“You like compromising me, don’t you?”
Something evil and romantic and fucking perfect flares in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then yes, Bram.” I rub my chest, where his words are sending soft, insistent explosions. “I’ll be your boyfriend if you’ll be mine.”
He drags me down to him, pulling me into a perfect kiss. Flipping us again so he’s on top—in more ways than one—he pistons into me, kissing me breathless.
“I love fucking you, Ignacio. So obedient. So compliant. So good for me.”
“I love being your good boy, Dr. Barlowe.”
Angling up, he goes after the bundle of nerves again and again.
“I’m going to come,” I warn.
He goes even faster. “Yes, Ignacio. Come for me. Come for me, pretty boy.”
My face flushes at the compliment, and the orgasm consumes me, making me his. Making me wish for things I shouldn’t but will anyway because that’s how it is between us. Just as I’ve been drained of all fluids, he grunts, slowing his thrusts, deepening our kiss as he fills me.
“Fuck, Nacho,” he breathes into my ear. “You’re so fucking tight. So fucking perfect for me. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I needed this,” he confesses, gently stroking the last of his cum into me.
We collapse into a tangle on the bed, holding each other until his cock softens, and we scramble for an old T-shirt to avoid a mess. It’s miraculous seeing him post-sex, relaxed, funny, his hair all over the place.
He’s gentle with me as we clean up, and then we fall into bed again, taking our time with kisses before drifting into a cuddled-up nap that feels like home.
He doesn’t call me Ignacio for the rest of the day, only Nacho. He enters me twice more, with no orders or even good boys. Just sweetness and appreciation, and longing, deep looks that mean something, even if neither of us is able to say it out loud just yet.
* * *
“Somebody’s walking funny this morning,”Ant says as I pick him up.
I woke Bram up with a blowjob, and he fucked me again in appreciation. Something about sneaking in a few extra kisses with him right before I had to let him go was…sigh.
God, I’m a goner.
After that, I got ready and made the lonely drive over, only for this salty twink to give me shit.
“I’m sitting in my truck, dude—you don’t know how I’m walking.”
“Still. You’ve got that freshly fucked look about you.”
“I could just make you walk to this project.”
He rolls his eyes because it’s not that big a threat.
The nice lady from a previous job, the one with the creepy dogs, loved our work ethic and professionalism so much that she recommended us to her dog lady, who owns the property next door to the ranch.
Remembering Bonnie said the lady is a little rough around the edges, I’d asked Charlie if he’d ever met her. He hasn’t had a chance to because he’s been rebuilding from the fire and the entrance to her property is nearly a mile down the road. He’d been surprised that she trains dogs because they haven’t heard much in the way of dogs barking, which I thought was strange, even with the size of the property.
Unfortunately, this means we’ll hafta skip the fancy coffee, but at least we’ll get a quick start to our day.
Joanna Weber has asked for a twelve-foot chain-link fence with privacy slats and barbed wire across the top. We see this a lot for people trying to secure heavy equipment, and I’m curious about the kind of business she does beyond the dogs. Since I was out yesterday, Justin and one of the other guys set the posts, so Ant and I are just here to put in the slatted chain-link fence and barbed wire.
When we arrive, however, things are just…off. The house is a big ranch that would be pretty if it were better maintained. The property has the kind of neglected details—weeds that need whacking, a listing carport that needs shoring up—you often see out in the country, where there are fewer neighbors to impress.
That, in and of itself, is not unusual. The teeth-baring pack of six German Shepherds greeting us at the gate, however, is. Just like Bonnie’s dogs, they’re whisper-quiet. Like, deadly quiet. And they look like they’d rip us apart if given half a chance.
