“The fuck is a balderdash?”
“Your mom is a balderdash.”
I just blink at him, because I don’t think she is. “My mom’s a farmer.”
He rolls his eyes. “Lie on the floor, roll on your side and spread your cheeks.” I clench my jaw and shake my head, because I don’t give a fuck what he says about me needing to be squeaky clean for Bubba. What he’s suggesting ain’t happening. He ain’t putting that tube up my asshole and pumping me full of water like one of his damn cum balloons. “Dammit, Jonathan. We’ve talked about this.”
“The fuck we did! As soon as we got here, you grabbed me by the wrist and dragged my ass in the bathroom, kicking and screaming.”
“And now I’m going to get your ass squeaky clean-ing.” He bites the inside of his cheek and groans. “Ugh. Shut up. I know it wasn’t a good rhyme.”
“It wasn’tanytype of rhyme. That word don’t go there. The sentence don’t even make sense.”
“Oh, because you’re an author all of a sudden? Did you write the Great American Novel while we weren’t looking?” He flings his hands in the air, sending a glob of KY Jelly flying out of one hand, and a large squirt of enema solution out the other, kicking his foot back for emphasis, but the fucker just ends up banging the cabinet and making the trailer rattle like thunder. Gayest fuckin’ thunderstorm ever. “Prepping isn’t necessary, but would you rather Bubba pull out and have a mess to clean up?”
“What kind of mess?”
“It’s an asshole. You know what comes out of it.”
Fuck. For some reason, that didn’t even cross my mind. Cleaning my hole with an enema isn’t anything I’ve put much thought into, but now that Ezra’s explained the alternative, it makes all the sense in the world. Bubba would never shame me for having an accident, but I would be embarassed as fuck, and I don’t know how long it would take me to be able to look either of them in the eye again.
“Fine. But you ain’t staying in here when it’s time.”
“I have no desire to watch you go to the bathroom.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “You sure about that, Scat Boy?”
His eyes bulge. “I swear to fucking God. If you even think of changing my nickname to Scat Boy, I’ll burn you alive. I’m serious. Please don’t make that a thing. It makes me feel physically ill.”
I stroke his cheek, because he’s really fuckin’ cute this way. “Don’t worry. I like calling you Little Dick too much to change it now.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that.” He motions for me to get on my knees, so I do, and he follows along, kneeling behind me. His lips land lightly on my shoulder, and when I look back, he’s staring down at my ass. “I’ll never get over this view.” His hand brushes against my cheek, and I shiver against him, earning a whispered, “Good boy.” When he spreads my cheeks, a cool blast of air conditioning hits my exposed hole, making me shudder. “Fuck.”
“What?”
He drags a finger across my hole, and I have to bite back the urge to moan. “It’s beautiful.”
“You really think so?”
“Yeah. Can I take a picture of it?”
I groan. “Do you have to?”
“Well, I suppose I don’t have to do anything, but I want to.”
“Why?”
“So I can jack off to it while you and Bubba are at work. I’ll need to get a picture of Bubba’s too. Spank bank material for days. Months, even.”
My breath catches in my chest. He wants to jack off while he looks at me. It shouldn’t be so surprising, but it still takes me by surprise in the best way possible. I give him a nod, and he reaches for his phone on the bathroom counter. He pulls my cheek open a little wider, and his flash goes off, lighting up my darkest place.
“Have you done that before?” I ask him.
“Done what?”
“Jacked off while you think about me?” I know he jerks off thinking of Bubba, and I’m pretty sure he’s done it to me, too, but I want to hear it. I want to know he wants me just as much as I want him. “Because I have. I’ve thought about you a lot.”
“You have?” he asks, his voice small.
