Chapter 4
Wade doesn’t take the guys into town often. That much I’ve figured out in four weeks. A Saturday night out is a privilege, a rare break in the relentless cycle of work, something that happens maybe once every couple of months. Having it taken away is a real punishment.
I thought about staying back with Flynn. It seemed like the right thing to do. But that would’ve been suspicious. Like I was doing penance. And besides, he told me not to.
“Don’t be a martyr,” he said, slapping me on the back. “I’m a big boy. I can handle one night of boredom.”
So here I am, forty-five minutes from the ranch, at a bar with sticky floors and a jukebox playing country music. Wade, Rex, and Malik are at a table in the corner. Sam and I are at the bar, waiting for our drinks: three beers, a whiskey for Wade, and a Coke for Sam, who’s driving.
“So. The Flynn situation,” Sam says, leaning on the counter next to me, not looking at me.
“What about it?” I keep my eyes on the bartender, a tired-looking woman with a red ponytail and tattooed arms.
“Guess I don’t have to ask if you were in that bathtub with him.”
“It was stupid,” I say.
“Doin’ it in Wade’s tub, of all places.” He shakes his head. “Flynn’s gonna get you in trouble.”
“I know.”
“You know.” He picks up a coaster, turning it over in his fingers. “Then why do you keep letting him pull you into this shit?”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because I like it? Because I’m greedy? Because for nineteen years I hated this part of myself, and now I can’t get enough of it? All true. But none of it is the right thing to say to Sam right now.
Sam scoffs when I don’t answer. “He’s an idiot. A reckless, self-serving idiot who doesn’t care who he drags down with him.”
“Maybe. But he’s also a lot of fun. And I’ve missed out on a lot of fun in my life.”
Sam glances back at the table, then at me. “You think I haven’t? I’d love to be that reckless. But I can’t afford it. The ranch is all I have. Wade took me in when nobody else would.”
“You’d love to be that reckless?”
“Really? That’s what you got out of that?
” He sets the coaster down. “Yes, Justin. I think about it all the goddamn time. What it would feel like to just not give a damn about the consequences. But I’ve built something here.
And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna throw it away for a piece of ass. No matter how good it is.”
The bartender slides our drinks over.
Sam drops some bills on the counter. “Gotta piss. You good with these?”
I nod and watch him go. I hate seeing him so wound up.
There’s always that tension in his jaw, and the only time I’ve seen it disappear is when he finally lets himself go.
Like in the truck on that empty road, all that coiled restraint gone the second he pushed my head into his lap. My cock stirs at the memory.
I load the drinks onto a tray and head over, sloshing a little beer on my hand. As I get closer, I catch their voices over the music. Wade is leaning back in his chair, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He’s also wearing a fresh flannel, buttoned all the way up, and his good hat.
“…last rodeo I went to, bull threw the guy clean over the fence. Landed right on the judges’ table.” He shakes his head. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
Malik laughs. “Didn’t you have money on him?”
“Lost my ass on that ride,” Wade says, the corner of his mouth turning up. Closest thing to a smile I’ve seen from him. “Never bet against an angry bull.”
I set the tray down and hand out the drinks.
Wade takes a long swallow of his whiskey. “Ah. Been too long.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a couple of crumpled bills, sliding them across the table to me. “Go put something on that jukebox, will you? Pick something with some grit.”
“Yes, sir.”
I like when Wade tells me what to do. More than I should. There’s something about that gravelly voice when he gives an order, like it never even occurs to him you might say no. I wonder what that voice would sound like with the lights off.
They go back to their conversation. With Wade’s cash in hand, I head toward the jukebox and scan the tracks. I don’t know the first thing about country music, so I feed the bills in and pick something at random.
The men’s room is right there, just past the pool table. Through the gap in the door, I can see Sam at the urinal. My stomach tightens. Our conversation at the bar felt unfinished, all that tension still hanging between us, and there’s no way to pick it back up with the others right there.
Maybe I should—no. Terrible idea.
I should go back to the table. Drink my beer, laugh at Wade’s rodeo stories, be the good guy who doesn’t cause problems. That’s the smart move.
But I keep hearing Sam’s voice at the bar. I’d love to be that reckless. Like he was asking for permission.
Maybe I’m more like Flynn than I thought.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I push the door open.
Sam looks over his shoulder, surprised. He zips up, moves to the sink, and catches my eye in the mirror. “Following me around now?” The water runs as he scrubs his hands.
“We both want the same thing, Sam. Let’s stop pretending we don’t.”
He turns and leans back against the sink, arms crossed. He looks big in the cramped space, a single bulb catching the blue of his eyes. “This isn’t a game for me, Justin.”
“I’m just saying.” I take a step closer. “All this tension.” I press a flat hand to his chest, right over his heart. “It’s not good for you.”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind? Anyone could walk in here. Wade could walk in here.”
“So we’ll be quick.” I have no idea where this sudden boldness is coming from. Could be Flynn’s recklessness rubbing off on me. Could be I’m starting to enjoy the thrill of almost getting caught. Or it could just be that I want to give Sam what he’s so desperate to have and so terrified to take.
“You’re just as bad as he is,” Sam says, but he doesn’t stop me as I slide my hand down his stomach, over the worn denim, to the hardening line beneath. I cup him through his jeans, and he lets out a shaky breath. “Justin, I swear?—”
“Last stall,” I say. “You won’t last long anyway.”
“Goddamn you,” he growls, and follows me into the stall. It’s barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Graffiti on the walls, a broken toilet seat, the floor sticky with God knows what.
I’m fishing it out before the door’s even latched. That big, perfect cock of his, already hard and leaking. I don’t waste a single precious second. There’s no time for finesse. I drop to my knees on that filthy floor and take him as deep as I can, tasting the salty, bitter flavor of his arousal.
“Shit,” he hisses, hands flying out to brace against both walls. “Shit, that’s deep.”
Yes, it is. Something I learned from my sessions with Flynn. How to relax my throat, how to breathe through my nose. I hold him there, my nose buried in the fabric of his jeans, until my lungs burn. Then I pull back, gasping for air, and go right back down again.
I start sucking like I’m starving for it, because I am, stuffing my face full of him, pulling back only to swirl my tongue around the head before diving back down.
He grows to an impossible size in my mouth, that thick shaft stretching my lips wide, the blunt head nudging the back of my throat.
I’m bobbing on it, wet and sloppy, my hands gripping the backs of his thighs to keep him still.
“Christ, you’ve gotten good at this,” he says, looking down at me, his face a mix of awe and self-loathing. “Flynn’s been teaching you.”
I pull off him. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Shut up,” he grunts, one of his hands leaving the wall to grab the back of my head, holding me in place.
He starts to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, taking control.
Fucking my face, balls slapping against my chin.
“I’m bigger than that idiot anyway,” he pants.
“He can’t possibly fill that greedy mouth of yours like I can. ”
I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself. He is bigger, though. By a little. But Flynn’s thicker. Either way, if those diagrams in health class were accurate, every guy on this ranch is working with something well above the national average.
But it’s not the size that gets me with Sam.
It’s this. When he lets the mask slip and that possessive, domineering side comes out.
That’s the Sam who pinned me against the shower wall and took what he wanted.
The Sam who shoved my head into his lap on the side of the road without so much as a please or thank you.
I look up at him, lips stretched around his cock, tears pricking my eyes from the pressure.
His head is thrown back, the muscles in his neck taut, a vein pulsing in his temple.
I take him deeper and hold him there, letting him feel my throat work around him.
I love this. The taste of him, the smell, the fullness of it.
Salty precum drips from the tip, coating my tongue every time I pull back. I chase it, licking across the slit, not wanting to waste a single drop, and his whole body shudders above me.
I was right. He’s not going to last long. He’s already shaking, his thighs tensing under my hands. He’s been holding this back for days, probably since that last time in the truck, and all that pent-up frustration is about to come flooding out. Straight down my throat.
The bathroom door swings open with a loud bang.
Sam freezes mid-thrust. His grip on my head tightens painfully, fingers twisting in my hair.
I go totally still, his cock filling my mouth, my jaw aching from being held open so wide. Spit runs down my chin and drips onto the floor. I can feel his pulse pounding against my tongue.
We both listen, barely daring to breathe. The new arrival whistles tunelessly at the urinal. The sound of a zipper, then the splatter against porcelain.
Is it one of the guys? Rex isn’t the whistling type. Malik might be. Or Wade. My blood runs cold at the thought of Wade standing just a few feet away, oblivious, pissing while I’m on my knees with Sam’s cock in my mouth.
But then the guy mutters something into a phone, and the voice is unfamiliar. “Nah, truck’s acting up again. Told Ray I’d drop it off Monday but he ain’t open till nine. Yeah. Yeah, whatever, man.”
Thank God. Just some rando. He finishes up, washes his hands, and the door swings shut behind him.
“That was too close,” Sam says, pulling out of my mouth. He tucks himself away, still hard, zipping up. His face is pale. “We have to stop.”
I make a whimpering sound. “But you’re so close. I can taste it.” I’m still on my knees, looking up at him. I put my hands on his thighs. “Just let me finish you.”
“I mean it,” he says, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. One of these days, Wade’s gonna find out. And then where will I be? Back in that shithole town I came from, with nothing.”
I push myself to my feet, my legs protesting. “You’re right,” I say, because he is. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
He looks at me for a long moment, those blue eyes aching with want. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says. Then he straightens up, squares his jaw, and becomes Sam again. “Go back to the table. Wash your face first. You’re a mess.”
“Sam—”
“Go, Justin. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I go. I rinse my mouth at the sink, splash water on my face, and check myself in the mirror. Flushed. Lips swollen. I look exactly like a guy who just had a cock in his mouth. I run wet hands through my hair, take a breath, and push through the door.