Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TRISTON
B eau leads one of the horses out of its stall, a bit-less bridle already fitted to its face.
It only takes a moment to recognize her small white markings below her ears and the single white sock she has on her front left leg.
He ties her out in the center alley and runs his hand down her nose in a soft caress.
“There you go, Meg girl,” he murmurs. “You want to help me move the Highlands today?”
She flicks her tail, and Beau smiles. Then he turns to me.
“You feeling up to working with a new horse?” he asks. “Ethan got him at auction last November and hasn’t had the time to really get to know him.”
I adjust my faded cowboy hat and roll back my shoulders. It’s been a hot second since I’ve ridden at all, much less helped train a new cattle horse.
“What’s his background?”
“Worked for a rancher over in Idaho. He downsized his meat program and felt the horse’s talents were wasted going into eventing. Ethan said he’d probably make a good roping horse, too, but none of us are all that interested in delving into that.”
His mouth tightens as he says that, and I grunt.
Yeah, no shit they aren’t. None of them had even touched the rodeo after Brandon’s death at the hand of an angry bull on Misty Mountain when it was still an active cattle ranch. Not outside of watching me compete over the years, at least.
“Then yeah, I’m happy to try him out.”
Beau walks with me to the secondary tack room at the far end of the private barn.
His arm brushes mine as we pull saddle pads and blankets from the shelves, and I swallow a whine.
My body’s strung just as tight as the last several days, though the symptoms of the touch-starvation have gotten noticeably better.
His blue eyes catch on me. He sets the saddle pads back on the shelf and loops his fingers around my wrist.
All at once, I’m back to that summer, remembering the silent communication we’d developed to let the other know when we were hard and wanted to fuck around.
My scent explodes around me as I nod. I hadn’t bothered with scent blockers, knowing it was just the two of us today.
His lips are on mine in the next moment, his tongue twisting with mine, delving deep like he’s wanting to rediscover my taste.
He walks me back into the wall of bridles, deftly maneuvering me so I don’t run into any of the hooks.
He grinds his hips into mine, and I groan.
“Triston?” he asks between kisses.
I nod and then kiss him again. He forces it shallow and then pulls away completely.
His chest heaves, and his cock is a hard line against my hip even between both layers of denim.
He’s quick to close the tack room’s door.
Before he can close the distance between us, I slide down the wall and onto my knees.
He pulls my hat and sets it on the shelf with the saddle pads.
“I want to see you,” he murmurs.
My entire body tightens at the rough arousal in the words.
Slick drips down my thighs, soaking my underwear, and I don’t even care that it’s going to be uncomfortable as fuck in the saddle for the next few hours.
My hands don’t even shake as I undo his belt and zipper, the metallic clink of his belt buckle rushing through me like a damn summer wind that precedes a storm.
I run my lips along the underside of his cock, tracing the veins with my tongue.
He hisses and takes a step closer, palming the back of my head.
When I trace the slit, he drops his head back and a nearly mournful groan rumbles through his entire body.
I pull away and stroke him instead, pressing my thumb into the sensitive spot under the tip.
“Oh hell,” he mutters.
I smirk, and he chuckles, the sound equal parts desperate and satisfied.
Then I pull him into my mouth in one smooth slide, relaxing my tongue. Just as his hips jerk, I shallow out until just the head of his dick is between my lips.
“ Fuck , Triston,” Beau gasps.
I take him deeper again, relaxing as he hits the back of my throat.
He grunts, his hips spasming and pushing his cock even further down my throat.
I struggle to breathe through my nose, tears stinging the corners of my eyes, but I don’t retreat, don’t pull away.
My body, my mind, feel more like myself than they have in months—since that first suppressed heat.
My clove scent surrounds us, blanketing us, only a bare edge of sour marring it.
“Let me see them,” he says, his voice ragged.
His chest heaves. His eyes are so dark and so wide, a thrill rushes down my spine. He wipes a tear that falls down my cheek as he rocks his hips, slowly fucking my mouth, taking control from me that I’m more than happy to relinquish.
“I want to see the bruises she left while I come down your throat.” The command is nothing more than a growl, and I groan around the head of his dick. He pulls away from me, his hand replacing my mouth, moving from the root to the tip. He pulls at the collar of the shirt. “Now.”
I pull it off with a single hand, letting it drop to the concrete floor of the tack room.
His eyes roam over me, and his dick jumps in his hold.
I can’t help but whine and grab the backs of his thighs, urging him back to me.
He doesn’t fight me, slipping his cock past my lips again.
I relax into the stretch and depth, my clove scent surrounding us anew, so thick it’s honestly a bit embarrassing.
His nostrils flare as he wipes away a stray tear before it reaches my jaw.
The sight of it must break his control because not even a full minute later, he’s driving deep into my throat again, and I’m having to concentrate on not gagging.
Even still, I swallow convulsively when he hits the back of my throat yet again.
His legs shake, and he mutters a curse. Seeing him fall apart sends electricity sparking through my veins, awakening parts of me I thought long dormant.
My own dick sits hard and heavy behind the zipper of my jeans, but I relish the discomfort of it.
It’s been so long since I’ve had this with anyone but especially with Beau.
How many mornings started just like this, with him closing me in one of the tack rooms and using my mouth to get off?
In the span of five minutes, I’m addicted to them all over again.
“Shit, shit,” he grunts. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”
I tighten my hold on his legs and relax against him. He pulls back just enough that he’s not shoving all the way down my throat. A heartbeat later and he pulses against my tongue. I swallow before he’s even pulled away, knowing it’ll make his legs shake.
“Jesus fuck ,” he moans. Right on cue, his thighs tremble under my touch.
He moves faster than I expect, pulling me to my feet with a hand in my belt. He has my own cock out in a matter of seconds. His fingers are rough, his grip unrelenting. I drop my head against the wall and flat out whine as he works me with an ease that speaks to that summer of intimacy.
“Beau,” I mumble. I push my hips into his hold, urging him faster.
Clove swirls around us, and I suck in a desperate gasp. My entire body narrows to his hand on my dick, his lips against my own. He forces the kiss hard and deep, like he’s trying to chase his own taste on my tongue.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he admits against my jaw. He lets his teeth drag down the front of my throat, tracing my Adam’s apple. “God, we weren’t complete without you, Triston. Always just out of balance.”
I nod, letting the words sink into my skin and push my body tighter, just like his hands and lips are.
He tightens his grip around the head of my cock, and it sends me right over the edge.
The heat pooling at the base of my spine lashes out, arcing through my limbs.
I cry out, forgetting to keep quiet. He presses his lips to mine, soaking in the noises like they feed him as much as any food.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for the final bits of pleasure to fade from my hands and for rational thought to return.
My chest heaves, my thoughts still unspooled, as Beau grabs my shirt from the ground and cleans off his hand with the hem.
My stomach clenches, and my sated cock tries to twitch back to life.
“I don’t have another shirt,” I mutter. I’m not in the habit of keeping an extra in case of moments like this anymore.
Beau smirks, and there’s a mischievous light in his eyes. “I know. Better tuck it in so your belt buckle hides the stain.”
My scent pulses, and slick coats my thighs all over again.
He tucks my dick away and eases my dirty shirt over my head.
Then he straightens himself up, putting away his cock, too, with little fanfare.
He grabs my hat from the shelf and hands it to me.
As I take it, he leans into me, kissing me again.
His lips are as soft as his hands were demanding.
He palms my neck, pressing his thumb into one of the hickeys Emily left last night.
“Let’s go move some cows,” he whispers when he pulls away.
My moan is almost pitiful, and he smiles.