Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
I had a second to smile before his lips met mine, crushing, greedy, rough, just how I liked it. My gasp of pleasure was cut off, leaving me to moan deeply into his mouth, a sound that brought a rumble of desire up from his chest. He took what he wanted, and I let him, the kiss demanding and hard, his tongue stroking, tangling, pushing in deeper as he tasted and nibbled, ravaging my lips like I belonged to him. When I shoved him off, we were both panting.
“Jesus,” he gasped, his big, soft brown eyes wet, his lips swollen and dark as he swallowed.
“Step back,” I instructed, feeling better, empowered, and no longer like a poor substitute for the prince he was obviously kissing frogs to find. As he moved to allow me to open the door and get out, I remembered I was actually good at this part, the fucking part. Romance? Long-term commitment? Forget it. But right now, hot and heavy, living in the moment, that I could do.
“What are you—”
“Come here.” I slammed the car door shut, grabbed his bicep, and almost wrenched him off his feet as I dragged him after me.
“Where are you taking—”
I turned so fast he nearly walked into me, and he stopped himself by bracing a hand on my chest.
“You want me to fuck you or not?”
He nodded, so I pulled him after me, around the side of the house, down a short hill and through some bushes, toward the barn where the large farming machinery was kept. I took a left and shoved him against the side of a smaller tool shack. No one came down there in the middle of the day, in the heat, even though it was shaded. I would hear anyone walking over the gravel on our left, and to the right was thick brush. We were safe.
“Get those pants down,” I told him. “And that shirt off.”
He was shaking, but he did it, stripping on my order. The second I saw his hard, sculpted body, chiseled abdomen and chest, and watched the long, beautiful, cut cock bob free, I sank to my knees before him and took him down the back of my throat.
“Holy fuck,” he groaned hoarsely, hand instantly fisted in my ginger hair, which fell thick and straight to my shoulders.
I smiled around his shaft, and he moaned looking down at me, his eyes fluttering shut as his head fell back against the wooden slats of the tool shed.
“This is so… I had no idea it could be so… God.”
I sucked and laved and swirled my tongue around the velvet length of him, tasted precum and played with his slit. When he started to move, his body jolting hard before he began a slow thrust and retreat in my mouth, I leaned back, letting his throbbing cock slip from my lips before I stood up.
“Weber,” he hissed out my name in protest.
I shoved him to the ground, and he opened his mouth for me, but I pushed him forward onto his palms in the grass. He looked at me over his shoulder, on his hands and knees in front of me.
“Put your face down.”
He didn’t argue, just lowered himself, pressing his cheek into the sweet-smelling grass as he lifted his ass.
I spit into my hand, then leaned over and did the same to his pretty pink hole. Spit was not my favorite lube, but I had been ambushed by passion and was unprepared, except for the condom I pulled from the back pocket of my Wranglers. I only ever bought the lubed kind, which I was thankful for now. Sliding a finger inside him elicited only whimpering need, so saliva seemed like it would work just fine.
“Oh God, please.”
The man was at my mercy, having surrendered completely, and was now writhing as I added a second finger. I scissored gently, made circles, but kept the pressure constant, loosening him, stretching him, even as I bent forward and kissed up his spine. His skin was like silk, and as I was rarely allowed to indulge in my favorite parts of sex—the nuzzling, kissing, caressing—I was taking my fill of my friend from the city.
Normally, on the rodeo circuit, sex was rough and fast. Never lovemaking, only rutting done in bathrooms or stables, not even in hotel rooms, because what if somebody saw you go there in pairs? Small towns and even smaller minds kept everyone wary and discreet and frightened. Without vigilance there could be a beating or worse. I did not want to end up with my brains splattered all over the highway with not enough of me left to identify.
But this, on the ranch where I was working for the summer, a place that catered to rich men who wanted to pretend they were outdoorsy for a weekend, this was a place I could indulge in some spontaneity, at least briefly.