Handcuffs and Lace 27 -Brass Balls by Mia Watts Read Free Book Online Page A

tightly.
Owen chuckled. “Not at all. I need to be able to leave here without embarrassing myself. Besides, I don’t have a chance with him. He’s too busy looking at you.”
Wyatt relaxed a little. He drained the soapy water out of the sink and cleaned it down. Then he wiped the counters before rinsing out the sponge and drying his hands on Owen’s towel. Owen caught his wrists as Wyatt began to move away.
“But if your pride won’t let you date Oak, and all you’re interested in is some— relief — I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink some time.” Owen moved in, his lips parted as his hands curled on Wyatt’s hips.
It had been a while since another man had expressed interest in him. In one week, he had two. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed before because dating didn’t seem like a viable option. Owen was an attractive man. He had no strings attached to him that would cause drama with John and Sheila. He also didn’t work in the precinct. He’d be a good choice even if the relationship never really developed.
Owen’s lips feathered over his. God, help him, Wyatt wanted to be kissed. He wrapped his fist in Owen’s shirt front and yanked. Their lips met hard and hot. Wyatt settled his mouth better, battling Owen’s for dominance. Both men parted, tangling their tongues in a heated exchange.
Owen clutched the back of Wyatt’s head and Wyatt reached around for a handful of fireman ass. Wyatt’s cock had begun to fill, but he didn’t feel right about kissing Owen. He wanted to, God, it would make everything so much simpler, but in the back of his mind he saw Oak.
A close sound surprised him from the kiss, and he stepped away from Owen. Oak wordlessly washed and rinsed the barbeque sauce bowl less than a foot from him.
“Can I call you?” Owen asked Wyatt as though Oak weren’t standing there.
Wyatt flushed, feeling guilty, then angry because he shouldn’t feel guilty. “Yeah, you can call me.”
Oak walked away. Wyatt watched him go.
    Oak kept walking, right out the patio doors, through the gate at the back of the property. He wove between the trees on the wooded lot and climbed the stairs to his deck. He stared sightlessly at his keys, willing himself to make sense of them. Finally he spotted the right one, unlocked the door and went straight to his bedroom where he flopped backward onto his mattress.
    He felt numb, except for the aching organ which continued to beat in his chest. His phone rang. The ringtone told him it was his parents. They probably wondered why he hadn’t said goodbye. Or that he’d been rude to walk out on two guests instead of hanging around to chew the fat over coffee. It didn’t matter. He was useless in conversation after what he’d just seen.
It was a cruel mix of hot and devastating. There was nothing like seeing the man you’d been in love with for years kissing someone else, just as you got yourself noticed. And yet, watching him kiss, the way his mouth moved, his body reacted— that had been sexy as hell.
He stared up at the ceiling. He’d thought about the day he’d tell Peterman he wanted him. In his mind it had gone a lot differently. In his mind, Peterman had smiled and told him he’d been waiting for a sign from him before they could be together, waiting for him to grow up.
Reality had been nothing like that. It had been a fight from the first blundering kiss when Peterman told him it wouldn’t happen again, to watching an oral orgasm shared with someone else.
His phone rang again. This time it was the chorus, “I wanna do bad things with you,” that had him rolling his eyes at his own stupid infatuation. He shouldn’t have answered it, but his pulse had kicked up and his thumb had already depressed the call-accept.
“I got the message,” he said before Peterman could talk.
“How much did you hear?” Peterman asked after a minute.
“All the groaning, slurping details, thanks for asking.”
“Any of the conversation before that?”
Oak snorted