22. MATTHEW
Chapter twenty-two
MATTHEW
RE-EVALUTAING THE WHY, WHERE, AND WHO
I take an early walk down Main Street. Most of the small boutiques and shops aren’t open yet, but the small bakery is trying to call the world awake with its delicious scent of freshly baked bread.
“Good morning, Mrs. Finch,” I say, stepping through the door. She’s behind the counter, lining up muffins in the display case.
“Good morning, young Matthew. After your usual?” she asks.
“Yes, please, and can you throw in an extra? I’m headed out to Beaker Brothers.”
“You’ll need more than one if you’re planning on feeding those boys. Sally-May is one of my biggest customers, and she bakes what she can herself.”
“Don’t tell her I said so, but I like your cinnamon rolls more.”
“I won’t breathe a word of it. Here, take a fresh batch of the minis out to the boys. It’s their fresh milk and cream that make them extra special… well, that and my momma’s filling recipe.”
She hands over two small brown paper bags with the bakery logo stamped in ink on the side, one with my individual full-sized rolls and a larger brown bag with a cardboard tray inside and a whole batch of twelve mini-rolls for the rest of the guys on the ranch.
I pay and drop an extra ten-dollar bill in the tip jar when she’s not looking.
It’s things like this I’ll miss when I leave.
I’m almost certain that I’m going. I feel like I owe it to myself to see what I can make of my life, use the college degree I’m still paying off.
This was always supposed to be temporary, a place to prove myself, get that leg up in the company.
True, that was when I was supposed to be spying for the board, but Connor has made some real improvements to the way the company runs, and those improvements have actually resulted in significant profits.
The board only really cares about the money after all.
Connor cares about so much more, and in the project space, I can put his ideas into action.
I can help change the company. I’d be a fool to give up on that opportunity, wouldn’t I?
When I get to Beaker Brothers, I drop off the mini rolls in the kitchen and head for Atlas’s trailer. It’s early enough that he should be up but not out with the horses yet.
“That for me?” Atlas asks from behind me, and I jump, throwing the rolls into the air. He laughs and manages to catch one on its way down, but the other hits the ground with a slap, the bag opens, and the pastry rolls onto the dirt.
“That’s your one,” I say, pointing to the ground roll, and he laughs.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law around these parts,” he chuckles, and he pulls out the saved roll and takes a big bite, the sticky coating clinging to the scruff above his lips.
I pick up the ground roll and try to brush off the dirt, but it just smears further.
“Here, we can share,” he says, ripping what’s left of his one into two and passing me the bigger half.
“Do you think Loki would like a cinnamon roll?” I ask as I drop the inedible one into the brown bag and brush my hands against my denim jeans before taking the half Atlas is still holding out.
“That horse doesn’t need more sugar.”
“But horses love sugar, don’t they? Or is that cows?”
“It’s both. Cows even more than horses, actually.”
“Cool, we can give it to Miss Moo then, or Miss Milky. Which one is the momma?”
“Miss Milky.”
“Right. And they give you a hard time about what you name the horses,” I laugh, and Atlas turns serious.
“All the horses have great names,” he declares.
“I know. I agree, I wasn’t the one—“
“Who doesn’t like the horses’ names?”
“No one. I mean, the guys were just saying, like with the new ones coming in, you would be disappointed you wouldn’t get to name them more Marvel character names.”
“Oh, you name one horse Loki, and suddenly everyone thinks you’re obsessed,” he says, shoving the last of his portion of roll into his mouth and turning to head toward the stables. I follow close behind.
“There is also a Thor as well, and a Scarlett?”
“Scarlett was named before they cast Black Widow; that one’s a complete coincidence.”
“Sure it is,” I say, but I don’t entirely believe him.
“Just cause they came up with the whole vote on the names for the rest of the ranch residents doesn’t mean I have to play along.”
“They vote?”
“Yeah, how do you think the little pygmy goat got the name Cuddles?”
“I thought Poppy must have named him, to be honest.”
“Nope, that was all of us. The thing wouldn’t leave Dean’s arms the whole first week he was here.”
“Aww, that’s sweet.”
He glances back at me with a small smile on his lips.
“What would you name the new foal if you could pick a name?” The second of the foals was born yesterday in a far less eventful labor.
“You’re asking me?”
He turns and walks backward like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I’d be on my ass in three steps.
“I don’t know. What’s she like?”
His smile spreads.
“That’s a good question. Let’s go see.”
When we get to the stall, the young foal is lying with her mother on a fresh bed of hay, but she stands the moment she spots us and comes over to the side.
“She’s not exactly shy, is she?” I ask.
“She knows we’re no threat to her. See how the momma didn’t even react to us coming in? That tells the young one all they need to know. If momma had warned her off us, she’d be on the other side of her mother, and we’d have a big horse blocking our view of the youngin.”
“She’s kind of got a bit of red in her coat, doesn’t she?”
“Looks like it. She’ll be tall like her mom too. See how long her legs are already?”
I push up, leaning on an overturned bucket to get a better look, and she comes right up to me and tilts her head up. I reach over and give her a pet on her nose.
“How about Merida?” I say, and when he doesn’t respond, I glance over to where he’s leaning against the side of the stall, watching me. “Like the Brave princess,“ I explain.
“So, we’re using Disney names now? I thought you were going with planets.”
“That foal looked like a Pluto. This one is definitely a princess.”
“Skye will be pleased.”
“Really? You’ll call her Merida?”
He looks over the stall at the foal as she tries to get my attention for more pats, snorting and making mew noises. Normally, I’d say it’s to get her mother’s attention, but she’s still focused more on me.
“She looks like a Merida.”
“She does, doesn’t she?”
“You’ll have to order her and Pluto a name plate before you go, for when they’re too big to share with their moms,” he says, and a chill washes over me at the reminder that I’m planning to walk away from all this.
I lose my balance, the bucket flies out from under my foot, and the stables spin in slow motion.
Then there he is, large, strong arms wrapped around me, holding me like he’s dipping me after some olden-time waltz.
“You should be more careful. You don’t want to go breaking that pretty neck of yours.”
“You think my neck is pretty?” I say, and he adjusts his hold to support me with only one arm scooped around my back, and he slides the back of one finger down the side of my neck.
I tilt my head a little away from his touch, baring the soft skin, and it’s all the invitation he needs to sink into the crease, sucking and nibbling and swirling his tongue.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, and his grip on me tightens. His lips suction onto my neck, sending a shiver through me to my core.
“Someone could see,” I manage to breathe, and he makes a sort of moaning sound, sending his warm breath over my skin and making it really hard to think rationally. We can’t do this here. Oh god, that’s good. No. This is bad. Someone could walk in. But oh yes, right there. Fuck it.
I slide my fingers up the back of his neck, tangle them in his hair, and hold him hard against my neck.
He pulls me to him, lifting me from the ground, and carries me over to the small section of the stables where we keep the extra gear.
Bridles and lead ropes hang from hooks on the wall, and as he presses my back against the wooden wall, I reach with my free hand and loop one of them around my hand.
He lifts off my neck, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth a moment before, then he takes my hand at his neck and guides it up to a bridle on my other side, looping it around my hand. The leather is soft and warm against my skin.
“Keep those hands there,” he whispers, that same devilish smirk on his lips that brings my cock right to attention.
He teases my lips, lightly skimming his tongue over them before he skims his mouth along my jaw, then he’s swiping his tongue along my collarbone as his fingers make quick work of my shirt buttons.
He’s quick to move down my chest, kissing the trail of hair that leads to my thickening cock.
I’m not fully out in the open in this little alcove, but it’s not like a private room either; there’s no door, and at any moment someone could walk in and catch us. My stomach swirls in excitement at the danger of it all, and when he drops to his knees and unbuttons my fly, I don’t protest.
He pulls out my cock, hard and leaking, and locks his gaze with mine as he slides his tongue over the slit. His tongue explores my cockhead as my fingers tighten their hold on the straps.
“Your neck is pretty,” he says, sliding his tongue up my length. “But your cock is beautiful.”
He kisses the tip, thick lips pursed over it, and I let out a soft moan. They part as if I’d commanded them to with my cry, and he takes me into his warm, wet mouth.
My back arches and my hips rise to meet him, sending me deeper, tongue circling its way around me on the way back, and then he comes off me with a pop.
“Do you want more?” he asks, and I can’t find my voice to reply, so I nod, and he smiles and then takes me again.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, and he reaches up, sliding his callused hand up my chest. It scratches in a perfect way, and when he reaches my chin, his fingers search for my mouth. I lean my head forward and suck two fingers into my mouth, and his suction around my cock tightens.
I want to cry out again, but my noises are muffled, so I transfer that energy into doing to his fingers what he’s doing with my cock, circling them with my tongue, sucking them deep, and then backing off again.
I copy every move he makes as best I can without biting down as the waves of pleasure build.
“Urmhf,” I moan around his fingers as the pressure builds, and he pulls them free.
“I’m close,” I gasp, little more than a whisper, and he covers my mouth with his hand, the rough warmth of it sending me to the edge, and when he swallows my cock so deep his throat cinches around it, I explode.
My muffled moans are silenced by his wide hand, but he doesn’t back off until he’s drawn every drop from me.