Angelo’s limbs usually took a little persuasion to wake up, but Dylan’s touch was his kryptonite, and being without it for weeks at a time had amped up its potency. His legs quivered and his back arched from the bed. “Jesus!”
Dylan chuckled filthily and moved further down Angelo’s body, kissing and nipping. Angelo’s cock rose to greet him like an old friend, and Angelo braced himself for the dizzying sensation of Dylan swallowing him whole.
A knock at the chalet door shattered his dreams. Dylan cast a baleful glare over his shoulder. “Who’s that at this time?”
“Joe.” Angelo covered his face with a groan. “You lost that bet about how many Maltesers you could fit in your mouth, remember? One of us has to muck out the donkeys.”
If the grief for a lost blowjob hadn’t been so strong, the bewilderment marring Dylan’s lovely face would’ve been funny. “I don’t remember that.”
“Lucky you.” Angelo eased Dylan off him and slid out of bed, searching for something to cover his junk. “You spat them in my face.”
“Seriously?”
“Pretty much.”
Angelo snagged some sweatpants from the floor and pulled them on. He left Dylan in bed and padded to the door, opening it just as Joe was walking away. “Hey! I’m up.”
Joe turned. In the crisp morning light, his olive skin and strong frame made Angelo feel like a pasty cripple. “So I see.”
Angelo cocked an eyebrow, staring Joe down. In his hurry to get to the door, he’d forgotten his dick print was probably a fucking sculpture, but he knew Joe would break first. Away from the beautiful bubble he and Harry lived in, he was surprisingly shy about sex, considering how lairy he could be about everything else.
“Er, anyway,” Joe went on when Angelo didn’t blink. “I was gonna let you off the donkey bet, but George just brought in a mare and foal that need some TLC. Harry and Emma are doing the stables, but if you’re up to sorting the donkeys, it would really help me out.”
“I can do that.”
“You sure? I can get George back if—”
“Joe, stop, man. I’m good.”
“’Kay.”
Joe spun around and jogged away, disappearing up the lane that led to the working farm. Angelo watched him go, jealous, as ever, of the easy elegance that laced his every step, then closed the door with a sigh.
Back in the bedroom, Dylan wasn’t impressed with the prospect of shovelling donkey shit before breakfast.
“Stay in bed.” Angelo swapped his sweatpants for the ripped jeans he wore on the rare occasions he did any real work on the farm. “It won’t take long if Joe’s left everything where I can find it.”
Dylan’s gaze narrowed, tinged with faint amusement that did little to conceal genuine irritation. “Since when were you a farmer’s best friend? Last I knew, you were still scared of horses.”
“I’m not scared of them—just never went anywhere near them until Harry built the clinic here. He uses horses all the time for balance therapy. Bonny and Clyde, remember? You know all this.”
“Uh-huh.” Dylan flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes.
Angelo took it as his cue to get his arse in gear and sloped off to the donkey barn. Unable to ever let anyone do him a complete favour, Joe had indeed left everything Angelo needed nearby, which left Angelo plenty of time to make a fuss of Ronnie and Reggie, the weathered old donkeys who were his favourite animals at Whisper Farm. Smaller than the horses—apart from the Shetlands—they were gentle souls who responded obediently to Angelo’s bumbling attempts to move them around.
He gave them breakfast and then led them out to their paddock. On his way, he passed Rhys and Jevon who were heading into the house for breakfast, Rhys easing slowly across the yard on his crutches.
“All right?” Angelo called out.
Jevon grinned. “Yeah, man. Dylan up yet?”
“Just about.”
“See you at breakfast?”
“For sure.”
Jevon smiled again as they moved on. Rhys merely nodded, but Angelo was used to his fluctuating moods, and he’d thrown enough of his own angst Rhys’s way in the past.
