Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Hank
I deserved a medal.
This week alone, I’d fully and completely caught up on the paperwork Jasper had interrupted with his banana coffee cake.
The barn had never looked better with fresh hay and scrubbed-out feeders.
The tack shed had been organized and cataloged.
What wasn’t being used, and that was most of it, had been donated and carted off.
The tool shed got its own makeover and was now organized to surgical precision.
Fences were all checked, and the trail cam platform screws had never been tighter.
Inside the house, I’d cleaned from top to bottom, including the baseboards and the pantry.
The deep freezer was defrosted and wiped out.
The junk room had been cleared out too. Hell, I even painted the bathroom I’d been thinking about painting for more than five years.
No one who’d ever been in it could explain why my mom had thought medicine pink was a great shade to piss under.
And yet, here it was a week later, and despite all the work, I still hadn’t been able to shake my thoughts about Jasper.
When I went to sleep at night, I dreamed we’d done more than just look at the stars from his porch. He starred in all my dreams now, and when I woke up each morning, my cock was hard and my hand was already jerking myself off.
Before bed, I’d been reading every article I could find about littles. I tried watching a few videos, but it felt weird and oddly disloyal to watch some random little call another man Daddy. After a few wildly uncomfortable attempts, I gave up. If it wasn’t Jasper, I wasn’t interested.
After Sunday night’s dinner, I’d hightailed it back to my house before I did something foolish. I’d managed to stay away from Jasper’s place for a week.
Our wide spot in the road was crawling with options for him. Comfort had become a bit of a queer haven, thanks to our free-thinking ancestral roots. He’d have plenty of folks to keep him busy, and I could cheer him on from my side of the pasture.
My parents had scrimped and saved and busted their asses to scratch out a living on this land. They’d done all right, but had never quite gotten past the fear that disaster was always one unpaid bill away. My dad gladly retired the minute I’d mentioned it.
Then I’d taken over and sold off the angoras.
The profit margin on their fiber wasn’t enough to keep us afloat.
But with them gone, I’d had to figure out what would work.
Being rich had never been my dream, but building a cushion between me and disaster absolutely was.
That part had happened slowly over the last five or ten years.
This land had been in our family since the 1850s, when Comfort was first settled.
It was a part of me. Every big event in my life had happened here, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
The part of Cypress Creek that cut across our back pasture was where I learned to swim.
The barn was where I’d had my first kiss and figured out I liked girls in glasses.
The pasture was where I had my second and discovered that boys in glasses were pretty great too.
It was pure dumb luck that I happened to be at the auction house when someone from a research lab got turned away.
He was looking for land that wasn’t easy to find.
An open pasture that was both rocky and lush and not currently used for domestic production was a tall order.
When he left the office, I followed to find out what he wanted it for and, more importantly, how much he was willing to pay.
Apparently, that amount was a helluva lot more than we’d ever made raising angoras for fiber.
It hadn’t made me rich, but I could pay the bills, supplement my parents, and still have some left over.
I’d practically given away our pens for that first contract.
By the time the second one came, I charged a little more.
Little by little, I expanded our capacity with what we could handle and what we could offer.
I wasn’t a scientist, but I could damn well tell when a nilgai planned to charge, how a Watusi showed affection, or which goats would grow up plush.
When I was a kid, I dreamed of continuing the family tradition of ranching, but I didn’t know it would be in the form of taking care of exotic species.
It had worked out even better than I’d imagined.
One thing led to another, and after years of hard work, we were the first place called when a zoo or lab needed a spot for hoofed stock. For the last ten years, this ranch had been my first and last thought every day, and that had been enough. I ran it almost entirely on my own.
And that meant I was too busy for a relationship. It was one less thing on my list and hadn’t felt like a sacrifice. If I needed sex, it was easy enough to hook up on a trip to San Antonio or Houston for a rodeo. Other than that, I was perfectly fine with my hand and a porn subscription.
And then Jasper moved in next door, and every distraction that had never been a distraction suddenly took center stage in my brain.
He was sparkly and funny and dressed his goats in ridiculous collars with silly names. And he could cook like a goddamn pro. Knowing he was just over my buffer pasture was enough to keep me from answering emails.
But what I wanted to do and what I would do were two very different things.
It had taken everything I had this week to stay on my side of the fence, but I’d done it.
Jasper was setting up a business, and I knew how damned hard that was, especially when it was a one-person operation.
He hadn’t said it outright, but there was no mistaking the impression that someone, maybe his family, expected him to fail.
Splitting attention between the business and a man was a near-guaranteed way to make the launch harder.
Me not going over there? That was being helpful.
Except…the goats were still trying to get through the fence.
And I was about to move animals into that pasture.
A local rescue had some llamas dumped on them, but they didn’t have enough land to house them for the next month.
I usually kept my front pasture open for situations like this.
The exotics needed to be tucked far from prying eyes and behind high fences.
The nonexotic rescues? Those could be up front.
If they were going into that field, the fencing needed to be extra secure.
Yesterday, I’d noticed Jasper fiddling with the fence while he was in the goat pen. It looked like he’d been stretching—yoga, maybe—but had stopped to mess with the fence near the gate.
If I told myself I wasn’t spying on him, maybe I’d believe it eventually.
But I could see him. I’d seen him hauling stuff all over the yard. And as usual, he was in a T-shirt and those damned cutoffs that—even from across the way—showed off skin I swore was shiny from the sun and sweat.
Yesterday, he dumped a thermos of water over his head, and I would’ve sworn he looked right at me when he did it. No way could he have seen me from the opening in the upper part of the barn, but it felt like he wanted me to see him.
Like he could see straight into the part of me that had been dormant for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to need someone.
Either way, I’d see Jasper today, but strictly for fencing purposes.
It was my own fault, really. He’d asked me to show him what he needed, and I hadn’t done that properly. There’d be no sitting on porch swings stargazing. No intimate dinners.
Absolutely nothing that looked like a Daddy taking care of his little.
Except…I kinda wanted to know what it felt like to be the one who fixed his sippy cup.
Maybe rinsing his hair in the bath, or a few other body parts, would be fun too.
And I had a hunch that watching him play with toys or joining him might bring me the kind of mental break I hadn’t had in years.
I’d bet money Jasper’s giggle was sunshine in a cup.
Fence check.
That’s it.
Absolutely no Daddy or little shenanigans. Unless he asks with his manners.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Jasper said with a startled yelp.
I hadn’t meant to sneak up on him, but when I’d seen him silhouetted in the barn door, I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
He’d had his back to me, long legs on full display in his ever-present cutoffs.
He’d leaned against a shovel, taking a break from mucking stalls, backlit by the afternoon sun.
He’d looked like a statue at rest. I didn’t know shit about art, but I knew enough to tell Jasper was made to be someone’s muse.
He waited for me to say something—probably an apology for making him jump. I should’ve, but my brain hadn’t come back online. Jasper’s eyes stayed expectant, but all I could do was stare.
“Did you need something?” he asked, laughter dancing at the edges of his voice.
Shit. What was my excuse supposed to be?
“Yeah. I did need something.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is? We can play charades if you want. I’m good at all sorts of games.”
His twinkling eyes made it clear I wasn’t fooling him in the slightest.
“I, uh…I wanted that berry recipe. It was really good.”
“The berry recipe? You came all the way over here for that?”
“Yeah, why are you making it weird?” I asked defensively. “The berry recipe. Are you one of those people who never shares recipes? I’ve got a great-aunt like that. Everyone thinks it’s weird.”
“I don’t mind sharing,” he said. “I just thought you hated cooking.”
Shit. I had told him that.
“It’s… It’s for my mom. She really likes berries.”
“Are you not sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. She definitely likes berries.”
“Then she should toss them in a bowl, squirt a little honey over the top, and let them sit for a while.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s pretty simple stuff. Especially if she knows how to cook.”
“It tasted complicated.”
“It’s not,” he said with a smirk. “Are you going to tell me the real reason you came over here, or do I need to guess?”
“It was for the berries.”
“I may not know a lot,” Jasper said, stepping closer, “but I know you’re full of shit.”
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. He was close enough that I could smell the sweat on him—barn work and sun and heat. It was natural, musky, and every part of me wanted to sink into it.
A trickle of sweat slid down his throat and disappeared under the collar of his T-shirt. I wanted to strip that shirt off and follow the path with my tongue. I shoved my hands in my pockets because with so much temptation in front of me, I needed some protection against my own bad judgment.
No one had ever affected me the way Jasper did. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. But as much as it confused me to be off-kilter around him, I liked it. I’d smiled more since the day we met than I had in the last year. Jasper was light. And I hadn’t realized just how heavy I’d gotten.
“Daddy, did you miss me?”
That single question shattered my good intentions. I knew I should keep whatever confession wanted to spill from my lips locked up tight. But I couldn’t lie to Jasper. It felt like a betrayal.
“Yeah, sugar. I did.”
I didn’t know what I thought he’d do with that, but I sure as hell didn’t expect him to run full speed and launch himself into my arms.
He leaped like it was instinct, arms wrapped around my neck, legs cinched tight around my waist. My hands caught Jasper under his thighs to hoist him up so we were chest-to-chest, face-to-face.
No hesitation. Our mouths collided in a kiss that was hungry, wild, and starved.
Nothing about it was neat, sweet, or remotely tender.
When my tongue brushed his lips, he opened for me instantly. I mapped his mouth like it was uncharted territory, then doubled back to be sure. One low moan from him sent lightning bolts through me. I wanted Jasper more than I’d ever wanted anyone.
We kissed again. And again. And again. Each one more desperate than the last. My lungs were on fire, but I would’ve given up air if it meant I got to keep tasting Jasper.
With his legs still around me, his body strained toward mine. My cock was already painfully hard, aching for friction, but I wasn’t willing to go too far without a conversation. It was the last rational thought I could cling to—every other part of me was on fire.
I carried him a few steps to the barn wall and braced him against it. We landed with a soft thud, and he gasped, snapping me back to awareness.
“Sugar, you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Jasper barely pulled away long enough to answer before dragging my mouth back to his. I rolled my hips into his, and he moaned deep. The obscene noises spurred me to return to him, over and over.
If anyone was out there, they could enjoy the show.
When I finally broke away, gasping, I kissed my way down the column of his throat. He was salty and hot and tasted so goddamn good that I couldn’t stop. His skin was fire against my lips. I felt the frantic pulse beneath and knew mine was racing right alongside it.
I pressed harder, and his broken, guttural sound was the reward.
Fences? What fences?