Chapter 12
Charles escorted Ryder back to their suite and sat him on the couch in the common room while he found another bottle of water. Making sure the cowboy got some rest was easy enough, but something else was bothering him.
That apology.
Why on earth would Ryder feel like he needed to apologize so profusely—even to the extent of asking for forgiveness—for something like this? Something that was perfectly understandable, human, and over which Ryder obviously had no control in any case?
It bothered him. Upset him even. He didn’t understand.
Ryder was pale as milk, cheeks sporting a flush almost like a fever.
“Are you still feeling sick? Would you prefer to go lie down?” He sat with Ryder, close enough that the man might take some comfort in his presence.
He couldn’t imagine what Ryder was going through, what horrors he’d seen when, for a moment, Roper couldn’t seem to get free of the bull.
He felt compelled to help, though, any manner Ryder would let him.
“No. No, I’m solid. I just got a shot of adrenaline, that’s all.” Ryder found him a smile that was almost not-shaky.
“You don’t have to smile, Ryder. You don’t have to be okay. If you are, wonderful, but if not, you can be honest. You can tell me. We’re friends, right?” At least friends. He wasn’t going to lie to himself either. Ryder was starting to feel closer.
“We are. I feel stupid for freaking out. I’m not the type to, you know?”
“Nor am I, but it’s happened on occasion. Are you the keep it all in and carry on type? I know that trap well. You have to let yourself feel what you’re feeling; it’s the only way to move beyond it.”
“That’s tough for cowboys. We’re taught not to. You know, cowboy up or get in the truck and all that. I just… I’m always the one who’s close enough to get him, but I don’t like being scared.”
“I feel like your reaction was bigger than being scared. Has he never had a close call before? Surely this is not the first time. It’s just your first time back.”
“Exactly. We’re bull riders. We have close calls all the time. This is the first one since the big wreck.” Ryder shook his head. “It was serious enough that Doc said I couldn’t come back.”
“That had to be a terrible moment.”
“I knew before anyone said.” Ryder was calming down as they sat together. “My folks came out, all my brothers. My grampa and gran. All of them. They thought it was over.”
Ryder’s family had to have been terrified. “But it wasn’t, and you’re here. Recovery takes strength; moving on to something new takes courage.”
“You know it. I had no idea what to do. Roper was the one who suggested I try this. He says I’m made for it.”
He couldn’t disagree. “And what do you think?”
“I like taking care of things to make your life better. It’s…incredibly satisfying.”
He had to smile. “I find it quite satisfying myself.” He hadn’t ever thought of himself as the type of man who would benefit from someone like Ryder. At this point, Ryder was so much more than a personal assistant. It wasn’t just a job for Ryder, and he didn’t feel like an employer.
Ryder touched his hand. “I’m sorry you lost your husband, but I hope I make things a little better, easier.”
“Thank you. We’ve both lost something important to us, haven’t we?” He rested a hand on Ryder’s thigh. “Better and easier, both. You are a gift I didn’t know I needed.”
Ryder’s cheeks went bright pink, and he could see that his words were affecting the cowboy, causing a bulge in his jeans.
He slid his hand away slowly. Ryder had had an emotional day, and Charles wasn’t sure he had a handle on his own at the moment. “The way you’ve taken this on—it’s more than just a job to you, isn’t it?”
“I—I thought this weekend wasn’t about work.” Ryder’s eyes were shocked, wide and worried.
He’d hit a nerve, struck something deeper than he’d intended. “I wasn’t really asking about work, was I? I’m asking about something more personal.”
“Please, don’t fire me. I want to…be this for you. It’s important.” Ryder’s throat worked as he swallowed convulsively.
Please don’t… “What?” He leaned a little so he could look into Ryder’s eyes. “What? Ryder. Fire you? Whatever for?” Had he sounded upset? Had he given Ryder that impression? How could he possibly? He couldn’t imagine life without Ryder right now.
Ryder took his hand, holding on. “I know you’re mourning. I know I’m not supposed to feel things for you, but—I swear I’m going to be good to you.”
Oh God. What could he possibly say to that? That Ryder was already good to him? That the cowboy’s dark eyes and sweet smile had him thinking in a way he wasn’t sure he should? Or maybe that he’d mourned Tad long, long ago and losing him was sad, but inevitable. Or maybe—
Maybe he’d skip the words altogether.
Charles took Ryder by the chin and kissed him with more force than he’d intended, but very much on par with everything he was feeling.
Ryder opened up with a gasp, holding back for only a breath before leaning right into his kiss, those near-black eyes holding his gaze.
He broke the kiss suddenly and pulled back enough to properly return the look. He finally understood what he wanted to say. “I will be good to you too.”
“I think I’d like that, very much.” Then Ryder gave him a sweet, long, almost gentle kiss.
He accepted it, smiling to himself and relaxing. He thought he understood the plea for forgiveness now, and he hoped Ryder understood that. He also knew they had a great deal of discussion ahead of them. But this moment didn’t need discussion; this moment only needed consent.
Ryder cupped his jaw, thumb rubbing his cheek, the touch unbearably soft.
He sank back into the couch and pulled Ryder closer, letting himself indulge, fingers roaming over Ryder’s torso.
They breathed together, nice and slow, and he could feel the steady beating of Ryder’s heart, the pulse thrumming against him.
He tugged on Ryder’s shirt to untuck it and, while Ryder worked on the buttons, he loosened the belt around that tight waist. He wanted to see, to watch those hard abs move under his fingers.
Ryder shivered for him, the tiniest little moan escaping the man. It surprised him, sounding so loud in the silence of the room.
He sucked in a breath at the sudden ache in his balls as his body seemed to wake up for the first time in a long, long while. He helped Ryder remove the shirt, then tugged open those starched Wranglers, eyes glued to the tight, muscled body.
There was a smattering of scars, some that looked surgical, but more seemed random. One crescent-shaped scar had a tiny bucking bull inked on it.
He touched and investigated, allowing himself to simmer in the heat between them, enjoying the buzz of his arousal. “Beautiful,” he said, but the word may have been lost in a low growl.
“You have amazing hands.” Ryder’s legs moved restlessly, caught in his jeans.
“You have an incredible body.” He touched the tattoo, dragging a finger over it. “Clever.”
Ryder’s entire body rippled. “Yeah. It was the first hoof mark. I had to celebrate it.”
“The first.” He shook his head, smiling slightly. He couldn’t pretend to understand what went on in Ryder’s head, but it was certainly genetic. “Most of us would have decided once was enough.”
“I was raised with it, and once Roper tossed in his hat, I was right there.” Ryder stretched up tall, the bull seeming to buck.
He slid his hands up Ryder’s sides. “Undress for me. I want to see the rest of you.” Narrow hips, strong thighs, a pretty cock.
Ryder blinked, rolling away to pull off his boots and socks, then he stood, easing his jeans off. That left that fine body in nothing but a clinging pair of forest green boxer briefs.
He gave Ryder a smile, admiring him with great appreciation as his own cock filled his jeans. “Thank you.” He stood, stepping close and looped an arm around Ryder’s back. “You’re gorgeous. You don’t mind being admired, do you?”
Ryder’s cheeks went bright red. “Admired? It feels real nice, to know you like what you see.”
He bent to kiss Ryder again, have another taste of the man who wanted nothing more than to be good to him. “Darling Ryder, I’d have to be a fool not to.”
He stroked one tiny nipple to hardness, and Ryder pushed up on tiptoe, demanding more. More touch. More kisses. More of him.
There was plenty of him, and Ryder was welcome to it.
He loved that Ryder never asked for anything for himself but was demanding now.
He held the man off a little because he enjoyed the build-up, and he also liked the little grunt of protest he got from Ryder as he pulled his hands away to unbutton his own shirt.
Ryder’s cock was heavy, thick, leaving a wet spot on the boxer briefs, fingers tangling with his as he tried to help.
“Patience,” he said softly, but he withdrew his hands and let Ryder finish with his shirt. “There’s no rush.”
“That’s something new.”
He imagined so. He didn’t think long and slow was in Ryder’s repertoire.
He shrugged his shirt off. He wasn’t ripped like Ryder, or as young either, but he wasn’t ashamed of his physique or the hair on his chest—some of which was tinged with white.
“I think you might like it, even if it’s new.”
“I think you’re right.” The trail of glory disappearing under Ryder’s waistband was black as pitch, a stark contrast to the silver hair on his head.
He traced that line and tucked one finger under the elastic, giving it a light snap before cupping his whole hand over the bulge under the fabric.
Ryder’s prick swelled and jerked under his hand, and his eyes crossed.
“So needy.” Charles could have been talking about either of them as his own cock answered in kind. He rubbed firmly, measuring up Ryder’s graceful cock and hefty balls.
“Gonna make me embarrass myself.”