Page 16 of Cowboy Dreams

“Can I jerk off on you?”

I’d planned to offer my mouth, but getting to lie back and let Joe do the rest of the work wasn’t a hardship. “Go for it.”

He popped his button and then eased his zipper down carefully, groaning deep in his chest as he shoved his underwear and jeans off in one move. His long, slender cock sprang free, flushed and ready. When he knelt up between my thighs and took himself in hand, I wished I hadn’t just come so I could give that sight the appreciation it deserved.

Joe jerked off fast and hard, his hand flying up and down his shaft, the fat red head popping in and out of the end of his fist. He began panting with his motions, harsh breaths that became deep rhythmic grunts. The lean muscles in his arms and chest stood out, highlighted by the sheen of sweat on his skin. Then he froze, gasped, “Oh, fuck. Oh, God!” and shot between his fingers, ribbon after ribbon of spunk splashing up my stomach and across my chest to my chin, until the spurts gave way to drips, and then ended.

I sucked in a breath, the chlorine-vanilla smell of cum thick in my nose, and drank in the sight of Joe kneeling over me, chest heaving, arm shaking, battered knuckles closed around himself.

After a moment he laughed, a short sound. “Okay, that was intense.”

“Glad to be of service,” I drawled.

“All you had to do was lie there and look pretty.” Joe sat back on his heels, then glanced around. “Gonna go clean up. Wait here. I’ll bring you a cloth.”

I was going to say he didn’t need to, but he was off the bed and out of the room before my orgasm-thick tongue could find words. He came back a few minutes later with a washcloth. Gently, with the same focus he’d given to kissing me, he wiped the sweat and cum off my face and neck and chest, and then off my soft dick which didn’t even manage a twitch.

He left again, dealing with the cloth. I heard the toilet flush, then he came to stand by the bed. “What now?”

I wasn’t sure if he expected me to send him home, or exile him to one of my many guest rooms or what. A cough tickled my throat, but once I had breath, I said, “Get in here and pull the covers up while you’re at it.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he quipped. I pretended I hadn’t liked that, while he lay down beside me, fumbled at our feet, and pulled the sheet and blankets up.

He seemed tentative when he stretched out, his legs and arms not touching mine. Usually, I wasn’t one for sharing a bed. No one had ever accused me of being a cuddler. But I wanted Joe there, his warm presence a comfort. I reached over far enough to lay the back of my hand against his chest, and, despite everything, I fell asleep between one breath and the next.

Chapter Three

Joe

Somethingwokemefroma deeper sleep than I could remember in years. I was warm, almost too warm. A narrow shaft of morning sun in my eyes said I’d slept in way past my usual. I blinked and stretched and my foot grazed a man’s hairy ankle.

Sylvester!Memories of last night landed like a rockslide on my head. I froze, scrunching my eyes shut as if that would get me back into the bunkhouse in my narrow bed.

Behind me, Sylvester mumbled something, then stirred. “Joe?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah?” Because it was too late to sneak out and pretend this never happened.

A kiss at the top of my spine near made me rocket off the side of the bed.

Sylvester grabbed my shoulder and said, “Sorry, I thought you were awake.”

“Was. Just didn’t expect that.” I shrugged free and sat up on the edge. “Must be gettin’ late.”

“Do you have to go to work?”

“No. Day off.”

Sylvester reached past my hip to set a hand on my bare thigh and waited till I turned to look at him. “We could take advantage of your morning off.”

My dick sure wanted to. I went from regular morning wood to hard as nails at the heat of his palm on my skin. But this wasn’t some evening pick-up that somehow stretched into an unexpected nap. I wasn’t sure what this was. Just that it felt important, and I needed pants on when we talked about what the hell we were doing.

I got up, found my boxers and jeans, and tugged them on. Maybe a shirt was going too far, but despite the bright sun filtering in around the curtains, I felt chilled. Maybe leaving the warm bed did it. Maybe leaving the warm man. In any case, I added my flannel.

Sylvester watched me, his head tilted, propped on an elbow with his naked chest on display. I crossed my arms and made like I wasn’t looking. “D’you do breakfast around here, or live on coffee and spite?” At his puzzled frown, I had to add, my tone lighter, “I could murder for a cup of coffee.”

That brightened his expression. “Down in the kitchen, I have coffee, eggs, bacon, bread. Are you offering to cook?”

“You trust me with your food?”

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