25. Chapter Twenty-Five

“Stay,” I whispered. Pleaded. Begged. Hoping he could hear the need in my voice, and wouldn’t run the other way.

I wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. Him or Jules. Today had been wonderful, with both of them, and I wanted more. Wyatt had finally started to open up, truly letting me in to parts of him he had kept to himself, and I wanted more. I wanted to know everything there was to know about this intelligent, beautiful, complicated man.

“We can pop some popcorn, watch a movie,” I told him, trying to ease the tension I saw in his shoulders. “Just…I don’t want this day to end yet. I like spending time with you, Wyatt, and Jules. I’m not ready to let either of you go yet.”

I probably was coming on too strong again, too demanding. I was trying hard to curb that side of my personality, but after fifty years it was just who I was.

His chest moved rapidly, before he took a steadying breath, but he didn’t try to pull from my hold. Soothingly, I rubbed my thumb over the pulse point in his wrist. His pulse fluttered against my thumb, like a hummingbird.

“I…” he was going to say no, I could hear it in his voice. Make up some excuse as to why he needed to leave.

“Come on, just one movie. Something fun and ridiculous that we don’t have to think too hard about. Just relax and be. The baby is about to fall asleep,” I coaxed.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Wyatt’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay,” he whispered. “We’ll stay. For one movie.”

He tugged at my hold, and I reluctantly released him, following as he moved back into the living room area. He moved the baby closer to the sofa and I told him, “There’s a crib for her in that room, if you want to lay her down. Or she can just sleep in the bouncy.” Picking up a blanket, I began folding them.

“She’s fine for now,” though his eyes looked curiously to the closed door I had indicated, no doubt wondering what was behind it. I had turned my guest bedroom/office into a pseudo nursery with a crib and changing table taking up a corner of the room. “I don’t want to risk waking her up.”

Putting a couple of the blankets on the back of the couch, I picked up the remote. “What kinds of movies do you like? I have more streaming services than I possibly need, but I like to have options when I do have downtime.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip, turning it bright pink. I tried not to fixate on it, but I couldn’t help what my eyes did. Couldn’t help imagining those pink lips wrapped around my cock. Trying to be casual, I adjusted my dick in my jeans, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I, ah, I usually just watch documentaries,” he shrugged, “I have no idea what is even popular. What do you like to watch?”

He took a seat on one end of the couch, looking tense and uncomfortable again, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He fidgeted then finally clasped them together in his lap. “Wyatt, relax, it’s just a movie. We aren’t Netflixing and chilling.”

He blinked blankly at me, “I have no clue what that means. I mean, I’ve heard my students say it, but most pop culture references are lost on me.”

In this case, that might be a good thing. Did I tell him what it meant, and watch him get even more uncomfortable?

Deciding to just go for it, I explained, “It means you pretend to watch a movie or show, when what you’re really doing is hooking up. And I like action movies, mostly. Though I’m open to anything.”

His cheeks turned the prettiest rose color and he squirmed on the couch. The smell of blackberries wafted over to me, barely there, but still noticeable. Did he like the idea of not actually watching the movie? He’d been clear last week that we needed to keep our clothes on, and I had every good intention of trying to do just that. I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t been thinking about all the things we could do that didn’t involve me penetrating him. The list was long and had kept me hard the past few nights.

“Let me toss some popcorn in the microwave,” I hurried to the kitchen, where I could wait for the popcorn to pop, and will my hard on to go away.

Setting the bowl of buttered goodness between us, I pushed the buttons on the remote. “Okay, I think you’ll like this, but it will require you to do something.”

He nibbled on some popcorn, his brows scrunching, “What’s that?”

“I need you to suspend your belief of reality for the next two hours.”

“What are we watching?” he was genuinely curious.

Sitting on the opposite end of the couch, I grabbed a handful of popcorn with my free hand. “I’m not telling you yet. Just know that I love this movie, so if you don’t like it I’ll be devastated.” I tried to put on my most earnest expression.

He looked unfazed, “I doubt that. And don’t do that with your face. It’s weird.”

Laughing, I nearly choked on a kernel of corn. “I was going for boyish charm.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Yeah, it was more big bad wolf ready to chomp on Little Red Riding Hood. I don’t know what it was to be fair, but just don’t do it again.”

I refrained from making any jokes about eating him, and instead said, “This movie is fun. It’s exciting. But people don’t watch it for realism or because the things they do in it are actually possible.”

He frowned, “Okay, and you like it because…?”

Pulling the movie up, I hit play, “Well, because it’s got pretty fast cars, big pretty guns, and a lot of pretty, pretty men.”

Wyatt stared at the screen. “The Fast and The Furious?”

Grinning hugely, I nodded, propping my feet on the coffee table. “Yep. It’s my go to comfort movie.”

After Wyatt’s third huffed, “That’s not possible. Cars can’t actually do that.” I had shushed him, put a throw pillow in my lap, and pulled him down to stretch out. He’d been stiff at first, before finally giving in, stretching his long body out on the sofa, his head in my lap. Thankfully, the pillow offered a buffer between my hard dick and him.

“This is why I don’t watch these movies with Matty,” I whispered, carding my fingers through his tangled curls. “Stop thinking so hard about it and watch the pretty boys.”

“Mmmm,” he murmured, nuzzling his head further into the pillow, “the one is very pretty.” I had no idea if he was talking about Paul Walker or Vin Diesel, but it didn’t matter. Wyatt was in my lap, and my fingers were massaging his scalp. Slowly, his muscles relaxed under my fingers.

When I stopped stroking his hair, he turned onto his back, staring up at me with shining eyes.

I couldn’t help myself. I bent forward and brushed my lips over his in an awkward, half crooked, soft kiss. Looking down at him when we broke apart, I waited for him to decide if he wanted another.

His answer was to lick his lips, like he was chasing the taste of me on them. Then his long arms came up, beckoning and pulling me down at the same time.

“More,” he whispered, and this time he took control of the kiss. It was hungry, demanding, breathtaking, full of need and want. He moaned, or I did, or maybe we both did. He moved, and I tugged him, until I had a lap full of Wyatt. His thin thighs straddling my hips, our hard cocks grinding against each other through our clothes.

My hands roamed his slimly muscled back, down to grab a handful of his luscious ass, then up again. He moved his body sensuously against me, arching his neck. Giving him what he was silently begging for, I latched onto the delicate skin, in that sweet spot just above his mating gland.

Sucking hard, using my teeth to scrape against the tender skin, his hiss turned into a panting gasp as I marked him.

“Yes,” his fingers dug into my shoulders, then my hair, as I sucked harder, turning the skin there a deep reddish purple, before I popped off. The sight of the bruise, my mark on him, amped up my desire tenfold. There was something so fucking sexy and primal about my mate wearing my mark. Showing the world he belonged to me.

I needed my hands on his skin. Needed to feel the heat and texture of his soft flesh. With a flick of my wrist, I had his jeans unsnapped and the zipper down. Palming his hot, hard length through the soft cotton of his briefs.

“Grayson,” he moaned, his hips bucking into my hand, “More. Touch me. Please.”

Reaching into his briefs, I freed his leaking cock, palming the length of him. He was all burning heat, velvety skin, and weeping moisture. Stroking him, I thumbed at his slit, then licked the precum from my digit.

“So good,” I moaned, before returning to his cock. Squeezing him, stroking him, as he moved his body against me, humping up and down. Anything to get the friction he needed. To keep my hand away from his hole, which was still a no-fly zone for a couple of weeks, I grabbed him around the waist, pulling him closer to me.

We ground together, my hand jacking him faster and faster. Pulling him down for a wet kiss, our tongues tangled, mouths grinding together. “Come, sweetheart. Come for me.”

He did. His body tightened, and he cried out, as I gave his dick one final squeeze. Hot cum spilled over my hand, as he panted raggedly against my ear, then collapsed against me in a boneless heap.

My own wet spot was spreading inside my jeans, something that hadn’t happened in more years than Wyatt had been alive.

Removing my hand from his pants, I brought it to his lips. “Clean it up, baby.”

Watching Wyatt lap up his cum dripping in between my fingers was one of the most erotic sights I had ever witnessed. He was a debauched innocent wanton angel, and he took my breath away. My dick was pulsing in my jeans, my usual refractory period that came with age apparently not existing when it came to the gorgeous omega.

When he was done, he stared at me with wide eyes, both of us still trying to catch our breath. Finally, I said, “I’m not sorry that happened. I want you, Wyatt. I want to see where this thing between us goes. I know we started ass backwards with a baby, but can we try starting from the beginning?”

He stared at me, then blinked sleepily, “Huh?”

Laughing, I kissed him on the end of his nose, “Little genius, what I mean is, I want to take you out. On a date. Dinner. Whatever. I really don’t care what we do. Fuck, we can go to the damn grocery store for all I care. I just want to spend time with you. And Jules, the both of you.”

His teeth came out to nibble on his kiss swollen lips, and I gently thumbed the tender skin. “Sweetheart, you’re going to wreck these pretty lips.”

“Okay,” he finally nodded. “What day works for you? You’re the only one working right now. Miss Rose ran me out of the daycare last week when I tried to sneak in with the baby. Apparently, she takes the six-week rule to heart.” He rolled his eyes, puffing out air between his teeth.

My mind did a quick scan of my schedule. “Wednesday would work.”

“Thanks again for my picnic,” he murmured, leaning into my chest. Rubbing his back, I smiled into his messy, sweaty hair. “I plan to help you cross off lots of stuff from your list, sweetheart.”