Chapter 14
Oakley
I wander the garden supply section of the local flower shop where my mom used to work, not seeing much of anything. My mind is otherwise occupied.
Which is why it takes me a second to realize the voice I’m hearing is directed at me.
“That you, Oakley? I heard you were back in town.”
Turning, I find Virginia giving me a curious smile from behind an armful of plants.
In addition to being a well-loved bartender here in Darling, Virginia and I grew up next to one another.
We were never particularly close, considering I’m a good seven years older, but her face will always be a familiar one to me. “Hey, Virginia. How’s it going?”
“Just fine,” she answers, shifting the hanging basket in her hands to her side. “You doing all right? You look a little lost.”
“Oh, no, I’m good. I remember where everything’s at. Thank you, though.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t talking about the store.”
Christ, am I that transparent?
Seeing as I’m not about to tell Virginia about my double-romp with my best friend, a man who thought he was straight until recently, I deflect. “Those for your place?”
She twirls the basket of petunias in her hand. “Sure are. The flowers I bought earlier in the summer died. Truth be told, I don’t expect these ones to last long, either. Not all of us can have a green thumb like your mom.”
I huff a small laugh. “And your parents? They doing all right?”
“They’re fine. You’re deflecting.”
Well, shit.
Virginia snorts, her hazel eyes bright. “You don’t gotta tell me, Oakley. I won’t pry. Sure bet Lawson is glad to have you back, though.”
My swallow is rough.
Virginia doesn’t wait for a response before going on. “See ya around?”
I nod. “I’ll stop by The Barrel soon. It’s been a while.”
“First drink’s on me. Have a good one, Oakley.”
Virginia heads off to pay for her plants, and I wander over to the nursery.
Rows and rows of flora are set atop tables or hanging from beams overhead.
Small transplant pots are full of brightly colored flowers, herbs, anything and everything a person could want to fill their garden with.
Hanging baskets like the one Virginia grabbed are mixed with collections of annuals or holding indoor plants like spider ivy or pothos.
The air is humid, the smell of potting soil and fertilizer heavy.
Picking a small pot of rosemary, one of thyme, and one of basil, I head back into the main part of the store where I saw windowsill planters.
I bring my collection to the checkout, making it outside after a good fifteen-minute conversation with Ms. Newton, one of my mom’s friends from the many years they worked together.
The sun is scorching today, my truck’s AC barely managing to keep up with the heat on the short drive home. Once inside, I unlock the back door, not surprised to hear Bell wandering in a minute later, her hooves clomping down the hall.
“I swear to God, Belladonna, you find your way up onto the counter to eat these herbs, and I’m making rosemary steak tonight.”
My cow sticks her wet nose against the back of my knee. I jolt, glaring at her deceptively cute face.
“That was rude,” I tell her.
One black ear twitches as Bell sniffs the air before heading off, finding a spot to lie down in the living room. Luckily, she doesn’t try the couch, knowing it’s not allowed. I have to draw the line somewhere.
As my miniature cow dozes, I set about moving my tiny herb collection from their pots into the narrow planter that’s a near perfect fit for the windowsill above the sink.
Dirt gets spread across the countertop as I work, just as much of it beneath my fingernails.
The AC in the house is on, but I’m still sweating despite my shorts and the ceiling fan running overhead.
Montana doesn’t get as hot as some places, but it’s plenty hot for me this time of year.
As I’m setting the planter onto the windowsill, the green giving the space a nice pop of color, there’s a knock followed by my front door opening.
My lips twitch into a smile. I don’t even have to look over to know it’s Lawson.
The man has never had any compunction about barging into my space at any and all hours.
“You hoping for dinner?” I ask, hearing boots hit the mat. “’Cause if so, you’re in for a wait. I haven’t even started it yet.”
Lawson doesn’t say anything, just pads into the kitchen. When I hear a zipper, I turn.
And then I’m fairly certain I die just a little.
Lawson shoves his jeans and underwear down to his feet, sets a condom on the countertop, braces his elbows against the surface, and looks over at me expectantly.
“The fuck?” I croak, my heart beating like a drum.
“Please?” is all he says.
My breath whooshes from me, my dirt-covered hands suspended midair, my brain not at all caught up to what’s happening. But Lawson bends a little lower, his back arching, and holy fucking shit.
“Is… Are…”
No, my mouth doesn’t want to work either.
Lawson’s eyes search mine, the man utterly unabashed about dropping his pants in proposition inside my kitchen. “Please, Oak? I just need…” He makes a frustrated sound. “I just need.”
“My hands,” I say, a weak protest.
Lawson, seeing that as a problem easily solved, unbends enough to grab me by the waistband and tug me closer.
He unzips my shorts, and, not finding a single complaint on my tongue, guides his hand inside to pull out my cock.
My briefs fall with my shorts to the floor as Lawson strokes me, only needing to do so three times before I’m fully hard.
I brace a hand on the counter for support, everything in me pinging and ecstatic as Lawson, my best goddamn friend, rolls a condom down my cock.
Twisting back around, he says, “I know you don’t mind stretching me, but I already did it. Couldn’t wait.”
My breath comes out in a pant.
Lawson settles back over the counter, the lube on his asshole, now that I’m looking for it, visible. His cock isn’t yet hard. “Please, Oak?”
Stepping close, I shake my head, not sure whether this situation should be as arousing as it is but finding I simply don’t have the wherewithal to question it. I wrap dirt-covered fingers over Lawson’s hip, the man letting out a sigh that sounds like relief.
“Line me up,” I manage, my voice hoarse.
Lawson reaches back, holding my cock steady, the head notching against him and slipping inside the moment I press forward. He lets go, pushing back to meet me, and fucking hell, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“So much for…romance, huh?” I ask, my lungs resuming function, every part of me caught in the staticky buzz of pleasure as I inch back and press forward again, Lawson’s body wrapping me in willing heat.
“You can dine me afterwards.”
I bark a laugh, dirt leaving a trail along Lawson’s side as I ruck his shirt higher, nails gliding gently over his skin. He shivers, and I fight the instinctive urge to cover every inch of him with my touch. “Sure thing, princess.”
He huffs but doesn’t protest the nickname.
Shifting my hand back to the countertop, I splay my fingers wide, hold Lawson’s hip tight, and move.
He grunts at the first slam of my cock inside his body, but then he’s leaning more of his weight forward, his head bowing, the angle giving me better access.
There’s a tiny part of my mind telling me this is a bad idea—again—but it doesn’t hold court for long.
My thumb rests at the top of Lawson’s ass cheek as I fuck him hard, my eyes caught on the way I’m sinking inside his body again and again.
The man’s ass bounces every time we connect, and fuck if that isn’t a heady sight.
All of it. Lawson splayed out against my goddamn kitchen countertop.
Dirty fingerprints and smudges evidence of my touch on his skin.
The man’s head dropped forward like he can hardly hold it up, his groans as he takes the fucking he asked for telling me how much he loves this.
Lawson’s hand slides outwards, dragging through dirt on the countertop before he catches himself. “Fuck.”
“Got you swearing already,” I note, mighty proud of that fact.
“Would you…” He cuts off, panting heavily, a bead of sweat dripping down the small of his back.
“Tell me,” I urge, slipping my hand up his chest, holding tight as the smack of my hips on his ass echoes in the room. My gut tightens, and I close my eyes for a moment, needing to draw myself back from the edge.
“Would you kiss my neck?”
The request has me stilling for only a second before I drag Lawson upwards, slotting his back to my chest, the two of us a sweaty mess as we fit together from knee to shoulder.
“Like this?” I ask before dragging my lips across the nape of his neck.
He rolls in another shiver, his ass clenching around me as my stubble abrades his skin. “Again.”
My eyes slip closed once more, but I don’t consider denying him. I drag my lips along the side of his neck, over salty sweat, up below his ear. The closed-mouth kiss I press there has him drawing in a breath.
I grind against him, shallow thrusts at this angle, each one slow and achingly sweet, like molasses. When I open my mouth to flick my tongue against Lawson’s skin, the man moans.
“I think you like that,” I say, rolling my thumb over his nipple beneath his shirt.
He stutters a breath.
“And that,” I add.
“Think I do,” he answers, leaning his head to the side in a way that feels like a glaring invitation.
I drag my stubble back down his neck, fit my lips to the bend of his shoulder, and suck.
“Jesus,” Lawson mutters, his hand slipping again where it’s braced against the edge of the counter. I can see his cock from over his shoulder, hard now and starting to leak. He doesn’t reach for it, instead getting a fistful of my hair and tugging in clear demand.
It goes straight to my own cock, and I rut into him harder, scratching my stubble across his neck and the tops of his shoulders almost ruthlessly, kissing him the only way I may ever have the chance to.
His skin is hot and salty on my tongue, the man himself bowing forward again as if he needs the support.
I press him back over the counter, his hand and mine streaking through the dirt on its surface.
Lawson’s sound of encouragement is all I need to pull back and slam forward again.
I let my hips take over, the tight clasp surrounding my cock second to the feel of this man at my fingertips. There’s a moment of stark disconnect where I remember this is Lawson. Lawson. My best friend of decades.
Not my lover.
Not my boyfriend.
Not anything but a man who drove over here with the express purpose of getting dicked.
I have to remember that. I have to.
But right now, none of it stays in my mind. There’s only this man in front of me, his vocalizations hurried in a way I know means he’s close. I’m not sure I have the stamina to edge him for an hour today. As it turns out, I don’t have to.
“Oak.”
Lawson’s request is clear. I bring my hand to his cock, wrap my fingers around him tight, and stroke. He clamps down on me immediately, his breath catching in his lungs. I don’t think he needs the push, but I still lean close and run my lips up to his ear again.
“Show me how good I fucked you, princess.”
The man is coming before his next breath.
I jerk him through the compressions around my dick, my hips stuttering, my own lungs seizing tight as I fall apart inside this person I know better than anyone.
It’s not easy to catch my breath. To regain my equilibrium as I rest against Lawson, his cum surely covering the drawers in front of us.
I unwrap my hand from around his softening shaft, blinking my eyes open to find dirt everywhere.
At least I had enough presence of mind to keep my hand from the top of his dick.
Lawson doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to move, but he doesn’t stop me as I slip from his body, my fingers leaving trails down his back. I give his shirt a tug, covering him somewhat, amused by the smudged handprints on his skin.
“You, uh…might need a shower.”
He pants out a breath. “What’s all the dirt for?”
I snort a laugh, taking care of the condom and nearly tripping over my shorts on the ground in the process. “You didn’t notice it before?”
“Noticed. Just didn’t care.”
“I brought home a few herbs,” I tell him, lips twitching as Lawson finally lifts himself to standing. The man has dirt on his cheek and the imprint of what I think is my thumb at the crux of his neck.
Lawson clocks the herbs on the windowsill and nods. “You’ll cook dinner while I shower?”
“Excuse you,” I huff. “You’re not going to help me clean up first?”
“It’s your mess,” he says plainly.
I point at his cum on my wooden drawers. “And that?”
“I stand by my position. You made the mess.”
With that, Lawson snags his clothes off the ground and walks toward the hall, butt-ass naked from the waist down. “Dinner?”
“I live to serve,” I call wryly, shaking my head, laughter bubbling up from my throat.
Bell catches my gaze from the living room, blinking her black eyes once.
“You have no room to judge,” I tell her. “You’re a cow.”
Her head flops with a thump onto the rug.
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself, grabbing a towel to clean up the cum and dirt spread everywhere.
I’m not sure how I got roped into giving my friend an orgasm, followed by a meal, but I can’t quite find it in me to mind.
Or regret a single damn thing.