Whatever guilt I have about last night has fled in the light of Colt’s happy presence, forever replaced by the magic of worn blue jeans cupping a round ass. I stare at his broad back as they exit, then shake my head.
It’s probably a bad idea to lust after more than one employee at a time, though that’s never stopped me before. Still, it is a little strange to notice someone new when my heart is already bound up in another person.
I decide I don’t need to understand everything about myself right now, especially so early in the morning. Besides, it’s time to start the day, and the ranch doesn’t wait on the whims of an erratic heart.
8
COLT
Abel and I spend the morning cleaning out the gutters we can get to, and I’m glad we’re doing this now. We haven’t had any rain in a while, and all of the detritus is as dry as I suspected. We’ll need a taller ladder for the bunkhouse and the stallion barn, but this is at least a start.
While I appreciate the busy work, it’s repetitive enough to let my mind wander to the night before. There’s a lot to process, but this morning, I can’t let go of the way they sounded. It was different from the tack room. More primal.
Wick’s gutturalfuck me rawis tattooed on my eardrums, and his pained cries make me think that Joaquin gave him exactly what he wanted. And God, they both came so fast that it took my cock from limp flesh to steel rod in seconds. Even the sounds they made after were so fucking erotic, like they both just came so hard they lost control over their muscles or something.
I even reopened and shut the door to alert them that I was there, but only Joaquin got the message. Wick, on the other hand, came out of the stall talking about adding a third to their next little fuckfest, and it was all I could do to not cry or volunteer myself as tribute.
Not. Helpful.
I think about the fact that I confrontedmy bossabout his sexual hijinks, and I just want to crawl into a hole and die. I should've just kept quiet, but no. I wanted Joaquin to know that I knew.
Though, if I were aiming for a fight, I certainly didn't get one. He was nothing if not straightforward and kind, even as I was busting him for fucking a colleague. I thought I’d have to put on a brave face this morning, but the way he seemed off balance by my presence while rocking sleep hair and pillow creases across his cheek let me just sorta be myself around him.
Oh hell.When did I become so affected by sexual politics? I blame that trickster Warwick. It’s like I fell into his bed as a one-night-stand aficionado and woke up as an emotionally compromisedSquishmallow.
Huh. Maybe that’s why Joaquin was so weird this morning. I wonder if Wick’s magical peen has transformed him from a sexy, put-together salt-and-pepper Zaddy into a still-sexy, coffee-spilling, bacon-burning soccer dad.
I have to imagine that this squishier, nervier version of me would have a better chance of getting a soccer dad into my bed than a hunky piece of Argentinian man meat.
Not that I’m anywhere near close to getting into Joaquin’s bed. That’s just…ha. Silly.
Alright, well, if Warwick is the asshole who got me into this mess, maybe his approach can get me out of it. Since I’ve got dick on the brain, I pull up my woefully neglected Grindr account on my next break.
Mm. So many beautiful men. I love all body types but don’t have nearly the luck with other bears as I do with the gym bros, otters, and twinks. I do wish more men would actually read my profile and stop asking me to fuck them.
One guy in his early fifties, a gorgeous silver fox of a guy with a dad bod and a kind smile, says he'd like to make me dinner and then take me apart.
Sweet and filthy, just like I like it.
I message him back, and we both decide that tonight is as good a night as any. By the end of the day, I'm exhausted but genuinely looking forward to our date. I brew some coffee while I hop in the shower, putting in a little extra effort on the prep because I'm hoping he's as horny as I am.
The guy really seems to like that I’m a cowboy, so I wear my best Wranglers, my sharp navy pearl-snap shirt, and the boots Luke got me for my birthday two years ago. I decide against a hat, though I bring one in case it's helpful in the bedroom.
I make my way down to the kitchen as Abel, Joaquin, and Warwick walk in.
“Coffee at this time of day?” Abel asks, looking at me like I'm crazy.
Joaquin and Warwick, however, exchange glances.
“You’ve got a hookup,” Joaquin declares with a wolfish grin.
I shrug. “A beautiful silver-fox Daddy wants to cook me dinner and then have his way with me. Can’t say I’ve got anything to complain about.”
Joaquin’s eyes widen, and I consider for a moment that he’s my boss and maybe that was inappropriate, but then I remember that I know what his cum smells like. Besides, his laugh makes me think he's okay with it.
“Be safe,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
As handsome as my hookup is, nobody—and I mean nobody—can compare to the raw, visceral sex appeal of Joaquin Gorrión. Not even Wick, and that's saying something.
