Chapter 5
Patrick’s mind and body spent the next few weeks fightin’ with each other.
His body craved every touch it could get from Nash, but his mind was constantly torn between the instinctual desire to cave and knowin’ better.
It didn’t make any sense to keep on doin’ what they were doin’, leadin’ each other on like things would go anywhere other than brief, fleetin’ touches that never lasted.
But Christ almighty, Patrick wanted more: more than a brush of a hand across the small of his back, more than a quick kiss to the side of his neck, more than a slap on the ass.
Then there were days that Nash didn’t touch Patrick at all, and those were the days he hated the most. He spent those days tryin’ to figure out what he’d done or if he ever had done anything at all to warrant the shift.
Most of the time, he came to the conclusion that he hadn’t done a damn thing and Nash was being an ass, but there were nights it gnawed at him like a dog with a bone.
Mainly because he didn’t understand why he’d get so torn up over Nash not showin’ him any attention.
Nothin’ was gonna come of what they had, whatever it was, so what did it matter, and why did it make his chest hurt so awful he couldn’t breathe?
“What’s the matter?” Nash asked halfway through dinner.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been flighty ever since we turned in for the night.”
“Don’t mean nothin’.”
“Mhm. So the way you’ve been poutin’ ain’t got nothin’ to do with me not touchin’ on you lately?”
“I ain’t poutin’.”
“And I ain’t blind, Baby.”
“Quit callin’ me that.”
“Why? Thought you liked it.”
“You thought wrong.”
Nash smirked. “It ain’t polite to lie, Baby.”
“You sure do like pressin’ buttons.”
“Maybe your buttons shouldn’t be so easy to press.”
Patrick shoved away from the table and grumbled, “I need a fuckin’ cigarette.”
He was barely out the door before Nash shoved him against the side of the house. Cold seeped through Patrick’s jacket and shirt but didn’t soothe the fire boilin’ him from the inside. Nash leaned in close, pressin’ their bodies together. “Where you goin’, Baby?”
“Tryna get away from you.”
“Why? You couldn’t get ‘nough of me the other day.”
“Maybe cuz I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Patrick snipped, voice crackin’ ‘round the edges. “Comin’ in, fuckin’ up my way of life.
Messin’ with my head. Makin’ me feel things I ain’t ever felt before.
” His face grew warm, and his throat got tight.
“You twist me up so bad inside I can’t hardly breathe.
And it ain’t fair cuz none of it matters a damn to someone like you. ”
“Someone like me?”
“Someone who don’t gotta stick around and clean up the mess they made.
” Patrick shoved Nash off. “You get to go home, Nash. This here is my home. So where does that leave me, huh? Well I’ll tell ya, stuck figurin’ out what all this meant and what it was all for and whether or not I can go back to who I was. ”
“Oh, Baby…don’t tell me you’ve gone and caught feelin’s now.”
“To hell with you, Nash Colby. You no good sumbitch.” A fat, hot tear rolled down Patrick’s cheek.
The wind howled around them, tuggin’ at their unzipped jackets and slidin’ its icy fingers underneath the thin fabric of Patrick’s shirt.
Moonlight bathed half of Nash’s face in a pale yellow, highlightin’ how long it had been since he last shaved.
Patrick swallowed thickly ‘round the rock in his throat, hatin’ himself for not hatin’ Nash.
For wantin’, now more than ever, for Nash to touch him one last time.
“I wish I’d never picked you up from that fuckin’ bus station. ”
Nash grabbed the front of Patrick’s jacket, yankin’ him close, then smashed their lips together.
Nash’s mouth tasted like cheap beer, Pall Mall Reds, and bad decisions.
Lord, was he a bad decision, but Patrick just couldn’t resist. He was drawn to Nash like a moth to a flame—bound to be burnt.
As long as Nash was the flame though, Patrick didn’t care if he turned to ash.
He’d let Nash burn right through him; hell, Nash already had.
Right in the center of Patrick’s body was a Nash shaped hole that glowed red ‘round the edges.
Nash nipped at Patrick’s bottom lip. Without a single thought, Patrick parted his lips to let Nash’s tongue in.
Patrick could taste Nash even more like this, yet it still wasn’t enough.
A kiss wouldn’t sasiate that ache deep within.
Not when Patrick knew that there was no goin’ back after this.
There wasn’t anymore pretendin’ that Nash didn’t see tears in his eyes for a second time.
Or hidin’ how deeply and strongly Patrick felt.
And he sure as hell couldn’t ignore that Nash didn’t feel the same.
At least he was willin’ to soothe Patrick’s hurt, no matter how temporary the bandage was.
They parted from the kiss, lips red and spit shined, skin raw. Patrick’s chest heaved, every exhale a white plume of smoke.
“I ain’t ever kissed someone like that,” Nash said, voice rough and the slightest bit shaky.
“Why me?” Patrick’s chest hurt bone deep, like someone took an ax to every one of his ribs. “Why now?”
“Cuz I ain’t ever had someone talk to me like you just did. Ain’t too many men out there that can be honest about what they feel. Me included.”
“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?”
Nash brushed their noses together. “You twist me up just as bad, Baby.”
Patrick didn’t know how to respond—didn’t want to think too hard about what Nash just said, so he did the only thing he could stomach and kissed Nash again. He didn’t know what would come of this and didn’t really care so long as Nash kept kissin’ and touchin’ him.
They stumbled through the house to Patrick’s bedroom, tangled up in each other, bumpin’ into furniture and knockin’ things over.
Patrick figured he’d be littered with plenty of bruises come mornin’, but he didn’t care one lick.
Not when Nash was givin’ him exactly what he’d been achin’ for. What they’d both been achin’ for.
Patrick had figured his first time would be with a pretty li’l thing he picked up from Broken Spoke. Someone sweet and patient that would let him take his time while figurin’ out what to do. And while Nash was a pretty li’l thing Patrick picked up, he knew Nash would take the lead.
He shoved Patrick onto the bed and heat crept up his neck as Nash began to fiddle with Patrick’s brown leather belt.
Nash was rough and quick with his movements, yankin’ and pullin’ 'til Patrick’s pants were down around his knees.
Violently aware of just how much he lacked beneath the belt, Patrick opened his mouth to apologize then stopped when he heard a rough fuck fall from Nash’s lips. “You’ve got such a pretty cock, Baby.”
Patrick’s face burned, but his cock twitched against his thigh. “Shut up.”
“C’mon now”—Nash wrapped his hand around Patrick’s cock, engulfin’ it completely—“don’t be like that.”
“Don’t be-ee like wha-ah-t?”
Patrick fought his damnedest to keep a steady head, but Nash seemed to know exactly what to say and how to touch him to make him fumble. “Say thank you like a good boy.”
“Christ,” Patrick keened, droppin’ onto his elbows.
Slick, wet noises filtered up into the air. “If you don’t say it, I’ll stop, Baby.”
There was no stoppin’ the pathetic whine that slipped out at the threat. “Thank you.” He swallowed down another whine as Nash’s thumb flicked across the head of his cock. “Sir.”
“Atta boy. Fuck, your pretty li’l cock is gettin’ so wet for me, Baby. You gonna come just from me strokin’ it?”
Patrick’s stomach tightened. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathin’ like he did when he tried not to come too quickly by himself. A faint, dark chuckle met his ears.
“If you wanna come so soon, you better start beggin’, Baby.”
Nash’s movements quickened, makin’ it difficult for Patrick to think—let alone form coherent sentences.
His tongue stumbled over itself as he tried to get out a logical sentence, but everything came out smashed together or mixed up.
Every sentence was interlaced with ahs and ohs and a wide array of swears that would make even the most hardened rancher blush.
Patrick could feel himself gettin’ close to the edge; his stomach ached with it.
Like someone had reached inside him and was squeezin’ real tight.
“Sonofafuckingbitch!” Patrick’s hand shot down and grabbed the back of Nash’s head, feelin’ him bob up and down with his hot, wet mouth wrapped around Patrick’s cock. “God all-fuckin’-mighty,” he hissed, knottin’ his fingers in Nash’s hair.
Nash hummed in response, sendin’ vibrations straight to Patrick’s balls.
Patrick couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t pull Nash off quick enough as his orgasm crashed through him like a train without breaks.
Patrick’s thighs tensed as his back arched and toes curled.
Nash kept hummin’ right along, drinkin’ down Patrick like he was the sweetest thing on God’s green earth.
“God, fuck, shit, Nash.” Patrick pulled at Nash’s hair, tryin’ to pry him off. “I can’t—oh fuck—I can’t take—aaah.”
Nash came off with a lewd smack then wrapped his hand around Patrick’s sensitive, spent cock. “You’re gonna take whatever I give you.”
Patrick whined, fistin’ the blanket beneath him. “I can’t.”
“You can, and you will. You wanna be a good boy for me, don’t you?” Nash’s hand was loose and his movements lazy, givin’ just enough friction to keep Patrick on the mountain’s tip of overstimulation.
Patrick’s breath hitched. “Shit. Yes, sir.”
“Atta boy, now I’m gonna go grab somethin’ from my room, and when I come back, you better be naked. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”