“Oh, fuck. Coke. Babe.” Dillon rocked hard, his breath short, his balls pulling up.
“Mmmhmm. Gonna smell like you.”
“Uh-huh. I taste like you.” Dillon grinned, humping hard.
“Good.” Coke’s thumb rubbed hard over the tip of his cock, making him jerk. That was it. God, if Coke would just do that one more time… Coke teased him for two more strokes, then bingo. Paydirt.
“Coke!” Dillon spilled all over Coke’s skin, his own hand and belly and leg.Hell, yes.
Coke groaned, rocked under him, then rubbed him right in. Fuck, that was… Yeah. It made his cock jerk, the final hurrah almost painful, it was so good.
When he stopped shaking and slumped down, Coke was smiling for him. Dillon got it. He felt like grinning, too.
“Thank you.” Coke’s eyes were closing.
“Mmmhmm.” He’d classified Coke as ‘passes out after sex’ once. Some things didn’t change.
Coke chuckled. “Wasn’t talking to you, cowboy. Was talking to the good Lordaboutyou.”
“Oh.” Oops. Dillon chuckled. “Ditto.”
Coke patted his butt and boom.
El Zonko.
Laughing, he wiggled into a better sleeping position, one that wouldn’t send Coke into paroxysms later in the night.
One arm curled around him, holding him close. Protecting him. That was his Coke, the cowboy protector. Even when he was unconscious.
Dillon wouldn’t have him any other way.
Chapter Fourteen
“Mister Coke! I think the turkey’s burning!”
“Uncle Poppy? Can we play merry-go-round?”
“Coke, honey, can you grab that big platter?”
“Hoss, I think the toilet’s backed up. Y’all got a plunger?”
By the time Thanksgiving supper was ready, Coke had a vicious headache and no appetite. He said a prayer over everything, handed out plates, and headed down to the barn for a walk. Of course, about the time he got there, his phone rang for the fortieth time. Jason.
“Hey, son. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Hey, Gramps! When’re you coming to see me?”
“Is that Gramps? Say hey for me.” It sounded just as loud at Jason’s place.
“I’ll be out there after the holidays, son. I have to go see Sam Bell, then I’ll come. How’s folks?” His head was gonna explode.
“Good. I— It’s loud, you know?”
Oh, fuck a doodle. He nodded, sending up a quick apology for bitching. “I bet it is, son. You got fifty thousand Gardners there. I bet Mrs. Gardner made sausage balls, though. Those are good.”
“She did. Bax snuck me a beer. Just one.”
“Good deal. I miss you, Jase. I’m ready to see you. What do you want for Christmas?”
