Chapter 9 #3
Dawson’s fingers were callused, and so was his palm, the ridges where his fingers met his hand tough as whip leather.
Seamus leaned into the touch, trying to figure out why somebody would have calluses in the same pattern as Dawson did.
He decided maybe it was from pulling bull ropes, which apparently sometimes the bullriders did.
He hadn’t seen Dawson on a horse, so he didn’t think it was because the man was a part-time roper or something.
Dawson seemed to be searching his face, looking for something, and when Seamus smiled, Dawson relaxed. Then he curled that hand around the back of his neck and tugged.
At the first press of Dawes’ lips on his, warm and firm and making him tingly all over, Seamus had to admit something.
He’d kissed a lot of people—mainly because of the movies, although he was far from a shrinking violet in his personal life—but he couldn’t ever remember a first kiss that had made him hard as a rock right away, as if his mind had no control over his body.
His skin went warm and flushed, and his hands came up as if somebody had pushed a button on his back and moved them, climbing to Dawson’s shoulders to hold on.
Dawes groaned, tilting his head and lengthening the kiss, deepening it too, tongue pushing between Seamus’s lips.
Seamus opened up for that kiss and pressed himself as close to Dawson as he could get, till there wasn’t any air between them.
Probably couldn’t even slide a credit card in between there, but it didn’t matter.
He wanted to be even closer. Hell, if he wasn’t probably twice Dawes’s length, he would push himself up until he was sitting in Dawson’s lap. That was how damn good the kiss was.
When they broke to breathe, Dawson blinked at him, and those hazel eyes were almost gold now, flashing bright. “Damn honey, is that how you start the necking? I don’t know if I’m gonna survive this until the pizza comes.”
“Oh, you’ll survive, I promise. If I have to, I’ll put you back together when you explode.” He nipped Dawson’s bottom lip to keep the man from stopping.
“Now I like the sound of that.” Dawson rubbed a thumb over his lips. “Why don’t you show me about some of this oral stuff?”
Oh, now that he could do. He opened his mouth just enough to pull that thumb in and begin to fellate it, sucking it base to tip, tongue flicking over the tip like it was a little cock.
Dawson stared at him, eyes wide and shocked, lips parted, and expression hungry, begging for him to continue.
So he did.
Seamus liked sucking. Hell, he loved it. It was the best way to drive a man mad and a great way to get to know somebody.
Intimately.
Dawson groaned, and the sound was deep enough it was as if he pulled it out from around his balls and offered it up.
Dawson pulled his hand away from his lips and landed in his lap, grinding against his belly as their mouths crashed together. This wasn’t like before—this was take-no-prisoners-I’m-going-to-eat-you-up-let’s-do-this-thing, kind of kissing.
Seamus was in one hundred percent. He had a double handful of cowboy butt, his soft shorts doing nothing to hide the way those muscles rippled as he squeezed.
It was as if they were desperate teenagers, fighting to get off, fighting to make each other come, like it was a contest.
If it was, it was one he was happy to lose and also desperate to win.
He slid one hand into the waistband of Dawson’s shorts, letting his fingers trail along the crack, teasing the sweet, tight asshole. Dawson said he could pitch and catch, so it wasn’t like this was no man’s land, right?
Dawson whimpered, shuddering against him, the shiver vulnerable, and Seamus had to admit, he was honored.
He stroked, and Dawson tugged Seamus’s T-shirt up, his own shorts down, baring the sweet, heavy cock. It was like a brand against his belly, and his eyes crossed.
He tried to say something clever, but nothing would come out of his mouth but a deep groan.
He went for more kissing because that would squash Dawson’s cock between them, let him feel how hard it was, how wet at the tip.
He could smell Dawson too, the deep, heated musk of him, and that was the most perfect thing ever.
Christ, it was better than fresh-baked bread or rain on the desert.
Dawson held him close, hand on his back, the other hand tugging at their clothes, trying to get both of them naked, which was tough as whip leather when one of them was sitting on the other one’s lap.
“Mate, you gotta let me move so we can get naked.”
Dawson pulled back enough to stare into his eyes. “Pizza’s coming. We can’t get bare completely.”
“Right.” Shit, he’d forgotten about that. He wasn’t feeling exactly brilliant.
He was feeling amazing, but not smart.
“Are you confusing the issue with logic?” Shay rolled his eyes, and backed off, breathing hard. “Damn mate! You made me wild.”
Dawson blinked over at him. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s an amazing thing.” His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he spread his legs a little, making room for his aching balls.
Dawson looked him up and down, then reached out and cupped his cock, holding on enough to let him know that he was right there.
“You are so damn pretty,” Dawson said.
His answer was to snort. “I don’t feel pretty. I feel hungry.”
“Then I’m doing this right, but the kid who delivers the pizza might be of legal driving age, but I’m not sure of anything else.” Dawes winked at him.
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t want to…I mean, well, ew.” He looked at Dawson and grinned. “The levels of I wouldn’t want to are vast, in fact, and innumerable.”
Dawson started laughing at him. “Are you suggesting that you’re not into twinks?”
Seamus stared at him. Like he’d want a younger guy when he had this amazing, experienced stud around.
“No. You are not a twink. I know what I’m into, and you, my dear friend, you’re what I’m into.
Or what I intend to be into. And I intend you to be into me.
I intend much in-ing. But I did my whole I’m-a-teenager thing.
Now I’m grown-up. I want this cowboy I know who’s sitting here on the couch with me with the raging hard-on and who smells like heaven. ”
Dawson blushed dark but winked at him. “Better than pizza?”
He made a show of pretending to ponder it, holding his chin between his forefinger and thumb and tilting his head. “Well, I don’t know. Pizza’s pretty good. I really do like a pizza. But there’s no sausage on my half of this pizza, so…”
Dawson hooted like a great, giant owl. “Oh, that was terrible.”
“I know, right?” He was kind of pleased with himself, in fact.
Dawson smacked his arm gently. “Yeah, yeah. The sausage is only on my half. Yours is chicken.” Dawson clucked like a chook, and he had to laugh out loud.
“Asshole.”
“That’s a whole different kind of pizza.” Dawson said it so deadpan that he blinked for a moment, taking a beat or two to catch up.
Then Seamus howled, loving that Dawson was so damn dry and easy in his skin. So he took another kiss, long and deep and leisurely.
“Mmmm.” Dawson touched him easily, hand sliding back into the hair right above the nape of his neck, and he huffed out a happy breath.
They kept it hot but slower until the pizza showed. Then they left that on the counter and headed to Dawson’s bedroom without even discussing it.
Seamus wanted Dawson more than he craved junk food, and that was saying something considering how rarely he got the food…
He knew Dawson was special. This wasn’t someone who wanted him because he was a star. Dawson wanted him in spite of it, and that was worth its weight in gold.
They turned to each other as soon as they got through the door, and Dawes started tugging at Seamus’s clothes. He raised his arms to let Dawes take off his shirt, and then he was pushing at Dawson’s shirt and shorts too. He needed skin.
Dawson was built like a brick shit house—solid and firm in all the right places, gorgeous, even with the new scars, which were still a little red and promising they could still be angry. “Do they hurt?”
“Nothing hurts right now. Not a motherfucking thing.”
That was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard and Seamus reached out to touch, wrapping his hands around Dawson’s shoulders and stroking before he let his fingers drag up along his chest, tangling in the hair they found there. “You’re damn hot.”
Dawson snorted. “I’m here with one of the most famous men on earth. You’re on the cover of magazines—”
He dismissed that train of thought with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, I hear that about me. I wouldn’t stress that part though. Any asshole can get on the cover of a magazine.”
“I never have.” Dawson winked at him while pinching one of his nipples. “Just goes to show I ain’t an asshole like you thought I was.”
“Aw, but you were a jerk.” He leaned in to say the last bit against Dawson’s mouth, which fascinated him. It was so damn well-shaped and hot, smooth, yummy. Yeah, okay, so he was rhapsodizing a little bit. Sue him.
As long as he was doing it inside his head, who the fuck would know?
He let his hands slide around Dawson’s side so he could get a double handful of that sweet ass. That was what he wanted anyway.
He groaned softly into their kiss before focusing on tongue-fucking Dawson like the desperate son of a bitch he was.
Dawson gave as good as he got. He found himself standing there, both of them humping against one another, driving them together. Dawson’s cock was dragging along his thigh, and he knew the fabric of his jeans had to be chafing in the best sort of way.
As they moved to the bed, Dawson started herding him like a sheep dog or something, but that was nothing he was going to argue with. His knees were turning to jelly, and he wanted to stretch out anyway.