Page 48 of Kitchen Gods: The Complete Series

“Please,” Wyatt whimpered, because even if he was dying to, there was no way he was going to last. And if all he got was some teasing, he would cry. He wanted Ryan’s mouth on him, those sinfully full lips taking in his cock.

“Please what?” Ryan asked, fingers trailing up his bare thigh, tugging down his boxers finally. He knew what Wyatt wanted, he just wanted to make him crazy with need.

“Please . . . your god damn mouth,” Wyatt ground out.

The moment Ryan’s tongue curled around the head and then he sucked, Wyatt knew he was a dead man and the last five minutes of his life were going to be fucking brilliant.

“Knew you’d be good at this,” Wyatt grunted, trying to be gentle as he reached down and cradled Ryan’s head.

Then Ryan slid the rough pad on his finger to the back of his balls and pleasure exploded, whiting out his vision, making it almost impossible to avoid pressing Ryan’s head down, begging him to take in more, to give him more.

There was only a split second before Wyatt knew he couldn’t contain the building pressure anymore, and curled his hands possessively around Ryan’s face, feeling the shape of his dick against Ryan’s cheek, and it was all over.

The orgasm was like a roaring wave, overtaking him, emptying him out of everything—except this endless need to do it again, and again, and again.

“Sorry,” Wyatt breathed out after he was able to speak again. “I’m so sorry.” He’d been sort of rude, coming with almost no warning, assuming that Ryan would swallow.

But Ryan’s expression as he stood was anything but pissed off. In fact, he looked smug as hell as he reached for Wyatt’s hand, and placed it against his crotch. It was wet, and Wyatt stared at Ryan as he realized what had happened.

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” Ryan said. “Clearly I thought it was pretty damn hot.”

The only problem with that was that now Wyatt wasn’t going to get to take Ryan apart with his mouth, and his tongue and his fingers, or his cock. It didn’t feel fair, and it left him feeling sort of hollow, now that this otherworldly encounter was drawing to an end.

“Well, uh, I just . . .” Wyatt didn’t know what to say. His brain still felt sluggish after the orgasm of the millennium.

“It’s okay,” Ryan said, giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze. “I was staring at you too. And doing my own share of fantasizing. It was sort of inevitable.”

“If you say so.” Even though he’d had plenty of guys tell him how hot he was, Wyatt always had trouble accepting it. Especially now, from someone like Ryan. He could have had anyone he wanted, and he’d picked Wyatt.

“I do,” Ryan said, and leaned over, kissing him again.

Wyatt tasted himself on Ryan’s tongue, and told himself that even if this was just a passing, quick thing to the other man, he wasn’t going to forget.

He would remember the rippled smoothness of skin over muscle, the strangled gasp Ryan had made when he’d pinched his nipple, the taste of his come on Ryan’s tongue.

Finally, it was time for the inevitable. “I guess I’d better get you home,” Wyatt said. “I promised I would.”

“You strike me as the kind of guy who tries to keep his promises,” Ryan said casually.

Wyatt thought he was, unless you were counting the many lies he’d told his own family about who he was. He nodded.

“Then, I guess there’s nothing else for you to do,” Ryan said, shooting Wyatt another one of those dimpled grins. It hurt that he seemed so casual about it, like none of this really mattered. And, Wyatt reminded himself, it probably didn’t. Not to Ryan.

That was okay. Wyatt would have to be okay with it.

Ryan told Wyatt his address, and he punched it into his phone, quickly flicking through the map to make sure he knew the route.

Wyatt only realized as they were near their destination, making their way up the coast, towards Santa Monica, that even though he’d had his phone out, Ryan hadn’t given him his phone number.

It was hard to enjoy that last five minutes of Ryan wrapped around him, the cool night air whistling past them, because that hurt. It shouldn’t have, because Ryan had never made him a single promise, or made a single assumption, but it still god damned ached.

But Wyatt didn’t want to be that guy, the one who overshared and overstayed and didn’t know when to quit, so he just smiled, and then smiled more, as Ryan got off the bike in front of the big double-gated entrance to his mansion.

“Thanks for the ride,” Ryan said, and leaned over, brushing a single kiss across Wyatt’s cheek. Somehow, that meant more than some torrid, heated kiss, but it still hurt more than Wyatt could have guessed when Ryan turned to go.

“See you around,” Wyatt said stupidly, because he didn’t know what else to say. He’d had hookups before, but none of them had ever felt like this.

It had never felt like someone had carved his heart out of his chest and had taken it with them when they left.

Ryan turned, and flashed Wyatt one last smile. “Yeah,” he said, clearly amused by Wyatt’s choice of parting remark, “I’ll see you around.”