Agreeing to spend a week with a man I’d just met was extremely out of character for me. Strong emphasis on the word “extreme.” I was a “look before you leap” kind of guy, and I had a thing for making plans in advance. It worked for me from a business perspective. The more jobs I had booked in my calendar, the less nervous I felt about making rent. Having less to worry about was good for my art. An unplanned pre-holiday holiday should have thrown me off my game. And I could only take so many pictures of rope artfully arranged over a chair or a collar on an unmade bed. This wasn’t about work anymore. This was something entirely unexpected. And really fucking amazing.
We’d weathered the rest of the storm in bed with sporadic breaks to eat and watch holiday specials. When the weather cleared, we ventured out to explore the town. We’d sit in a coffee shop or in the park talking about everything and nothing at all. His big family who tried to be traditional but were quirky as hell and my mom who’d decided to camp in Northern California this holiday season. We’d shake our heads as we compared notes on a park bench while we sipped our coffee. Then we’d switch gears and discuss whether marshmallows were really necessary in hot chocolate and how to make the best mac and cheese.
I loved his silly sense of humor. He was quick to laugh and had a naturally affectionate nature. It wasn’t unusual for him to reach for my hand out of the blue and hold it…just because. I’d never had a boyfriend who’d wanted to hold hands in public. Ever. I wasn’t sure what that said about me, but I had to admit, I liked it. Almost as much as I liked the constant zing of awareness between us. Like we both knew that when we got back to the house, it was a matter of seconds before we’d be writhing against each other in whatever room we made it to first. I was pretty sure we’d fucked in almost all of them. But the woodshed might be my favorite.
He’d converted the space into a reading getaway for his mother. It was a single-room structure with an exposed wood-beam ceiling, simply furnished with a pull-out sofa and an armchair. Built-in shelves packed with books and family photos lined the walls. Wyatt had added a bathroom and a mini-kitchen recently and he claimed that as soon as he fixed a few minor details, he was finished with the project. I’d read or play games on the internet and keep him company while he worked. He recruited me to help a couple of times, but both occasions ended with me on my knees begging him to fuck me harder and faster.
Geez, just the thought of him inside me with one hand on my hip and the other clutching the leather collar around my neck made me dizzy with desire. I ran my fingers along the seam of the collar absently as I peered over the rim of my iPad to ogle Wyatt’s ass when he bent to check the pipes under the sink in the woodshed. The ancient denim molded to his perfect bubble butt and showed a hint of those sexy dimples on his lower back. Yeah, this was my kind of crack problem, I mused.
Wyatt scooted out from under the sink and sat on his heels. Damn, he was beautiful. His snug white tee clung to his broad shoulders and hugged his biceps. The combination of muscles, a sexy stubbled jaw, and a mischievous grin made my heart skitter. He wiped his hands on his thighs, then motioned toward the toolbox on the counter.
“Will you hand me a wrench, please?”
“A wrench,” I repeated. I set my iPad down on the side table and moved to sift through his tools. “What does a wrench look like?”
Wyatt frowned as he shifted from his knees and grabbed it himself. “Like a wrench.”
“Do you want the hammer too?” I set the screwdriver next to him and when he didn’t budge, I kneeled next to him and nudged his side. “Hey. What about this one?”
“Nope. I’m good. Hand me the smaller wrench, though.”
“Here you go,” I said, handing over the hammer.
Wyatt sat back again and fixed me with a deadpan look. When his gaze drifted to the collar around my neck, I knew I had him. And maybe it was a little warped…okay, maybe it was a lot warped, but I couldn’t fucking wait for the game to begin. He tilted his head as he slowly stood and surveyed the tools I’d lined up beside the box.
“Put the tools away, Jamie,” he said sternly.
I picked one up…no idea what the hell it was…and tossed it carelessly into the box. “There you go.”
“All of them.”
I held his gaze. “No.”
“Jamie…” Wyatt drawled in a parental tone. When I didn’t move, he heaved a sigh and sat on the arm of the chair I’d just vacated. “What did I tell you about listening to me?”
“I don’t remember.” But I couldn’t wait to find out. I clenched my ass and puckered my hole in anticipation, willing myself not to rub my crotch.
“Let me remind you. Come here.” Wyatt crooked his finger and patted his muscular thigh. “Get over my knee, Jamie.”
Holy fuck. My cock throbbed. There was something extremely sexy about a no-nonsense contractor threatening to spank your bare ass. Oh, wait. He didn’t say “bare.” I’d have to work a little harder for that. I crossed my arms and shook my head.
“No. Make me.”
Wyatt let out a half chuckle. “That can be arranged.”
He grabbed my wrist and tugged me between his thighs. He made quick work of my jeans, pushing them down my legs before pulling me over his lap and smacking my ass. My boxer briefs offered a little protection, but it still stung. Not enough, though. I wanted more. I wanted to cross the line between pleasure and pain. I wanted him to take control because he was so damn good at it. Every time he tested my endurance with a kinky script we made up on our own, I ended up feeling stronger, more centered, more confident. It might be an unconventional way to get to the good stuff, but it worked so fucking well for us.
I covered the wet spot on my briefs when he released me and scowled as I bent to pull up my jeans. “That didn’t even hurt,” I taunted.
Wyatt flashed a wicked grin. “Oh really? Let’s fix that.”
He moved to the sofa and pulled me with him, unceremoniously flipping me over his knee. Then he yanked my briefs down and splayed his large hand on my left ass cheek, kneading it roughly before smacking it…hard.
“Ow!”
“You know what happens to bad boys. You like that, don’t you? Your dick is so hard, baby. Tell me what you need.”
“No. I—oh, fuck…”
Wyatt smacked my ass again, then reached between my legs to adjust my rigid cock before the real spanking began. Once he started, he didn’t stop for a while. He brought his hand down hard, alternating cheeks as he fed me corny lines he’d quickly learned got my motor running, like… “This is for your own good” and “I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen.” And when I was sure my ass had to be bright pink, he paused and rested his palm on my warm right cheek.
“Who’s in charge here, baby?” he asked, tracing my crack with a feather-light caress. His tender touch and low timbre were a potent combo. And when he rubbed his thumb over my slit in a slow circular motion, smearing precum liberally, I moaned…loudly.
“You.”
He parted my cheeks and tapped his slick thumb against my hole. “You…what?”
I whimpered, rocking my hips to get a little friction. Anything would do. I ached with need. “Sir. You are, sir. You’re in charge.”
Wyatt hummed in approval. “That’s right. Now get up and turn around. Put your hands on the coffee table. I want to see you.”
I should have been embarrassed, right? A little? I wasn’t. At all. I fucking loved it, and I couldn’t wait to hear his reaction when he realized how turned-on I was. I heard the clink of a belt buckle and some vague rustling behind me that sounded like uncapping a bottle of lube and tearing open a condom. But I didn’t look. I didn’t need to see anything. I needed to feel him. I bent over and set my hands flat on the coffee table…and closed my eyes when he pushed a single digit inside me. I wiggled my hips, wordlessly requesting another. He added a second finger, then rubbed his beard against my sensitive skin.
“Oh, God. That’s so good,” I purred.
“Yeah. Sit back…that’s it.” Wyatt guided me to perch on his lap, reaching around to grip me in a firm hold as I lowered myself onto his sheathed cock. “Take your shirt off for me. Now ride me, baby. Nice and slow.”
I rocked my hips a few times and hooked my legs over his thighs, then arched so my back hit his chest. When I was as close as I could be in this position, I began to move. He released his hold on my cock and let me jack myself as I rode reverse cowboy at a steady pace…up and down, over and over. It didn’t take long for me to lose my rhythm.
“I’m close.”
“No, not yet. Turn around,” he commanded. “I want to see you.”
I kicked off my shoes and jeans before straddling his legs. I lined his cock at my entrance and lowered myself on his shaft. I sealed my mouth over his, planted my feet on the cushions, and rode him furiously, stroking myself while he licked my neck and fed me dirty lines about how his cock belonged in my ass. And when he slipped a finger inside me and delivered a round of light smacks on my sore ass, I knew that was the end for me.
“Tell me to come. Please. Let me come,” I begged.
“Come now, baby. Come for me.”
I did. And it was epic. I gasped for air and held on tightly when Wyatt’s orgasm pulled him under too.
We stared at each other like we couldn’t quite believe what we’d done…again. It got better and better, and I didn’t know how I’d ever say good-bye. But I wasn’t ready to think about that yet, anyway. I bit his lip before slowly disengaging.
“My ass must be pink. Is it?” I asked, crooking my neck to get a better look.
Wyatt rolled the spent condom off and glanced up.
“Oh, yeah. Does it hurt?” he asked in an almost reverent tone.
“A little, but in a good way. I can’t believe you don’t think I’m weird.”
“Oh, I do.”
I scowled. “Hey.”
He chuckled and kissed my cheek. “But maybe I’m weird too…’cause I get hard as a fuckin’ rock every time you give me that ‘I wanna play’ look.”
“I want to play with you all the time,” I admitted sheepishly. “I don’t feel self-conscious with you. I mean, like now, I should be racing to get dressed and get out…fast. I basically asked you to play ‘daddy’ with me. That’s embarrassing.”
“Not if we both like it. And I like it. A lot.” Wyatt squeezed my ass, then smacked it lightly. “Come on. Daddy’ll help you wash up.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Oh…yeah, no. Only in bed, please.”
“You’re not sassin’ me, are you?” he chided, tugging my wrist and leading me to the bathroom.
We cleaned up in the bathroom and returned to our previous activities…fixing a sink and watching a sexy, now-shirtless hunk fix a sink.
I shifted my sore ass on the armchair and glanced down at my text thread with Clay.
It seemed wise to tell someone where I was, even though I knew he’d ask a million questions. I waited until midweek, though. I figured he’d be in LA by then and less likely to make a surprise appearance, demanding to know what I was thinking. Nah, Clay wouldn’t do that. He had the moral compass of an eggplant. If he was curious about details, it was because he got off on illicit affairs and tales of wild sex.
Unbelievable. You could be the model. Why don’t you take some pics of him blowing you or vice versa? Nothing graphic. Just your head in his crotch.
I widened my eyes and texted furiously. Fuck off, Clay. See you next year.
You’re no fun. Call me when you’re on your way home. We’ve got big things in the works. BIG.
“I need new friends,” I groused, setting the iPad on the side table.
Wyatt stood to wash his hands at the sink and looked over at me. “What kind of friends do you need?”
“The kind who don’t remind you about real life. And Clay’s a bad influence too. Double whammy,” I sighed.
“I should probably send that guy a thank you card.”
I snickered. “Maybe so.”
“Are you spending Christmas with him?”
“Clay? No. I usually go to my friend Susie’s. There’s a group of us who moved away from home for college and either can’t go back for a family celebration or don’t really have anything to go back to. The crowd changes a little every year, but I’m the one constant.”
“Are you saying you never see your mom for the holidays? Not even Thanksgiving?” he asked incredulously.
“Don’t look so shocked. The holidays just aren’t a thing for us. I see her other times of the year. I’m an only child, and my parents split up when I was too young to remember them ever being together. I don’t have family traditions, but I have friend traditions and those are good.”
Wyatt furrowed his brow and perched on the small wood coffee table. “Huh. That’s a foreign concept. My family is big on tradition. Easter egg hunts, Fourth of July barbeque, Thanksgiving Day football game. There’s about ten more just for Christmas. An ugly sweater party, an ornament exchange…and then there’s the holiday cookie bake-off. You know, my mom seriously thought about telling your friend we couldn’t host your naughty porn party last weekend so I wouldn’t miss it this year.”
I busted up laughing. “It was not a naughty porn party.”
“You sure about that?” he teased.
“Reasonably sure.” I reached for his hand and let him pull me onto the sofa beside him. “But I’m sorry you missed the cookies. Maybe we should make some.”
“Do you know how to make cookies?”
“Well…no. But how hard can it be?”
Pretty fucking hard.
Wyatt and I researched sugar cookie recipes the following day and came up with one that didn’t seem too difficult. We went to the market to shop for ingredients and spent way too much time debating what color the frosting should be before we got back to the house and got busy. I realized halfway through the process that sharing kitchen space was its own kind of education. Under Wyatt’s laid-back exterior, he was a perfectionist. Which I totally appreciated because I shared that trait…in my work. But not so much when it came to baking cookies.
“It says we need two and a half cups of flour.” I poured the flour into a measuring cup, then raised it above the bowl. “And we need—”
“That’s not two and a half cups. You have to sift it a little.” He snatched the cup from me and hit it on the side of the island before adding more flour. “What’s next?”
“Butter. I think we can soften it in the microwave.”
“No, it makes it mushy. Let’s just stir it well.”
“All righty.” I unwrapped the butter, tossed it into the bowl with the flour, and turned on the mixer. Flour flew everywhere, coating the counter, the floor, and us. “Oh, shit!”
I pushed the Off button. Except it was the High Speed button. Wyatt jumped in to save the day and got hit in the nose with a chunk of butter. I covered my mouth and gaped at the mess and at him and busted up laughing.
And once I started, I couldn’t stop. I doubled over and fell to the floor, with tears rolling down my cheeks. I sucked in a breath and another, then let out an undignified snort giggle. Wyatt crouched down and shot a “What the fuck?” look at me, but the sexy lopsided curl at the corner of his mouth ruined his badass once-over. He gave in and sat beside me in the flour.
“We can always buy cookies,” he said with a half chuckle.
“You sure you don’t want to try again?”
“Maybe after I do some laundry and take a shower I’ll—” He cocked his head and grinned when I burst into another round of laughter. “Figures the guy I’d fall for would have a weird sense of humor.”
I sobered suddenly and swallowed hard. “Um…”
Wyatt cupped my nape and kissed my forehead. “Shh. Don’t mind me. I’m gonna change my shirt. You comin’?”
“Uh, yeah.”
I took his hand when he helped me up, but I didn’t follow right away. I couldn’t. I was reeling. Did he mean it? Did he have the same major case of butterflies for me that I did for him? All he had to do was look at me and I melted. One week couldn’t be enough to know this was something special. Or could it?
I glanced toward our cells charging on the counter when I heard a buzzing sound. I swiped my hands on my jeans and picked mine up just as a new text from Ted popped up on Wyatt’s screen.
Your mom invited me to Florida for Christmas. Call me. We need to talk.
My heart dropped to my stomach and my ears rang ominously. Fuck. This was reality. It was a complicated dance involving past and present, family, friends, and ex-lovers. There was no room for me here. We lived on opposite ends of the country. Some people did long-distance relationships well, but I wasn’t sure I was cut out for it. Hell, I didn’t know if Wyatt wanted that anyway.
I sighed unhappily and stared out the window for a moment lost in thought, jolting when Wyatt called my name from another room. He yelled something about butter being good for his complexion. Something silly and light that snapped me back into the moment. If this was all we had, I wasn’t going to waste a minute of it.
We made terrible cookies, watched fabulous holiday movies, spent hours talking, and we made love. Even our kinkier session involving a leash, a dildo, and rope ended with us staring into each other’s eyes as he moved slowly inside me. Wyatt spoke volumes with his body…the way he whispered my name, held me close, and the way he didn’t let go. I wasn’t alone here, but that didn’t mean we had a chance.
We were quieter than normal Saturday morning. We couldn’t get around the proverbial elephant in the room easily, so we ignored it. We sipped coffee and chatted about the weather and some big football game he was looking forward to watching later. When I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, Wyatt followed my gaze.
“Time to go?”
“Yeah. My bag is by the stairs.”
Wyatt squeezed my arm affectionately. “I’ll get it for you.”
His casual tone missed the mark, but I thanked him and yeah, I was proud of myself for not cracking. I shrugged my coat on and closed the door before meeting him at his truck. Then I climbed in and fastened my seat belt, taking one last look at the house as he pulled out of the driveway.
“I can’t believe it’s only been a week,” I said.
“Eight days.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think we could—”
“What if we—”
“You first,” I insisted, shifting on the seat to study his profile. I didn’t want to forget a thing.
Wyatt licked his lips as he slowed behind a Chevy Blazer at a red light. “Do you think we can make this work?”
“I don’t know. I want to,” I choked. “It wouldn’t be easy. Your life is here. Maybe not in this town, but on this coast. Your family, your work…I don’t know if I’d fit. And I wouldn’t ask you to relocate to LA. And…I wouldn’t want you to do it if you had unresolved issues going on with your ex or—”
“My ex is not an issue,” he said firmly.
“I saw his text. The one about your mom inviting him for Christmas.”
“Oh.” Wyatt scratched his chin thoughtfully and continued toward the interstate. “She means well. She didn’t invite him for his sake. She just doesn’t like the idea of me being alone, and obviously she doesn’t know what went down. But I told her she’d put me in an awkward position, and I called Ted and—”
“Stop. It’s not my business.”
“Sure, it is. I’m not with him. At all. And I’m not interested in getting back together or spending a holiday pretending—”
“I’m leaving, Wyatt,” I intercepted. “Maybe we should let it go.”
“I don’t want to,” he said softly.
He reached for my hand and brought it to his lips. I leaned on the console to rest my forearm against his, then averted my gaze, blinking away the tears welling in my eyes. I relied on the hum of the engine and the Mariah Carey Christmas classic on the radio to keep me in one piece. The last thing either of us needed was a messy scene.
Wyatt turned into the airport ten minutes later and headed for a parking garage.
“It’ll be easier if you leave me at the curb,” I said, swallowing around a grapefruit of emotion. “I don’t think I can do a big good-bye scene without losing it.”
“Jamie.”
“Please,” I choked.
He pulled up to the curb, killed the engine, then turned to face me. He wiped a stray tear from my cheek and crushed me in a bearlike embrace. “What are you doing to me? This wasn’t supposed to happen, you know.”
I sniffed loudly and clutched at his jacket, inhaling his scent and reveling in the feel of his beard against mine before gently pushing away. “I know. You have my number. We can talk and maybe someday…”
He wrapped his fingers around my neck as he kissed me tenderly. “You’re still wearing it.”
“The collar? Oh.” I tugged at the leather and smiled. “Yeah. It’s mine now.”
“Good. Own it. Do you have your script?”
I patted the side pocket of my computer bag and nodded. “Yes. Good-bye, Wyatt.”
He got out of the truck and met me at the sidewalk with my suitcase. “Call me.”
I nodded once more, then hiked my bag over my shoulder and turned to the entrance.
The familiar airport buzz demanded my attention the second I wheeled my suitcase into the terminal. I printed my boarding pass and dodged throngs of travelers checking their luggage before heading toward security. I walked briskly and showed my ID to an agent, then took my place in line behind a large family. I eavesdropped on their conversation and did my best to keep my head clear.
It wasn’t easy. I was so fucking tense and upset and…damn, I wanted to cry. I inhaled deeply and released a ragged breath as I inched forward. My cell vibrated in my hand. I glanced at the screen hopefully and groaned when I saw the caller ID.
“What’s up, Clay?”
“I’m changing the script. I don’t want to do the small-town house thing. Let’s do a beach shoot.”
“A beach shoot,” I repeated dully.
“Yeah, we’ll keep the kink and change the locale. I’ve got this friend who has a house in Malibu…” He droned on about aesthetic and clean lines as I inched forward. I didn’t really want to talk, but I was afraid of being alone in my head. “…and keep the toys.”
“What toys?”
“The toys in the script. You said you read it,” Clay admonished.
“I did.” And I had the “toys”…around my neck and in my bag. However, I wasn’t sharing them. These were mine. So was the script. He could change everything, but I was keeping this one. “I gotta go, Clay. I’m at the airport.”
“Oh, cool. Have a safe flight. I’ll see you at home.”
I ended the call and shoved my phone into my pocket.
“Are you okay?” the little girl in front of me asked. She hooked a pudgy arm around her dad’s neck and twisted a lock of her long brown hair around her finger.
I pointed at my chest and flashed a weak-ass smile. “Me? I’m fine. How are you?”
“Okay. You look sad. I’m going to my grandma’s.”
“That’s nice,” I replied tightly.
“What’s your name?”
“Jamie. What’s yours?”
“Sarah.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You shouldn’t be sad. It’s Hanukkah.”
“Happy Hanukkah.”
“It starts tomorrow, not today. I hope I…” She continued in that stream-of-conscious way kids seemed to do, connecting topics at will. I nodded and hummed and tried to breathe and act normal and not spin on thoughts of loss and change and— “Your boyfriend is calling you.”
“Excuse me?”
“That guy over there. He’s saying ‘Jamie.’ That’s your name.”
I turned around and everyone and everything disappeared.
Wyatt stood behind the roped-off barrier, waving his arms above his head. I froze as though I couldn’t quite trust the vision. I returned to planet Earth before I could let myself get caught up in a romance comedy moment…the same-sex version where the leading man runs after the guy he can’t live without. I probably left something in his truck.
I unlatched the rope at the end of the line and serpentined through the crowd. He was gone. My bag slipped from my shoulder as I cast my gaze around the terminal. I must have imagined it. Maybe the kid did too.
“There you are.” Wyatt panted like he’d run a marathon.
“What are you doing? Did I forget my toothbrush or something?”
He let out a strangled sounding half chuckle, then pushed his hand through his hair and licked his lips nervously. “No, I—stay. Stay with me.”
“What do you mean? Another night or…” I pursed my lips when my voice cracked.
“Every night. Always. For everything. Every crappy rainy day, every random Tuesday, every holiday…every fucking day. I love you, Jamie. Maybe this is too soon, but this isn’t ordinary. You aren’t someone I’m going to forget. You’re the one. I can’t let you go. And if you feel this too, I think—”
I flung myself at Wyatt and crashed my mouth over his. In the middle of the airport, in the middle of the day. I didn’t care who saw us or whether we were in anyone’s way. The only thing that mattered was us.
I backed up slightly and smiled. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He held my face in his hands and stared deeply into my eyes.
I nodded. “I love you. It’s fast. Some people will say it’s too fast, but I know how I feel, and I want every day with you too. Anywhere.”
Wyatt traced my lips with his thumb, then tugged gently at the collar around my neck and grinned. “Come home with me, baby. Let’s get out a map and make a plan. I’ve got some sugar cookies I’ve been trying to get rid of. I’ll make you some tea and…”
I chuckled as I took his hand and let him lead the way.
Home was a funny concept. I’d learned early on that familiar signposts didn’t connect me to a place. It was the people. Eight days ago I’d come to a small town in a state I’d never been to with a script and instructions to follow it closely. But I followed my heart instead, and I knew now that nothing would ever be the same again. I didn’t know what the future had in store for us, but I liked the idea of writing our own story, making our own rules, and deciding to stick to the script…together.