“Yeah.” He gritted his teeth, his shoulders pulling his neck up off the pillows.
“Easy, babe.” Dillon bent to kiss him, which shifted the angle, made it easier.
“Need. Fuck, need you.”
“I know. I want. Oh, babe.” Dillon lost the rhythm, panting, jerking madly.
He shot about two seconds before Dillon did, the act damn near cramping his belly. Coke clamped his hands down on those lean hips and yanked Dillon down, filling that tight hole deep.
Which was when Dillon gave it up for him, shooting over his stomach and chest.
He slumped back, blinking like the world’s biggest owl. “Damn.”
“Oh, yeah.” Dillon laughed out loud. “Better.”
“God, yes.” Why hadn’t they just started with sex? Coke guessed sometimes a man had to talk on things, but this was sure more fun.
Dillon settled down against him, heavy and solid and warm.
He wrapped his arms around Dillon and held on tight. That hot body comforted him. “Love, hmm?”
With all he was.
“Yep. I love you, Coke. You keep that in mind.” Dillon’s muffled laugh made Coke smile.
Coke pinched his cowboy’s taut, amazing ass. “I might could do that. Shithead.”
Dillon flipped pancakes,whistling along with Hank Williams on his phone. No radio here. No Bluetooth speakers. If they were coming here regularly? Dillon was putting in improvements ASAP.
The front door opened, Beau peering in. “Dillon? It safe?”
“It is! Come get your giant drooly beast. Boudreaux, I mean.”
“Right. You never know. Pharris was a little rabid when we showed up.”
“It got Western, for sure. I think we’re good.” He gave Beau a one armed hug. “Pancakes and bacon?”
“If there’s enough, surely. Sammy’s on the deck loving on the dogs.”
“He’s not avoiding me, is he?” Dillon and Sammy were damned good friends, and it hurt Dillon to see him recovering from such extensive injuries, but he didn’t want Sammy to think he wasn’t so welcome.
“You should go out there. See him. He’s afraid you’ll think he’s stupid now, with the talking.”
“Oh. Well, take over.” Dillon pulled up his proverbial socks even though he wore flip-flops and headed outside.
Sammy smiled at him, waved and the bassets bounded over as if he couldn’t see Sam was there. They led Dillon right back, and he walked to Sam, arms open.
“Gimme a hug, butthead.” The little helmet was ridiculous and the man was desperately skinny—there hadn’t been much bulk there to begin with—but it was Sam. And he could feel Sam’s stiff posture relax when they hugged it out. When they let go, he went to sit with Sam, hands full of long hound ears. “Thanks for coming to stay with Coke, Sammy.”
Sam nodded. “He had the hurt of hard. We sing in the trailer for while he came to see you.”
Whoa. Whoa. Was that English? Dillon pondered that, kinda thinking of Sam like his sister’s kids. “Well, I appreciate you guys letting us have some time together.”
Woo. He must have guessed right, because Sammy nodded again.
“It. The bed. I like it. In the.” Sam frowned deep. “Trailer.”
“Yeah? Tag has good taste. He bought it, right?”
