if he wasn’t responsible for getting them both safely back to the motel.
As much as he wanted to demand Wyatt pull off on the side of the road so they could get down to business, Jackson was old enough to restrain himself. He did stare, though, and he delighted every time Wyatt squirmed and adjusted himself. It took forever before Wyatt finally slammed on the brakes in front of Jackson’s room. Tonight was the night to park in front of room seven for variety, but Jackson didn’t really give a shit.
He was out of the truck and had Wyatt pinned against the hood in seconds, kissing the younger man with a hunger he’d never felt before. A hunger born of loneliness, chemistry, and flat-out need. He needed this man to kiss him, suck him, fuck him, and make him feel something real. Something more real than the chilly air against his skin, the dirt beneath his boots, and the moonlight streaming down on them.
Something real deep inside.
Wyatt kissed him back hard, licking into his mouth while his hands tugged at Jackson’s belt, already getting down to business. Jackson yanked at the buttons on the front of Wyatt’s shirt, not caring a few ripped off. He’d buy the guy a new shirt tomorrow if he had to, especially if it got them fucking faster. He raked his fingernails down Wyatt’s bare chest, imagining the red marks he’d probably left behind. Wyatt bit his bottom lip hard enough that Jackson growled.
The odds of anyone happening down this dead-end road this late were close to zero, but the slight chance of it happening emboldened Jackson. He manhandled Wyatt around and turned them so Wyatt was bent over the hood of the truck, one hand on the back of his neck to keep him still just like at the bar. Wyatt stilled but his entire body thrummed with energy. They both knew he could break Jackson’s hold with ease but he submitted instead, and that was an insane turn-on.
With his free hand, Jackson managed Wyatt’s belt and fly, and he tugged those tight jeans down to his knees, baring his ass. A pale, freckled ass he wanted to explore more, but not right now. There were two things he wanted to do more. The first of which he did with his right hand while keeping his left firmly on the back of Wyatt’s neck.
Jackson smacked Wyatt’s right cheek, and Wyatt yelped. He didn’t tense or fight or try to get away, though. He wriggled a bit but otherwise stayed in position, so Jackson smacked his left cheek. In the dim light, he could barely see the outline of his handprints on both ass cheeks, and the sight made Jackson grin. He pinched the very top of Wyatt’s left thigh and earned another delicious yelp.
“Love seeing my handprints on your ass,” Jackson said. “You like feelin’ it?”
