17. Dalton #2
“Is there anything else I can do?” I asked, which seemed inadequate after what he and the others had been through.
“No,” he said. “I’ll finish up and come get you for lunch.”
“Yes, please.” Slowly I stepped out of his focus so he could take care of Buddy and not be distracted by his city friend, which was me, who was mentally turning everything into a romantic movie about cowboys.
Back in my little office, I sat down. Then shifted to one hip to take the three horse cookies out of my pocket and lay them on the desk, neatly lined up.
I could put those cookies back in their bin. Or I could wait until Jake said it would be okay to give them to Buddy. Two for Buddy, one for Snowball. That’s what I’d do.
It was a good fifteen minutes before I heard Jake’s tread on the threshold to the office. I whirled around to see him shut the door and lock it, turning the old brass lever with a click.
He was tall enough to fill the room, and he’d just shut and locked the door.
He’d hung up his hat. Rinsed off the dust as best he could, raked his fingers through his dark hair. Water trickled down his cheeks and dampened his shirt. His gaze was focused on me, his eyes like diamonds.
“What is it?” I asked, wishing I could read the expressions that flickered across his face. A face that only a week ago I’d deemed expressionless.
“We almost had to shoot him.” His voice shook. “He was coming at us. So thin. Starving. We’d have been within our rights. Protecting the herd. Ourselves. That beautiful animal—”
“Gunner fired warning shots, you said,” I reminded him, as though he needed me to explain his actions. “The cougar’s alive.”
“Barely,” he said. “Skin of its teeth.”
I got it now: Jake was on the mountain lion’s side. This was the man who considered the needs of the fox before the foolish city man driving at dusk.
“It’s all right,” I told him, as though he were the animal in need of comfort. “It turned out, didn’t it? You did good. You and Buddy did real good.”
I made a gesture, I didn’t know exactly what. For him to come to me so that I could hug him or comfort him in some way.
He stepped forward, boots loud on the floorboards. A direct line from the door to where I was sitting. He went to his knees in front of me, clasping my hips, head bowed. I touched his damp hair. The back of his neck was still dusty.
“Tired,” he said. He laid his cheek upon my knees, just for a fraction of a second, before lifting it, keeping his head bowed, eyes down.
Of course he was tired. For the past week, he’d been working backbreaking days. Riding into the night. Going without sleep. Without rest.
Other ranch hands were working just as hard, and Lucas, I knew, was not unaware. But at that moment, I didn’t care about any of them.
“I know you are.” I petted his hair, dark and silky beneath my palm. “You should rest.”
He raised his head just far enough to shake it, as if he were mid-prayer, asking for absolution.
“No?” Surely he could take a break now. He’d done a good day’s work already; he deserved a nap, at least.
“No.”
For a moment he was still. I listened to his breaths slow, feeling the heat of his hands on my hips. Sensing something building inside him, only I didn’t know what.
“Jake,” I said, and I was on the verge of saying something else, something comforting, soothing. Then he tugged at the waist of my jeans, and I figured he wanted me to go with him. Follow him.
I was about to get up when I realized his fingers were undoing the button at my waist. Pulling down the zipper to reveal my boxer briefs, held in place by a safety pin, silver against the blue cloth.
“Sorry,” he said.
“I’m not.” He could cut up all my clothes and toss them in a fire for all I cared.
He undid the safety pin, pulled apart the cloth, then redid the pin along the waistband so it wouldn’t get lost. So it could be used again—a sense of economy that he must have learned long ago.
Then he tugged hard. My jeans and briefs slid halfway down my thighs. His head, still bent, was close enough to my skin that I could feel his warm breath.
My cock, somewhat startled by this, lay against the fold of cream-colored cloth. I knew what was going to happen before it did, though I wasn’t quite ready when Jake’s mouth found me. When his warm tongue licked me. When he sucked me into his mouth.
His hands were on my hips, holding me there, though I had no plans to leave.
The sensation of his mouth upon me was like floating on a small boat in dark water, a vast sea beneath a starless sky. I had no control. Didn’t want any.
I closed my eyes, curling forward so I could keep one hand in his hair, the other cupping the back of his neck to follow his motions.
The power of his shoulders beneath my hands.
The suck of his mouth. The slick-click sounds in the quiet office rippled down my spine, making my stomach go hollow with pleasure. His head rose and lowered over my lap.
Never in my life had I experienced such a thing. I’d gotten blow jobs, of course. Even from him. But this was different. The way he gave me pleasure while at the same time drawing something from me. Pulling it out. Holding onto it.
His hands gripped me harder now, almost bruising. He wasn’t letting go. That was fine. He could suck the life out of me if he wanted to. He could take it all.
His tongue was the most amazing thing, circling, licking me up and down. A little nip of his teeth, like he was ravenous and hadn’t eaten in years.
When I came, my whole body shuddered, and he did what he’d done before: took my cock deep into his throat, nose buried in the hair between my legs. Swallowing. Only pulling off when I was soft and too sensitive to take any more.
Then he started working my jeans and briefs up. My cock was about to get caught in my zipper, and he must have realized this, because he stopped when he was halfway done and laid his head in my lap. His eyes were closed. My cum was a pale smear on his lips that I wiped away with my thumb.
I combed my fingers through his hair, in a gentle way, like I’d tended to Buddy’s mane and tail. As though Jake was a powerful horse who needed to be handled with care and kindness.
I petted his back with long strokes, then cupped my hand behind his neck. Listened to his breath as it slowed into sighs. A whimper, even.
Someone knocked on the door.
“In a minute,” I said. Jake, startled, moved beneath my hands. “Shh,” I said. “Just shh. We’ve got time. Plenty of time.”
Only we didn’t, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.