Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Coke leaned back and floated, eyes closed, the water holding his sore-as-fuck back up. He’d tied it up with Ringo and ended up on the wrong end of a hoof. That had been on the second ride of the night and he’d muscled through another forty-three.
And four re-rides.
After letting Nate take the stitches out of his goddamn face then getting shit from Doc, Shaun, and Jonesy about it.
Lord, you’d think he was a friggin’ underpants model or something, the way they carried on. Squawking cusses.
All the guys had done some celebration thing, but he’d snuck out, not even telling Dillon goodbye. Now his happy ass was in the hotel, in the tub, in the hot water, considering death as a viable option.
The knock came, soft and tentative, not on the outside door but on the bathroom one.
“It’s not locked, Dillon. Did you have fun?” He hated to be a party-pooper, but he was getting old.
“It was okay.” Dillon be-bopped in, standing by the tub and staring at him, all concerned-like. “Face looks good. You gonna make it?”
“I’m taking it under consideration.” He reached up, stroking Dillon’s thigh. “You had a good night out there. The crowd was rocking.” He loved this part, and he’d missed it tonight—the talking about the event, letting Dillon know he’d watched.
Dillon grabbed his hand and sat on the edge of the tub, kissing his beat up knuckles. “You did some damned good work, babe.”
“Mmm. Thanks.” That little ‘babe’ sent a zing through him. He closed his eyes, cock filling right up.
“You’re welcome.” Dillon let go of his hand for a moment, and he heard the sound of cloth hitting the floor, the now-familiar sound of contact solution being squirted into them weird little tube deals. When he opened his eyes, Dillon was dipping his toes in the bathwater.
“Come in?” He held his arms open, wanting himself a touch.
“You bet.” Naked and sleek, Dillon slid right into the water with him, kinda floating right on over to him, easing up against him.
“You get yourself something to eat, honey?” Damn, his man smelled good.
“I did. It’s all good.”
They rocked with the water, their bodies touching all up and down, but not hurting.
He let his hands travel, exploring all that skin. “You ready to come home with me for a few days?”
Andy’d said Jason wasn’t in the mood for training, so he and Jase were talking about heading to Miz Scott’s. Either that or hanging around and torturing Aje.
“I am. I so am.” Dillon chuckled, eyes closing as Coke’s hands traveled down to squeeze Dillon’s butt. “I’m ready.”
“Me, too. We can cook and swim and goof off for a little while.” Get to know each other outside the arena and shit.
“Sounds like a plan.” It was funny. Dillon could be a hell of a prima donna in the arena, but with Coke, he was easy as pie.
He nodded, floating a little, humming underneath his breath as his fingers slid up and down Dillon’s spine.
“So what are you going to cook me?” Fingers trailing along his new scars, learning them, petting them, Dillon wiggled a little, getting settled better.
“Mmm. Brisket and chicken wings and pork loin. Banana pudding and brats and borracho chicken.” Oh, yeah. “Lots of meat on the grill. There’s no better way.”
“I like protein. Banana pudding I’m not so sure about.” This from the man who loved sugar?
“No? You don’t like bananas or pudding?”
“It’s the combination.” Dillon lowered his voice to a whisper. “The slime.”
“Ah. Well, we’ll make pie instead.” That was easy enough. He liked his bananas.
“I’ve never had it homemade, though. Just from a buffet.”
Huh. That might just be un-American. “Man, that’s nasty. You know that, right?” Of course, Dillon lived where it snowed—on purpose.
“I know! Maybe you should make me some.” Dillon was leaving a trail of tiny kisses down his neck.
“Okay.” Wait. Didn’t Dillon say he didn’t like pudding? Oh. Oh, that felt good.
“I mean, just to see if I like yours better.” One of his hands got plucked out of the water, Dillon massaging it for him.
“Uh-huh.” Okay. Anything. He was easy.
“You like that, huh?” Those blue eyes twinkled for him, Dillon taking up his other hand to give it the same treatment.
“Like.” Hell, it obviously made him stupid.
“Enjoy? Want me to do it some more?”
Turkey.
“Uh-huh.” He wanted a lot of stuff. Maybe everything.
“Cool.” That lean body shifted, Dillon sitting up so he could reach more, rubbing at Coke’s arms.
He watched the water slide down Dillon’s belly—Dillon’s smooth, ripped belly. “Look at you.”
Dillon glanced down, eyes crossing. “Nope. I’ll just look at you instead. I mean, it’s way cooler.”
“I’m an old man. You’re… Damn.” He stroked along the muscles, touching.
“Stop that. We’ve discussed it, and decided you are not old.
” Winking, Dillon bent and kissed him, sending every other thought out of his head.
He moaned, lips parting, his heavy five o’clock shadow caught by those lips, the little hairs tugging.
Dillon gave and gave, loving on him, kissing and touching until he thought his head might just pop off.
“Dillon.” He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t quite focus. God knew he wasn’t hurting any more.
“Right here, babe. Whatever you need.”
“You.” And wasn’t that the God’s honest truth.
Drawing back, Dillon stared him right in the eye. “How do you want me?”
“Take me to bed, Dillon. Make love to me.” Damn, that made him sound like all sorts of a girl and Lord knew he’d never let anyone in before—not Danny, not Adam, no one—but…
Well, hell. This was Dillon.
This was special.
Not only that, he had himself one of them fake cocks at home and he liked that well enough.
“I can do that, babe.” Water streamed off Dillon when he stood, holding a hand down to help his Coke body up out of the water.
There was a perfect hoof print bruise on his side, dark and black and u-shaped, the blood dotting the skin as they dried each other off.
“Oh, fuck, Coke. You’ve got to be hurting.” Dillon blotted at the damned thing gently, barely brushing at the bruise.
“I was. I’m better now.” He was damn near perky.
Head tilting, Dillon paused to consider that, then nodded. “Well, okay then. I get to fuss after, though.”
“I can handle that. I’ll let you and not bitch a word.” He’d even like it, if Dillon’d give him what he needed first.
“Woo.” They stepped out of the tub, and once they were out of the slick, wet bathroom, Dillon started hauling him like a tugboat with a barge. “Mine, mine, mine.”
“You’re sure about that, are you?” He was chuckling, happy deep down.
“Pretty sure.” All of a sudden Dillon seemed a little uncertain. “I mean, you said you were keeping me.”
“For as long as you’ll have me, cowboy.” He stepped right up close, all laughter stopped. “This ain’t no little thing for me, sir. Not at all.” He’d be Dillon’s until Dillon wanted something else, then he’d count himself lucky for what he’d had.
“God.” He landed on the bed hard when Dillon tackled him, kissing his chin, his cheeks.
His mouth. The kiss liked to pop the top of his head right off.
Boom. God help him, he didn’t want it to stop.
It didn’t for a long while, Dillon only pulling back long enough to breathe before diving back in.
Oral man. Everything faded away—bulls and bruises and all.
All he was left with was Dillon and the scratchy coverlet.
Dillon smoothed lean hands over his skin, thumbs rubbing at his nipples, fingers finding the hollows of his hipbones. They even went over his back so Dillon could trace the heavy, ropy scars from his surgery, petting each and every one. They drove him higher all the time, until he was flying.
Coke found himself spread and shifting, moaning like a fool, begging wordlessly for this whole thing not to stop.
Dillon finally started moving south, licking at his neck, sucking at the tiny mark that seemed to be ever present on his collarbone.
Avoiding the bruised side, Dillon worked down, licking at his nipple, nibbling at his hip.
“Damn. Damn, honey. Need you something fierce.” His hands creaked as he opened and closed them.
“Anything you want, Coke. I swear. Anything.” Dillon glanced up, eyes shining at him for a moment. Then Dillon started working on his cock.
Fuck him. He opened his mouth to holler, but nothing came out, just a shaky, needy little moan.
Lips and tongue pressed against him, Dillon licking him up and down before sucking strongly at the tip.
The man needed to pick up Dyson as a sponsor.
Coke reached out, fingertips brushing through the soft, shaggy hair, loving on Dillon right back, the best he could.
Humming, Dillon moved up and down, sucking from tip to base and back again.
God, that was good. Dillon traced his belly, his thighs, working their way down to his balls.
Spreading out a little, Coke forced himself not to tense at all.
It was easier than he’d thought it might be, because it was Dillon touching, Dillon letting him feel all this.
Dillon stroked him gently, rolling his balls.
Then his cowboy pressed two fingers behind them, right on that strip of skin that no one had ever touched, pushing, testing.
His eyes popped open—hell, he hadn’t even known they were closed. Electricity shot up his spine and his toes curled. “Oh, damn. Again.”
Dillon pulled off his dick with a wet pop. “Here?” Dillon had calluses. Who knew? They brushed against that tiny patch of skin, making his nerves scream.
“Uhn. Uh-huh.” His legs shook a little, heels digging into the sheets.
“Hot. Your skin is so hot, Coke.” Pushing his thighs farther apart, Dillon lifted his ass with both hands and put that hot mouth right on the same strip of skin.
“Oh, dear Lord…” He was gonna light afire, right here. Just burst into flames.
Licking, kissing, Dillon worked him over but good, that tongue moving over him, wet and right. Got even better when Dillon bent a little more and licked at his hole.