Page 21 of Barn Burner
After catching my breath, I hold on to the condom as I slide my cock out of him, heading straight to my bathroom to dispose of it and clean myself up before returning back to the bed with a warm washcloth. I try and bathe him as best as I can with how he’s slumped onto the mattress like a wet noodle. When I return to the bed and slide under the sheets next to him, he looks up at me with a tired, satisfied gaze.
“I wanted to ride you.” His voice is thick with exhaustion from being so vocal. Something that I fucking love.
“Another time.”
“There’s gonna be another time?” he asks with a hopeful expression.
“Fuck yes, there will be, Brayden. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
9
Brayden
Am I surprised that Jesse isn’t lying next to me when I wake up? No, because he doesn’t seem like the “sleep in and have morning cuddles” kinda guy. But I am surprised by the note he’s left on his pillow, letting me know if he isn’t in the kitchen when I wake up, then he’s gone to feed the horses and will be back shortly, so to make myself at home.
Raising my arms above my head, I push my hands against the headboard—the headboard that was hitting the wall in a damn good bass beat last night—and I let out a long, satisfied groan as I stretch my body.
Last night was exactly what I needed. An orgasm of a lifetime. Something I definitely want to do again and again. Preferably later today if Jesse’s up for it. And it was the perfect chance to finally get out of my head. It was like he fucked the negativity right out of me. I don’t think he realizes he was exactly what I needed. Someone to just take control.
I was no longer Brayden Nielson, first-line center and top goal scorer for the Calgary Bobcats, who let down thousands ofpeople. Who’s been wearing a shroud of disappointment for the last two months.
I was just Brayden Nielson. A guy who has a head-over-heels crush on a stoic cowboy who picked him up off the side of the road. Who could read my wants and needs better than I could.
And the way he picked me up and carried me to his bed as if I didn’t weigh 190 pounds?
Dream man. Right there.
If I could take him with me back to the city, I’d start planning our wedding.
But that’s just a pipe dream. A bitter pill that I’ll have to swallow because, as I learned back in June, life isn’t fair, and this is just another one of those things that I can’t have.
Because his life is here, and mine’s under the bright lights of the Bobcats arena. Soon, I’ll have to say goodbye to Jesse and to this place that has allowed me to finally breathe again. I’ll be back on the ice, putting my all into being the hockey player the Bobcats pay me millions of dollars to be, and Jesse will be a happy memory to revisit in my imagination when I’m off the ice.
The sound of a cupboard closing snaps my attention toward the partially opened door. I get out of bed, picking up my boxers from where I left them on the floor, and slip them on. I have a quick freshen up in the bathroom and brush my teeth, deciding I’ll shower after I’ve had something to eat.
Hell, maybe Jesse will join me.
I make my way into the kitchen and find him standing at the counter with his back to me. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that hug one hot-as-fuck ass. His dark hair is damp, the strands beginning to curl at the base of his neck where it touches his shoulders. His body is incredible. Strength built from years of manual labour rather than hours honed in a gym. The muscles in his broad shoulders and wide back flex as he whisks. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling at the sight. My cockis most definitely chubbing up at the thought of how good that body made me feel last night.
“Are you done starin’, Brayden?” he says without turning around, his voice rumbling like thunder through the kitchen.
I huff a laugh, not embarrassed in the slightest that he caught me ogling. “Not yet. It’s quite the view. I’m just appreciating.”
He hums, and I feel the vibration across my bare skin.
Stepping further into the kitchen, I sidle up next to him at the counter. He’s making french toast, which just so happens to be my favourite treat for breakfast.
“How’d you know?” I ask, pointing to where the brioche slice is soaking in the mix.
“Know what?”
“That this is my favourite.”
He glances up at me with a flash of surprise in his eyes. “It is?”
I nod, placing my hands behind me and lifting myself up to sit on the counter. “Yeah. When I’m training, I allow myself to eat whatever I want for one day every other week, and french toast is one of my non-negotiables.”
He doesn’t respond, just turns to flick on the stove and heat up a pan. But the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s peaceful. Like submerging into a warm hot tub after a tough game.
