Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Dillon liked Coke’s place. A few acres of land, a simple ranch house with non-breakable furniture, pictures hung everywhere on the living room wall from twenty-three years of cowboy protection. A pool.
Oh, what a pool. Dillon hadn’t even been in it, and he could write odes to it.
Two tiers of water, rough cut stone all around, solid loungers propped up and tied to the fence to save them from the Texas wind.
There was an outdoor kitchen set up that made some kitchens he’d seen seem paltry.
Hell, Coke’d shown him the thing like it was a new baby—running water, a fridge, a smoker, everything. And that didn’t even count the hot tub.
Oh, sweet Jesus, that amazing hot tub.
They just had to wait for the filter to cycle through, and they could go in.
He couldn’t wait.
Bouncing, he made another circle of the living room, dancing a little, just because it felt good. He wondered if Coke had weights. He hadn’t seen the whole house yet. If not, he’d put on some music and run in circles or something. A clown had to stay in shape.
“You want the rest of the tour, honey?” The bags were still waiting, the air conditioner starting to whirr, cool the place down.
Coke pointed to a big old wardrobe-looking thing, hulking and dark in the corner near the bay window.
“That’s where the movies live. I got a lot of them, ‘cause we don’t have cable, and I gotta do something with that big assed TV that Beau give me. ”
“Yeah? Do you have popcorn, or will we have to shop?” Dillon be-bopped over and kissed Coke right on the mouth, grinning into those surprised eyes.
“I… I have popcorn, but we’ll need real food.” Coke’s hands landed on his hips, strong as all get out. “I seem to remember a request for hot wings.”
“Oh, yeah. You said you could make them. I didn’t know you could do that.” Swaying, he rubbed a little, happy as a pig in shit.
“I can. I got the great barbecue thing.” Yeah, as simple as Coke’s house was, that patio was swanky, huge fans, a long dining table, cushioned chairs, pool of joy. Hot tub.
It bore thinking about over and over. Coke. Hot tub. Nakedness.
Rooorwwl.
Grinning, he bumped their hips together. “So. What does your bed look like?”
“It’s big and it’s remote-controlled for when I’m stiff. The Taggarts brought it for me. Grab your bags, honey. I’ll show you round.”
A remote-control bed. That had serious possibilities. Especially if Coke was stiff… Woo. He grabbed his duffle and followed, staring curiously at everything.
There were photos all over the walls in every room, not just the one—family and folks he knew from the tour, something that looked like a baby Coke. Too damned cute.
Coke showed him the bright, white and yellow kitchen with its little round table and ancient chairs with Texas flags painted on the back.
There was a long hallway, then what Coke called the blue room, the guest bed and bath, as normal and simple and neat as could be.
The office was next—with a little writing desk and a huge weight machine and one of those inverter deals that dangled a man upside down, stereo speakers on the wall.
He didn’t offer to put his bag in the blue room. No, sir. He was holding out for Coke’s room. Oh, yeah. That room took up half of the house, with a big-assed bed, a whirlpool tub, a flat screen TV that put the one in the living room to shame. Oh, now. Look at this. It was like sensualist heaven.
“You could… There’s room in the closet and dresser for you, if you want, honey…”
“I do want. I want all sorts of stuff.” Look at that blush. Coke was a joy, and Dillon figured he needed to remember to slow up a little. They’d come a long way really fast.
“Well, then. There’s nothing but a couple boxes on the right-hand side of the chest of drawers.” Coke’s hand slid over his back, almost feather light. “Make yourself at home, son. You’re welcome here.”
“Coke, we’ve talked about you calling me son.” That just wasn’t gonna work. Pressing his leg against Coke’s crotch, Dillon leaned close for another kiss. To prove he wasn’t feeling childlike.
“Mmm. Force of habit, cowboy.” Coke leaned closer, stubble tickling his lips before one soft kiss turned into a second long, deep kiss.
“Damn. You feel good.” This was surreal. Here, in Coke’s house, finally getting what he’d wanted. Again.
“I do. This is like a damn dream.” Coke’s hands were fascinated by his ass. It rocked.
“A good one, right?” Dillon pushed his ass back, let Coke get a good grip.
Those fingers dug in, squeezing him good and firm. “Yeah. Yeah, Dillon.”
“We could go get groceries a little later. Occupy ourselves while we wait for the pool to filter.” Only if Coke wasn’t too sore from driving.
“We could.” Coke’s tongue slid along his bottom lip, slow and sexy as could be.
Oh, yay. Wrapping his arms around Coke’s neck, Dillon nibbled, teasing Coke back with his tongue. They scooted toward the bed, one slow step after another, taking it slow.
Coke’s legs hit the bed first, the quilts sliding a little, and Dillon held on, just to make sure the man kept his balance. He didn’t want anything to ruin this. He got a quick little grin, and Coke settled, drawing him down onto Coke’s lap.
“Hi there.” Straddling he was good at, even if he wasn’t a bull rider.
He used his thigh muscles a lot more than twenty-four seconds a weekend.
Dillon kissed Coke’s lower lip, pulling at it a tiny bit with his teeth before heading to kiss that jagged scar that was starting to lose its puff and bruise.
“Mmm. Hey.” He felt Coke jerk beneath him, felt the way those strong muscles went tight. “You’re so fine.”
“Yeah? Most of the guys think I’m silly.” That was okay, too, but damn it was nice to know Coke thought he was good to gaze upon—to rub on.
“No. No. So damn hot.” Oh. Oh, yeah. That, ladies and gents? That was a possessive, horny little growl that was all his.
“You’re a stud, Coke.” There was not a bit of irony there. He really thought Coke was the shit. Dillon rewarded the growl with another kiss, then another. Coke worked his T-shirt up, baring his belly, fingers sliding right down to play with his short hairs.
Damn. All of a sudden he was shaking, scrabbling at Coke’s clothes. Slow and easy wasn’t an option anymore.
Coke leaned back, wincing a little as he landed on the bed.
“You okay, babe? You need something else massaged before I ride you into oblivion?” There was no way he was gonna do this if Coke was hurting. They could just go take a shower.
“I’m good. Just a little stiff.” Coke chuckled, eyes rolling. “Pun intended.”
“Mmm. ‘Kay. Now, you said something about lube?” He worked at Coke’s clothes, wanting them gone.
“I did. You see that wee drawer? It’s in there. I’ll get it.”
“Nope. I got it.” He was facing forward anyway. Dillon scrambled, opening the drawer and kind of staring. Just a little.
There was well-used tube of KY and a dildo all wrapped up in a plastic bag—which, okay, gave him joy. Better than that, there was a picture. Of him.
Coke slid away from him, and when he looked, the man was flushed dark red.
“I’m sorry, cowboy. I told you… I been watching.”
Oh. God almighty. His cock jumped, thinking about Coke jacking off to him. For him. That little blush made it… Uhn. “Why are you sorry, babe?” Dillon crawled back over, then patted Coke’s chest.
“I just… It makes me feel like a perv. I just… You make me all…” Coke gestured to that hard, heavy cock. Yeah. Yeah, he did that.
“You do it to me, too. So where’s the perv?” That deserved a kiss. Oh, yes it did. Dillon took one, loving on the man.
Coke opened up to him, moaning right into his lips, relaxing for him. Jesus, Coke wanted him better than anyone had.
Maybe better than anyone ever would.
He couldn’t wait to find out…