Page 96 of Bad Cowboy, Tennessee

Or when I’d stuffed his cock in my mouth like some desperate slut.

He still hadn’t let me kiss him, though, and it was starting to piss me off. I wasn’t afraid of seeming gay anymore, certainly wasn’t afraid of doing gay things. I didn’t care if it meant I was bi, or if it was a discovery I should have made a long time ago.

I just wanted to know why apparently, he was too good to kiss me.

I turned over to face him in bed. He was still watching me, his eyes tired, but still half-open.

“Get some sleep,” he told me. “And no, you’re not allowed to go home.”

Frustration built inside me like a quiet, brewing storm. He still had all the control. As usual. And he wasn’t going to let me in on anything.

I turned over, now, facing away from him again.

He could get an eyeful ofmyback, now.

I focused on falling asleep, trying to think of nothing, letting the world fall away.

But right as I was starting to close my eyes, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder blade. Draven started rubbing slow, firm strokes on each side of my spine, then pushing the heel of his palm gently against my lower back.

I hummed under his touch as he massaged me. Every muscle in my body that had been tensed up slowly began to relax.

He stroked my back until the world started to melt away.

I drifted to sleep under his touch, more relaxed than I’d been in a long time.

I woketo a buzzing sound so loud I shot up in bed, half worried that someone was taking a fucking chainsaw to something outside.

“Mmh,” I hummed under my breath as the buzzing came to an abrupt halt, rubbing my palms over my eyes and squinting in the copious sunlight now filtering through the blinds.

Thewide-openblinds.

It couldn’t be a minute past eight in the morning. Why thefuck?—

The buzzing—no,grinding—suddenly started up again, and I frowned as I tossed off the covers, standing up on the hardwood.

I could tell it wasn’t a chainsaw, now, but I still didn’t know what the hell Draven was doing.

I was still naked as I padded out to the kitchen, furrowing my brow as I found him in there, holding some contraption and glancing over at me. The kitchen smelled potently of coffee and some sort of fresh, grassy smell emanating from somewhere.

“Morning. Nice cock.”

I looked down. Yet again, I was mostly hard, this time just from natural causes. Morning wood couldn’t compete with whatever sound Draven’s contraption was making, though, and I was rapidly deflating.

I glanced at the clock above his stove and saw that it wasn’t even eight yet.

“Seven fucking fifty-one,” I grumbled. “What is that sound?”

“Coffee grinder. Or do you mean the other sound?” he asked, tapping on the top of a giant machine that had green liquid in it. “Was also making some cold-pressed green juice.”

He was already fully dressed. He had on one of his favored black work shirts, the sleeves rolled up to expose the firm strength of his forearms. He had dark denim jeans on, and he looked soawakeand put-together that it almost made me mad.

“Fucking loud.”

He was still watching me, his eyes scanning my body from my cock to my face again. “Don’t worry. I’ll have a hot cup of coffee in front of you within five minutes, and all will be better.”

“I only drink iced coffee. Cold brew.”

Draven made a face. “These beans are from Italy. Their flavor profile is a lot better hot.”

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