Chapter 10 Rhett #2
“No.” He grinds forward, and I feel every thick inch of him hard against my ass through denim. “You broke up with her in front of half the damn county because you couldn’t stand watching her touch me. Right?”
“Fuck you.”
“Already planning on it.”
He spins me until my back hits the tree again, bark scraping my shoulders. His mouth crashes down, claiming, biting my lower lip until I taste copper. I bite back harder. He groans like it’s praise.
I shove at his chest. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” His hand slides down, cups me through my jeans, and squeezes just hard enough to make my knees buckle. “You’re leaking for it already.”
Heat floods my face. Shame and want twist together until I can’t separate them.
“Stop—” The word cracks on my tongue.
He doesn’t. Instead, he pops the button on my jeans and drags the zipper down. Cool night air hits my skin as he shoves denim and my boxers to mid-thigh in one rough yank. My cock springs free, already flushed, hard, and slick at the tip.
“Look at you. So fucking pretty when you’re lying to yourself.”
I grab his wrist. “Don’t.”
His thumb swipes over the head, spreading pre-cum. I hiss, hips jerking forward despite myself.
“That’s what I thought.” He drops to his knees in the dirt. Pine needles crunch under him as his hands grip my hips, thumbs digging into the V of my pelvis, holding me open.
“Colt…wait—”
He doesn’t wait.
His hot, wet mouth closes over the head. No tease, no gentle licks, just takes me deep in one slick glide, his throat relaxing to take me all the way in. My head slams back against the trunk, bark scraping scalp. A choked curse rips out of me.
“Fuck…fuck…stop—”
He hums around me instead, and the vibration shoots straight to my balls. One hand slides up under my shirt, his rough palm scraping over my abs, then pinching my nipple hard enough to make me arch. The other wraps around my base, stroking what his mouth can’t reach.
I fist his hair and yank.
Trying to pull him off. Trying to pull him closer.
He pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny. “You want me to stop, Rhett? Really?” His tongue flicks the slit, lapping at the steady drip. I shudder so hard I feel so close to coming.
“I—” The word dies on my tongue.
“Didn’t think so.” He dives back down, hollowing his cheeks, sucking hard. His head is bobbing fast now—sloppy, obscene, wet sounds echoing in the quiet woods. His free hand cups my balls, rolling them gently, then tugs just enough to sting.
Pleasure-pain spikes through me, and my hips snap forward on instinct, fucking into his mouth. He groans his approval, taking me deeper, his nose brushing my pubic bone.
“Goddamn it. Colt—” My voice cracks. “I’m not—I can’t—”
He pulls off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to my cock as he looks up at me through dark lashes, eyes blown black with lust.
“You’re going to come for me, cowboy.”
Then he’s back on me, hand pumping in time with his mouth, tongue swirling under the head on every upstroke. Then his other hand slips behind my balls, fingers tracing the crease of my ass, pressing just against the rim. Not inside, just circling, teasing.
I choke on a sound that’s half sob, half moan.
“Don’t … don’t you fucking dare—”
He presses harder. Just enough pressure to make every nerve scream. My thighs shake. My grip in his hair turns brutal.
“Colt…please—”
“Please, what?” He pulls off again, stroking me slowly with his fist. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop until I’ve got you coming down my throat like the good boy you are?”
Shame burns hotter than the pleasure.
I hate him.
I hate myself more.
I don’t answer with words.
My hips buck forward instead, hard and helpless, fucking his hand, his mouth—chasing the edge I shouldn’t want.
He laughs against my skin then swallows me again, his fingers still teasing that forbidden ring of muscle.
My whole body locks, back arching off the tree. A broken, guttural, “Fuck! Colt—” tears out of me as I come, spilling down his throat in thick ropes. He doesn’t pull away, though. He takes every drop, swallowing around me.
Only then does he ease off, licking me clean with soft, almost tender strokes that make me twitch.
He sits back on his heels in the dirt, lips swollen, chin wet, eyes never leaving mine.
Still hard in his jeans. Still watching me like I’m prey that just ran straight into his jaws.
I can’t look away.
My legs give out and I slide down the trunk until my ass hits the ground, jeans still tangled around my thighs, chest heaving.
“Still think you’re straight, Golden Boy?”
“That didn’t mean anything. That was…It was just…It didn’t mean anything.”
Colt is still on his knees in the dirt looking up at me, looking like a man who just took exactly what he wanted and is in no particular hurry about what comes next.
“Whatever helps you sleep.”
“I mean it.” I push off the tree. “Don’t read into it. Don’t make this something it isn’t. It was a moment and it’s done.”
I get my jeans up, hands moving fast, not looking at him. I move with the mechanical efficiency of a man trying to rebuild a wall with whatever rubble is left. Belt buckle. Button. Zip. I press the back of my head against the tree trunk for one second and stare up at the dark canopy and breathe.
He stands then, slowly, brushing the pine needles off his knees with an unhurried calm that makes me want to put my fist through something.
He tilts his head. “Next time, I’ll take my time—edge you until you’re crying for it.
Until you’re begging me with that pretty voice.
” His tongue drags slowly across his lower lip.
“And there will be a next time, Rhett. We both know it. You can walk away tonight and tell yourself whatever story gets you through, but you’ll be back.
Because now you know what it feels like when someone actually makes your dick throb, and you’re never going to be able to unfeel that. ”
I scoff in disbelief and walk away.
Is he truly that delusional?
I find Dawson exactly where I knew he’d be—leaning against the hood of the truck with his arms crossed. He takes one look at me coming out of the tree line and something moves across his expression that he puts away just as fast.
He doesn’t ask.
He just pushes off the hood and goes around to the driver’s side and gets in.
I get in the passenger side, close the door, and stare straight ahead at the dark field, the distant firelight, and the shapes of people who have no idea what just happened thirty yards into those trees.
Dawson starts the engine.
We’re halfway down the dirt road before he speaks.
“You good?”
I think about that—really think about it—which is a mistake, because thinking about it means thinking about all of it.
“No, but I will be.”
Dawson nods once.
I ride the rest of the way home with my elbow on the door and my hand over my mouth and the window cracked, letting the night air in, trying to cool something that isn’t going to cool. Somewhere in the back of my skull, Colt’s voice is on a loop, saying the one thing I can’t argue with.
“Now you know what it feels like when someone actually makes your dick throb.”
I’ve known a lot of things in my life. I’ve known this ranch and this land and exactly who I was supposed to be. I’ve known hard work and early mornings and the weight of a name that means something in this town.
I have never known what it feels like to have something cut through all of it—the performance and the duty and the carefully managed version of myself I hand to everyone—and find something underneath that is just …
mine. Raw and inconvenient and completely outside the life I built to avoid exactly this.
I press the back of my hand to my mouth in the dark cab of my brother’s truck and I don’t know what to do with that.
I don’t know what to do with any of it.