Shared by the Cowboys 2 (Gay Shorts MMM+ #8)

Chapter 1

“Nobody’s home,” Flynn says, already halfway up the porch steps.

I stay where I am. “Flynn.”

“Relax.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Little bit.” He pushes the screen door open and grins back at me over his shoulder. “You coming or not?”

I look at the main house. Then at him, those long legs, that cocky grin, the sun glinting off his dark hair. This is one of his dumbest ideas yet, and that’s saying something.

It’s been four weeks since I came to the ranch.

Four weeks since I thought I could sweat the gay out of myself with hard work, go back home a changed man, find a nice girl, settle down.

Live the life my parents always imagined for me.

I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.

The only thing I’ve sweated out is whatever innocence I had left.

A new routine has settled in here. Up before six, boots on while I’m still half asleep.

The mornings are colder now that October’s hit.

Coffee first, always, gulped down too hot on the porch while the sky turns from gray to pink over the empty fields.

Then it’s out to the barns or the pastures, doing whatever Wade assigned the night before.

Mending fences, cleaning stalls, hauling feed.

Hard, sweaty, mind-numbing work that leaves me exhausted by the end of the day.

My hands are rougher than they’ve ever been, my arms stronger.

I don’t flinch when a horse snorts in my ear anymore.

I’m even getting decent with a lasso, though I’m still not fast enough.

Then there’s the other routine. The secret one.

The one that keeps my ass in a constant state of pleasant soreness.

Flynn has been insatiable ever since that night in the showers.

He wants it all the time. Anywhere he can get it.

Storage closets, the barn during a break, behind a mesquite tree out in the south pasture.

He’s gotten more reckless by the day, pushing it further every time, like possibly getting caught is part of the thrill for him.

And if I’m being completely honest, it does give a certain thrill.

That spike of adrenaline when a door slams somewhere in the distance, the frantic scramble to put ourselves back together.

I know it’s going to go wrong eventually.

This whole thing is a tinderbox waiting for a match.

But that doesn’t stop me from following him every single time, because I want him too much to care.

It feels like I’m playing catch-up for all the years I denied myself.

All the secret, shameful desires I locked away, convinced they were wrong. Now they’re out, and they’re ravenous.

But doing it in the main house? Wade’s house? That’s a whole other level of reckless. That’s a death wish.

“What are you waiting for?” Flynn calls from the doorway. “He’s at the cattle auction in town. Won’t be back for hours.”

“And if he comes back early?”

“He won’t.”

“But if he does? We’re supposed to be fixing the west fence.”

Flynn leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, that familiar grin spreading across his face. “Then we hear his truck on the gravel from a mile away, and we walk out the back door and head back to the fence. Simple.”

“Simple, he says.” I look over my shoulder at the long dirt road cutting through the fields, the one I drove in on a month ago with a duffel bag and a head full of bad ideas. You can see it coming from a long way off out here. Nothing but flat land and barbed wire all the way to the horizon.

“You’ve got a screw loose,” I say, but my foot is already on the first step of the porch.

“That’s what you love about me.” He pushes off the doorframe and disappears inside. “That, and my big cock,” he calls from inside the house.

“Keep your voice down, please,” I mutter, stepping in after him, my dick already half-hard in my jeans. I can’t help it. Flynn’s dirty mouth has a direct line to my crotch.

The house smells like Wade. Coffee and woodsmoke.

There’s a stack of unopened mail on a small table by the door, a pair of worn boots on the mat.

We pass the big wooden dining table, the one where we all sit every night, eating those bland beans while Wade hands out tomorrow’s assignments and talks about market prices.

The kitchen is as far as I’ve ever been in this house.

The rest of it is Wade’s private space, and none of us would ever wander in uninvited.

Being in here without him feels like I’m going through someone’s pockets while they’re asleep.

But I tell myself he’s never explicitly told us not to come in here.

So technically, it’s not breaking a rule.

“Damn,” Flynn says from ahead of me.

I catch up to him. He’s stopped in the doorway of what must be Wade’s bedroom. I get a glimpse of a wide bed, dark wood, a worn quilt, the curtains drawn. It’s tidy.

Flynn turns and grins at me. “The big man’s bed. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“No. Absolutely not. Ab-so-fucking-lutely not.”

“Just imagine breathing in the smell of him, face down in that pillow, while I’m balls deep in you.”

My cock goes from half-hard to full mast in a second. Goddamn him. I hate how easily he gets to me. “No. Flynn, I’m not… This is where I draw the line.”

Flynn laughs, moving down the hall. “You have no sense of adventure, Justin.”

I follow him, pulling the bedroom door shut behind me, as if that somehow makes this less wrong.

The difference between Flynn and Sam couldn’t be bigger. Flynn has no brakes, no filter, no fear whatsoever. He’d do it on the kitchen table at high noon if he thought he could get away with it.

Sam, on the other hand… he’s been different.

He hasn’t initiated anything since that night in the showers, not on the ranch at least, where someone might see.

There’s only been this one instance, a week ago, when Wade sent us on a supply run.

We were forty minutes out on an empty road, and Sam pulled the truck over without a word.

He just unbuttoned his jeans, pulled out that big, perfect cock, and pushed my head down into his lap. I went gladly.

It was rough, the truck windows steaming up, my head bumping against the steering wheel every time he bucked his hips. He came with a ragged gasp, holding me down on it until I swallowed every drop, then just tucked himself back in and started driving again. Didn’t say another word.

He feels guilty, I can tell. He’s Wade’s right hand on this ranch, supposed to be enforcing the rules, not breaking them.

Wade trusts him more than any of us. Sam knows what we’re doing could break that in a way that might not be fixable.

So there’s this constant push-and-pull between us.

He wants it badly. But he’s terrified of it. That battle I recognize all too well.

Flynn doesn’t have that problem.

He pushes open another door at the end of the hall and lets out a low whistle. “Jackpot.”

I peer inside. It’s a big bathroom, clean in a way only a single, disciplined man can manage.

Towels folded neatly on the rack. One toothbrush in a cup by the sink.

A single razor on the shelf. But what must have caught Flynn’s eye is the bathtub.

A big, old-fashioned clawfoot tub, gleaming white against the dark tile floor.

There’s a window above it looking out onto the empty fields.

Flynn looks at me, that glint in his eye. “Get your clothes off,” he says. “I’ll get the water running.”