Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Joa was in the truck, waiting for Balta to go. He had the cooler with the water and beer and Coke between them. He had his sunglasses on; he was ready.
Ready.
Honestly.
He would drive and head for the next event and not think about what he had done.
He had… With Balta Silva.
Him.
In the bed.
In the dark.
Together.
Balta wandered out of the hotel lobby, the sun shining on him in his crisp white shirt and tight jeans, and he seemed like…like…dessert.
Joa’s cock jerked, tried to fill, and he thumped it.
Good. He had to be good.
Vaulting into the cab, Balta smiled at him, but frowned a bit at the cooler.
“You ready? I got beer, water, Coke for the trip.”
“We could put it in the back, huh?” Something in Balta’s gaze made his cheeks heat.
“It… It would be harder to get to.” Still, he nodded, started up the Chevy and headed out.
“It would.” Those brown hands moved restlessly, Balta drumming out a beat on his thighs.
He didn’t know what to say, what to do, so he drove, trying not to chatter endlessly.
Balta smiled at him suddenly, reaching across the cooler to touch his arm. “How are you today, huh?”
His own smile answered—without any permission from him at all. “Nervous, some. You?”
“I am good. Feeling very good, indeed.” The wink went with the smile like coconut and caramel.
Mmm. Caramel. His stomach growled, loud enough that Balta chuckled. After the short-go today, he would have a candy, as a reward.
“We should stop and get some food soon, huh?” Balta stretched his arms, cracked his neck. “You know what I want?”
“What?”
“Mortadella.”
“Mmm.” Joa nodded, chuckled. “Is this place big enough to have mortadella?” At home he had to drive to Austin to get it.
“No. But I want a mortadella roll and some cheese bread.” Balta craved the worst of the Brazilian foods. The man had a fat tooth to rival Joa’s sweet one.
“Mamae makes the papos-de-anjo for me. Those? Those I could eat.” By the dozens. He loved the sweet bits of pastry all dripping with syrup.
“I like those, too. More, though, I like empadinhas. With shrimp and hearts of palm, huh?” Balta licked his lips dramatically.
“Sim.” His belly snarled again and he patted it. “When I am home for the break, I will eat good.”
“You should not let your belly get so empty, doce. It’s not healthy.” Balta popped the lid of the cooler. “Have a water, huh?”
“Obrigado.”
Doce.
The name made his cheeks feel hot.
“No problem.” Balta got a water, too, drinking deep. “You think we’ll get a good draw?”
He nodded. He’d ridden two and was feeling strong. He could handle anything today. Any bull. And Balta? Well, with Balta them bulls didn’t matter a bit, not really.
It was all in Balta’s head. The man could ride any bull there was. He just had to believe it, and some days, Balta didn’t think it was true.
“I will ride today, I think. Make some money.” If not, he’d made some already.
“Good. I think I will, too?” Scratching his belly, Balta resettled in his seat, happy. Smiling.
“Mm-hmm. I think Sam takes the event, though. Or Beau.” Sam needed the ride.
“I hope Sammy. Beau is on a roll, though.” Sammy’s head had recovered, and the man was riding some. Joa and Balta chatted until it was time to pull off and find some food. Even Balta’s tummy was rumbling.
They settled on the IHOP—eggs and bacon and pancakes and juice and coffee…
Hash browns. There were hash browns, too. Balta could eat.
By the time they were done, Joa was swollen, full like a tick. Good thing there was time until he rode.
“Oh. I shouldn’t have finished your chocolate chip pancakes.” Balta groaning, patting his belly.
“You got chocolate on your lip, Balta.”
“Do I?” Balta glanced around, and Joa could almost see the disappointment when there were people in view. Balta licked it off. Slowly.
Joa groaned, buried his face in his coffee cup. So fine.
“Are you all right, doce?” Balta’s foot nudged his under the table.
“Uh-huh. Good. Real good.”
“Me too, huh? I feel like it’s a good, good day.”
Joa grinned. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? When Balta was feeling good, the world turned better. He believed that with all he was.
“We should make sure the hotel has a pool, huh? Take a swim.”
He nodded. He liked the water, almost as much as working out. “And a gym.”
He needed his workout.
“Sim. And a buffet. I want breakfast omelet in the morning.” Balta loved those silly omelet stations, and to his credit, he always got lots of vegetables. And fruit. Watching Balta eat pineapple was a great joy.
“Sim, Balta.” He was a waffle man himself.
“And one of those waffle makers for you.”
He had to laugh, because Balta noticed everything.
“Sim. We ride today and then there’s a good hotel tonight, huh?”
Something that all the guys weren’t at.
“I like it.” Slapping his hand on his leg, Balta stood. “I’ll find the man with the bill.”
“I will put the tip.” He put a five-dollar bill on the table and slid from the booth, shoulders popping.
By the time he had gone to the bathroom and all, Balta was back in the truck. The cooler was in the backseat of the king cab.
And Balta was there.
Right there.
Big and fine and close and so male.
Not to mention the fact that now Balta could reach out and touch his thigh while he drove. So distracting. His leg bounced with every touch. Every one.
“Are you hurting?”
“Hurting? No. No.”
“Oh. So this is a good ache?” Balta’s fingers slid sideways, the pinky touching his cock.
“Balta!” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“It is, then.” Chuckling, Balta sat back, allowing him to breathe. “I like your reaction, doce.”
His cheeks burned, his body tight. “Balta, we must be good.” Right?
“Why? There is nobody here but us.” Balta seemed so innocent, and a little hurt.
“But I… The things you make me feel, Balta.”
“We should explore them, sim? A lot.”
“Balta… You are a demon.”
“I am. I told you I was not a nice man.” The sound of Balta’s button and zipper opening was loud. Very loud.
Oh, Deus. What was? “Balta?”
“Hmm?” Balta glanced over, smile melting hot, eyelashes almost hiding those gleaming eyes.
“What are you doing?” They were in a truck. His truck.
“We didn’t get to, this morning. I told you, I am feeling very good.” Laughing, Balta started moving, arm swinging up and down.
Joa didn’t know what to do, where to look. Okay, driving. He was driving. He wasn’t a child—he’d heard men bate caixeta in the darkness in the hotel room. But not in a truck.
In daylight.
On a Sunday.
“Are you unhappy, Joa? I am not.” Balta’s voice had gone deep, rough.
He could smell Balta’s skin, hot and musky.
“No. No, Balta.” No, unhappy was not what he was.
“Oh, good. I would not make you angry.” Moaning, Balta shifted, leg brushing his.
His lips were so dry that they burned when he licked them. See? This was why having the cooler up front was a good idea.
“Did you want a drink, doce?” Like there was nothing hanging out, Balta lifted and turned and dug into the cooler. Which waved things all over.
Oh, Deus. His fingers wanted to touch, to wrap around that heavy bit of flesh. When they did—completely of their own accord—Joa gasped at himself.
Balta gasped, too, sitting down hard in the seat. “Joa. Doce. Oh, that’s good.”
“I…” His hand moved like it had its own mind, working up and down, exploring every inch of Balta’s dick.
“Mmm.” That sound. He would hear it in his dreams for weeks. “Watch the road, Joa.”
“Sim.” His eyes were on the road, but his heart, his soul was touching Joa.
Satin skin, melting hot rubbed against his palm, and he could feel how damp the tip was. Balta was humping up, noises coming from deep in his chest. It was Balta he was touching. Balta.
His Balta.
“Oh… Doce. More.” Balta’s hand clamped down over his, moving it faster.
He blinked, staring at the road, at the traffic, at the cars.
“That’s it… That. Uhn.” The long, low moan was the only warning he had before Balta spilled out of his hand, seed hot and silky and wet.
Oh, God. Deus. Lord. He.
Oh.
Oh, he was.
Goodness.
“Joa?” Balta was hoarse, panting. “Are you well?”
“I. Sim. I think so. You. You are a demon.”
“I just needed to express how you make me feel, huh? Do you need, Joa? We could pull off.”
“I can’t, Balta. It is daytime.” His cock throbbed, ached. He needed, so badly.
“So? I just came in your hand, doce. At this point, you owe me an orgasm.” Balta made it sound so reasonable.
“I owe you.” Wait.
How did that work?
The truck started heading for an empty picnic area, as if by magic. Balta had bewitched it.
Humming, Balta watched him like a hawk, and as soon as he parked, the man was on him. One broad hand opened his jeans, and Balta’s mouth fastened on his neck.
“Balta!” His dick had left a spot on his briefs, and nothing ever had felt like Balta’s hand.
“Joa.” Balta’s hand slid down his cock, thumb rubbing his foreskin back and forth.
“Sim,” he whimpered, wanting to move, to touch, to do something, but one of his hands was on the steering wheel clenched down, one hand was sticky, and he simply couldn’t.
Balta made it easy not to think, though, rubbing him, stroking him, keeping him at a fever pitch. Joa didn’t have to do a thing.
His toes curled in his boots, the leather tight where he stretched it. Deus. Deus, please.
“Soon I’m going to use my mouth on you, doce. I would now, but I can’t bend.” Balta’s lips moved against the skin of his throat, stinging kisses pressed there.
“Baltazar!” His spine bowed impossibly, his balls emptying themselves in harsh spurts. His hips thrust restlessly, randomly slamming into Balta’s hand.
“Oh.” A long moan filled the air, Balta sounding delighted, adding to his pleasure. Such an amazing thing to be here, in the day, doing this.
He slumped back, blinking at Balta. How was he supposed to ride, after this? After being melted.
Balta laughed, and it rang out like pure joy. “Such a very good day.”
“I… There is still very much more day left.”
“There is!” Balta patted his cock. “Think what we can get up to!”
Oh, Deus.
Save him.