Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The crowd buzzed with excitement, the energy strong enough to keep Baltazar Silva up, even though he was sore and tired.
He reminded himself every day that the bull riding season was a marathon for a velho like him.
An old one, at least as far as their sport was concerned.
When a man began at eighteen, the events were like a series of sprints.
Once you passed thirty, you gritted your teeth and kept moving, even when your body wanted you to quit every day.
He’d made his ride, an eighty, just good enough that no one would ask him to make a re-ride. Now he could relax. No short go for him, no picking another bull. He could wait and watch Joaquim ride.
His Joa.
Joa was one of the few things that kept Balta on tour, instead of retiring to live half the year in Texas and half the year in Brazil as he’d always dreamed.
He loved Joa more than was wise, far more than he could advertise, even to his best friends on the tour.
Such a delicious mix of America and Brazil was Joa, so perfect for him.
Balta watched Joa bounce, warming up, and grinned wryly. So young and energetic. Still, Joa made the daily grind of event after event worth it.
Balta rolled his shoulder, wincing, and damned if Shaun didn’t see it. “Want some ice, Balta?” Shaun asked, and Balta gave in and nodded. “I will come once Joa rides.”
“Nah. I’ll bring a pack and some cling wrap out here. Be right back.” Sports medicine saw all, but sometimes that was a good thing, right? Better Shaun tending him out here than having to go behind the scenes where Doc would get a hold of him and never let him back out.
He watched Joa, who was riding well enough these days that he had five or six volunteers to pull his rope, his smile widening when Joa’s eyes sought him out. Yes. I’m right here, namorado. Look at me. He wanted Joa to want him just as much, wanted him to be eager.
Joa nodded at him, then strapped his vest tight and climbed over the rail to settle on his bull.
Excitement gripped Balta, just as it did when he was about to ride.
He stared, making sure Eduardo kept a hand on Joa’s vest to protect him if the bull lunged or bucked in the chute.
He saw Felicio talking, mouth moving around Portuguese syllables.
Joa was just shoulders and a hat to Balta now, but he knew what expression Joa would wear.
Serious. Tight with anticipation. Just as he seemed when Balta was about to enter him when they made love.
The thought made him clear his throat and glance about. No one watching him, which was a damned good thing.
Packer Stevens rode for an eighty-three, then Joa was up.
It took him what seemed like forever to nod, but then the gate flew open and Gobstopper leaped out, spinning almost immediately.
His back feet pushed up above the rail, so his buck was solid, and Joa clung to him like a goathead, long leg flashing out to spur.
Balta spent the last three seconds on his feet, screaming wordless encouragement, and he wasn’t the only one. All of the other Brazilians whooped and cheered, and when the buzzer sounded, Joa hopped off neat as could be, running toward him to leap on the fence.
Balta chuckled, because Joa’s shirt was untucked, his vest half torn off. Bull riding as strip tease.
“And that’s a ninety-two-point-five from the young man from Brazil!” David Donaldson shouted, and Balta waved Joa off the fence.
“Go celebrate, sim?”
Joa went to dance with the clown, and Balta grunted when Shaun slapped an ice pack on his shoulder. Just another day at work.
Good thing he had the best job on earth.
The moon glared in at him, just staring in through the hotel room window, so Joaquim slipped on a pair of sweats and headed out to the hallway. He got a Coke and a chocolate bar and padded down the stairs to the parking lot.
Deus, it was colder than it seemed. Almost bitter. He found a ledge, sat and opened his soda.
Ninety-two point five points.
It had been something. Amazing.
The arena had gone wild and, when he had danced with Dillon, the cameras had been right there, showing him off to his folks back in Texas. His momma, his mae, had called to squeal at him.
Joaquim grinned, licking the mouth of the bottle, legs swinging against the retaining wall.
The side door of the hotel opened, a wide-shouldered form coming out, the ratty old bathrobe unmistakable. “You okay, Joaquim?” Baltazar Silva asked, coming to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Mmm. Sim, Balta. I was trying not to wake you.” That hand was heavy.
Warm.
Solid.
“I missed you, huh?” That grin was famous in the world of bull riding, wide and happy and for him? Utterly guileless.
Joa chuckled, nodded, finishing his drink. “Come on—you’ve got to be cold, yeah?” Hell, he was cold and he’d been in Texas since he was four. Balta wasn’t nearly as used to it.
One blunt finger rubbed over his nipple. “You’re the cold one, namorado. Come inside. We’ll take a shower.” Balta was a water baby, loving a shower or a bath or a pool. Day or night.
His nipple went hard, tight enough that it ached, deep in his belly.
“You ready?” Now Balta’s grin took on a glint of the pure devil, the man turning and heading inside. The robe should have been a terrible turn-off. It wasn’t.
They were on the first floor, three doors down from Dillon and Nate, two doors over from Xavier and Renaldo. They didn’t have to be too quiet, too still. Too careful. Lord, forgive him.
They got the hotel door open, got the deadlock turned. Balta turned, pressing him against the door, big hands dragging at his sweats. So fast, and just that quickly, he wasn’t cold anymore.
“Balta.” He arched, pushing into those hands, cock filling up and reaching for the one it wanted.
“Yes?” Full of laughter and want, Balta’s voice taunted him, going deep and rough. It was Balta’s hands, though, that made him moan, made him shake. They traced his chest, his abs, going behind him to cup his ass.
“Vocí é o diabo.” The devil, bone deep. The Portuguese didn’t come as easily to him as some.
Chuckling, Balta nibbled at his neck, licking up to his chin. “You think so? I think I just want you.”
“I think so.” His skin tingled, waking up for Balta’s lips.
“What does that make you? Um anjo?” An angel? Him?
“No. No, I’m not close.” Still, it pleased him, that Balta would think so.
“My angel, hmm?” Such hot kisses. Like too hot cafezinho. They burned his lips, his tongue, making him want such things.
His body stiffened, and he grabbed onto those broad, strong shoulders.
His hips rocked, rubbing against Balta’s thigh.
One leg pushed between his, lifting him up, giving him some friction.
Sharp teeth closed on his earlobe, tugging.
Balta’s breath hot and good. Heat flooded him, and he gave a cry, a little jerk.
His hands found the ratty fabric of Balta’s bathrobe, pushing at it, and they were bare together, the hair on Balta’s chest rasping at him.
Balta’s cock rubbed his belly, filling up and burning against his skin.
One hand cupped his ass, the other coming between them to pull their cocks together, lifting him up.
Everything in him went hard and tight, his breath hitching in his chest.
So fast, so fast off the mark every time. Joaquim gasped, tongue sliding against Balta’s.
Stroking hard, Balta got them going, got them humping together, that hard body holding him up against the wall.
The man’s big, square hand worked them both, the calluses rubbing him madly.
He squeezed Balta’s shoulder as his lips wrapped around Balta’s tongue, sucking good and hard.
The moan vibrated in Balta’s chest, moving it against him, his nipples going even tighter.
Balta made him crazy, made him desire everything, all at once.
Balta gave it to him, too, sometimes more than he knew to need. Lord. Dios.
Rocking, pulling, Balta demanded his response, giving and taking, bruising him with lips and tongue and hard fingers. Their cocks slid together, wet, making a crazy noise.
He shot hard enough that his knees buckled, the tension and pressure leaving him with a pop.
“Doce!” Balta stared into his eyes, face set in hard lines, body moving fast and heavy against his. Then Balta’s seed joined his, spattering against his belly.
Joaquim blinked, staring, loving the way Balta’s eyes held him. “Yours.”
“Meus anjo,” Balta agreed, taking another kiss, laughing with what seemed like sheer joy. “Come bathe with me, huh?”
“Si. Si, Baltazar.” He nodded. Water. Soap. Touching. Then they would pile into the bed and find sleep.
The moon couldn’t compete with Balta. Not even a little.
His demon made everything else go away.