The bull swung out, head down, finding a cadence right off. He rocked with it, humming under his breath. One. Two. Three. Come on. Five. Six.
The bull started slipping a little and he tensed, getting ready to correct. He ended up right back in the middle when the bull turned back, his leg kicking out to spur. He didn’t even have to think on it.
“Come on, Sammy!” Nate hollered. “Off.”
He nodded, popped his hand loose, and hit the dirt.
Coke was right there, flinging him off to one side, and he felt the breeze when the bull went by. Damn.
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime. Fence!”
He headed for the fence at a run, climbing up as the crowd went crazy. Fuck. Fuck. He saw Coke and Nattie applauding and then the ninety two five popped up. Hell yeah!
Beau was there when he walked to the chute gate, slapping his shoulder hard. “Yeah, Poot!”
The camera and the mic was close, so he grinned and pumped his fists, but his eyes were on Beau.
“Sam! Sam, tell me…” He passed right by the interview, heading to the back. He wasn’t in the mood to chat. He was in the mood to…
Well.
Shit.
He was in the mood to do something you didn’t do in the arena.
Beau looked like he was, too, the way those eyes sparkled at him. Beau walked him back to the locker room, where they both started packing their gear. They didn’t touch. They didn’t talk none, either. By the time they were packed, Sam was about to pounce on Beau, right here.
Beau was all but vibrating, and they were gonna get fines, they left this early, but Beau didn’t seem to care. Not a bit. What was a couple of hundred bucks?
He tossed Beau the keys. Beau caught them deftly in the air, heading around to hop in, little short legs working. They kept their heads down, Beau driving toward the hotel. The radio was going, their phones were ringing, but they didn’t do a thing.
They just sang along and made the hotel in no time with the traffic so light. After the event, it would be a madhouse.
“Upstairs.” It wasn’t a question. More like a plea.
“Hell, yes.” Beau nodded, jaw tight, hands sliding into the pockets of Beau’s jeans. To keep from reaching for him, he’d bet.
They took the elevator, staying on either side of the doors.
Two. Three. Four.
Jesus Christ. Hurry.
Eight pinged, and Beau headed out, boots clopping. The door opened just as he got there, Beau yanking him inside. He hit the slidy-lock deal, tossed his hat toward the table, and tumped his gear. Beau pulled him up and kissed him. Hard.
He grabbed hold of Beau and held on, tongue pressing in to slide against Beau’s. A low, hard noise came from deep in Beau’s chest, and that made him want to crawl up and hump away like crazy. His hands found the broad shoulders, dragged Beau closer. More. Fuck, he was flying with it.
“Goddamn, Poot. Need.” Rough, harsh breathing made Beau’s Cajun accent even more pronounced.
“Fuck, yeah.” He bit Beau’s bottom lip a little, then hit his knees. Both of them scrabbled at Beau’s buckle and fly, Sam needing that hard prick in his mouth.
“Yeah. Sammy. Oh, babe.” Beau’s fingers stroked his head, his neck, oddly gentle on his sore spots.
“Want.” He got it, too, that pretty, heavy cock spreading his lips and sliding on his fucking tongue.
“Anything, babe.” Beau moved for him, cock slipping back and forth, hot drops of pre-come wetting his lips. He felt like a million fucking bucks, hands sliding up Beau’s jeans, the muscles under the denim hard as rocks. Moving faster, Beau told him things. Filthy things about his mouth and his hands and how pretty he was on his knees.
