We napped—with his hand cupping my ass under the pretty silk knickers until it was time for me to get dressed and make my afternoon rounds in the Texas Hill Country.
As I stretched up to kiss his perfectly square jaw, the camera on his phone clicked. He grinned, showing me the picture he took of us. Our eyes were closed, and we had smiles on our faces. His hand was on his chest as my lips touched his jaw, and we were in bed. It was clearly a picture of two lovers.
He pulled up his account and went to post the picture.
“Hey there, cowboy,” I said, stilling his hand. “Don’t let the pain meds get you in trouble on social media.”
He looked at me quizzically. “I ain’t taken a pain med—other than that Advil and Tylenol mix of yours—in over a month. I just wanna share this picture of you and me. Unless you don’t want me to?”
I knew he’d been slacking off on his pain management, but even that shocked me. It shouldn’t have.
More shocking, though, was his willingness, fully sober, to share such an intimate snapshot of our relationship. Our closest friends knew we were together, but he was not out in the community, and I was in no hurry to force a timeline on him. This little bubble of togetherness had been amazing, and to be frank, I didn’t want to push him.
“Kit, I need to make sure you understand this means we’ll be social media official. It means everyone you know—plus many who don’t—will see that we’re together. They’ll know you’re not straight,” I said, respecting the fact that he hadn’t yet landed on a specific label.
“I understand, Sky,” he said, pulling me in for a kiss. “I’m posting this on purpose. You’re mine, and I don’t want anyone thinking otherwise.”
Be still, my heart.
“So, you don’t mind?” he asked, his thumb over the button.
“I don’t mind it at all.”
He hit the button and then stole a celebratory kiss. Seconds later, a notification went off on my phone. Assuming the app was notifying me that he’d tagged me, my mouth turned down when I saw the message.
“What’s this look?” he asked, kissing my cheek.
I held up my phone. “Guess who just saw our picture?”
Rich, using yet another throwaway account, had found my regular account and sent me a message, asking if I was still with the broken-down cowboy.
The first few times I’d shown Kit the texts I still sometimes got from Rich; he’d wanted to murder the man. I then broke sugar baby code—I maintain he deserved it—and shared with him some of the details of Rich’s ‘prowess’ in bed, which had Kit rolling with laughter. Now, when these messages came up, we made fun of them together.
“Doesn’t he have a wife?” Kit asked, kissing the top of my head as I blocked yet another account.
“That he does.”
“Does she have an account? Maybe you should DM her.”
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I signed an NDA.”
Kit snorted.
“Baby, I have to take it seriously,” I said, hitching as his fingers slipped under the silk, skimming along the inside of my thigh. “He could sue me for the few things I shared with you. He’d one hundred percent take me to the cleaners if I made anything public.”
“I know what an NDA means, Sky,” he said, cupping my balls, kissing my collar bones. “I’m laughing becauseyousigned an NDA, but I didn’t. And I’ve got time.”
I threw my head back and laughed, then hitched again as his lips found a nipple. “You would not.”
“You’ve taken screenshots of all his messages, right?” he asked, sucking lightly.
“Yeah . . .”
He kissed down my centerline as his hand found my hardening cock.
“Then send them to me. If you get into trouble, I’ll say I stole them from your phone.”
He thumbed my waistband. “You know these assholes aren’t hardly letting me do any work at all. Please, give me something to do.”
