Chapter 6 #2
‘Ours’. Dillon was doing the whole yours-mine-ours thing. It was, well, hot. Made him feel like a part of something, too. Like he could breathe all this in and just go with it for a long, long while.
When they finally pulled into the drive, which had been farther away than it seemed, Dillon hopped out and opened the gate. Hell, even the babies were starting to get excited, tails thumping.
He pushed the console up out of the way and slid under the steering wheel, so he could drive in.
The wheels slipped and slid, but he made it through, reminding himself that ice was worse. Or so Dillon had said. He stopped, waited for Dillon to get in the truck. He wasn’t going to pussy out and make Dillon drive the rest of the way. No fucking chance.
“Man, we’ll have to get the puppers an outside heater so they can poop.”
“It’s bitter, huh?” Coke eased the truck into drive and headed down the way, focusing careful.
“It is. You’re good at this, babe.”
Ridiculous as it was, Dillon’s confidence in him eased him, made him remember that he’d been driving a long time.
He got them parked in a big-assed garage, the truck fitting like a glove. “This is nice, cowboy.”
“Yeah. Keeps you from having to tromp through the snow, huh?”
“Yeah.” He got out, heading to let the pups loose. “Is there a place to let them go and be safe?”
“Yeah. I had my sis put in a run. It should be right off the laundry room.” Dillon led the way into the house, then into a utility room. He turned on a light and opened a door, and boom.
The pups barreled out, paws slapping and ears flapping like mad.
“There they go!” They watched the silly things slip and slide on the new snow. The run had been shoveled, bless someone’s heart.
Him and Dillon stood there, just watching like idiots, watching their pups. Dillon’s hand found his, feeling almost shockingly warm. He’d need to find those gloves his cowboy had insisted on buying.
“Thank you.” He squeezed Dillon’s hand.
“For what, babe?” Moving closer, Dillon leaned against him, not hard, just enough to feel.
What a silly question. “Everything.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, you’re welcome.” Dillon chuckled, sounding tickled as hell.
Pansy leaped over Jerome, grabbing her brother’s ear on the way as she ran. They both cracked up, watching the pups run and fall and play. It was good to see them so free.
“We better get some towels for ’em. Those bellies are going to be soaked.” And God knew it took forever for the thick fur down there to dry.
“Yeah. Here, come on and get coffee going, and I’ll get them.”
Dillon led the way, and Coke could see why the man liked the kitchen in this place. It was something, all gleaming granite and stainless steel.
“Man, look at this.” He ran his hand along a countertop, shook his head. “Makes my kitchen seem sad. Well, the one inside the house.”
“Yeah, but the one you use outside? Dude.”
The coffeepot was obvious, and he knew Dillon liked to keep the coffee beans in the freezer.
He did his thing, whistling under his breath as he did.
He’d made himself at home in about a thousand cowboys’ houses—he did the same here.
It was kinda reassuring, how Dillon had mismatched coffee cups and weird, chipped plates. That was way more homey.
The coffee started smelling good and Coke got to hunting some food. There was a bunch of stuff in the fridge. Eggs and bacon, milk, veggies.
“You want eggs, cowboy?” He pulled out the bacon, found some tomatoes, and started hunting peppers. He knew he owed Dillon a massage, but all of a sudden he was ravenous, and the pups sure loved bacon.
Besides, massages led to orgasms, and coming led to naps.
Naps were better on a full belly.
Where the fuck were the jalapenos?
The patter of claws on tile warned him just in time to stick a knee out and keep Jerome from jumping on him. Silly thing.
He found a pan, some bell peppers but no jalapenos, an onion and some frozen biscuits, but he couldn’t discover the cookie sheets for love or money.
“How’s it going, babe?” Dillon’s hands slid down over his butt as he bent over.
“Mmm. Hunting for a sheet to make biscuits.” His thighs parted a little, sorta all on their own.
“Oh, we should do them in the toaster oven. I’ll put foil on the rack.” He could hear the grin in Dillon’s voice. The hands on his butt squeezed.
“Uh…” He leaned back into the touch, hips rolling sweet as sugar.
“Mmm. You’re nice and warm, babe.”
“You’ll distract me.” That was no lie.
“Uh-huh.” Dillon backed off, though, because there was already a pan on the stove.
Dillon started singing, just as happy as a lark, and Jerome yodeled along in his hound-dog voice.
“You happy to be home?” He let Dillon get the biscuits on, then plopped some bacon in the pan.
“I am.” Grinning, Dillon came dancing over to kiss him before helping him with the bacon so he could get to the eggs.
“You want over easy or scrambled?” The puppies were milling around now, exploring the kitchen, tails going ninety to nothing.
“I’ll go with scrambled, so I can have all the veggies.”
He chuckled. He could remember when Dillon would look at huevos Mexicana like they’d bite.
Dillon hip-bumped him gently—not enough to knock him off balance—before going to over to unpack the dog treats.
Peppers, onions, eggs—they had this down, and before too long, they were sitting with full plates, coffee, milk, the works.
Lord, but Dillon already seemed more relaxed, the lines around his mouth and eyes easing. It was fine to see.
Coke made himself a bacon and egg biscuit, chuckling at Dillon as the man gagged. Dillon had positions on biscuits, and all those positions involved sweet things.
Hell, the man put syrup on grits. It was bizarre.
Still, it made for good kisses.
Dillon popped open a biscuit and slathered it with butter and honey. Looked like Dillon’s sister really did know the man. That boded well.
The honey started to drip and he reached out, caught it on his finger, then sucked it clean. “Yum.”
Dillon stared, mouth open a little, eyes wide. “Uh-huh.”
“You okay, cowboy?” He loved how Dillon looked on him.
“I am. I, uh…” Yeah. Dillon was okay—Coke had seen the expression in those blue eyes more than once.
A little devil grew up in him and he stole another fingerful of honey, licked it off instead of sucking this time. “Sweet.”
“Coke, we’re eating…” Cheeks red, Dillon shifted in his seat.
“Uh-huh. I’m eating.” He thought that he could handle the idea of honey on Dillon’s cock. Hell, he’d bet his cowboy wouldn’t mind licking it off him, either. Dillon had himself a sweet tooth, too.
“You. Wow. Damn, babe.”
“Hmm?” His dick was about as hard as a rock. “I oughta put some of that on mine. I like salt and sweet together.”
God, this was fun.
“No. Only on chicken.” Dillon had taken a liking to the honey chicken biscuits at the Whataburger.
“I think it’d be okay on you.” He went right back to his food.
“I’m not sweet.” Dillon’d completely given up on eating, though, and was leaning toward him.
“No. You’re great, though.” Tasty.
“I can be bad. Really bad, if you want.”
Coke shivered, grinning as he drank his coffee. It’d been a while since they’d been relaxed enough to just…play together. “I don’t doubt that, cowboy.”
The honey bottle was the only thing that came with Dillon when he stood and held out a hand. “Come on, babe. Let me show you the bedroom.”
He reached out and twined their fingers together, only stopping to settle the bassets in the laundry room with their beds and bones.
This was never going to be Texas, but it could be somewhere to hang his hat for a while.