“There ain’t nothin’ but grass and cattle for miles. What’re you really scared of, Baby?” Nash’s voice pooled like warm molasses in the pit of Patrick’s stomach, sendin’ a bone deep heat curlin’ up through him.
Patrick turned his head, bumpin’ their foreheads together. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he said in a small voice.
Nash’s eyes were pools of dark golden honey, and Patrick was swimming in them. Drownin’ really. Unable to stop himself from sinkin’ deeper the longer he stared into them.
“I do,” Nash whispered. “You ain’t gotta be scared of that, Baby.” His hand crept further up Patrick’s chest. “Just let me take the reins.”
“I ain’t never—”
“I know.” Nash’s fingers ghosted across Patrick’s skin, roundin’ to the back of his head to tangle in his hair. “But you’re gonna be a good boy for me, ain’tcha, Baby?”
Patrick breathed out a shakyyes sir. Nash’s grip on Patrick’s hair tightened, shootin’ a good-tingly sorta pain through his body. Nash looked at Patrick with a hunger that made him weak in the knees then craned his head back and dove for his neck.Patrick made a strangled, startled noise. Nash kissed, licked, and bit at Patrick’s neck. He fought not to squirm, fistin’ the blanket beneath him 'til his knuckles were white. Nash hooked his leg around Patrick’s thigh, pressin’ his knee into Patrick’s achin’ cock. “So much for not being a queer, huh? You’re harder than steel, cowboy.”
Patrick bit back a sorry whine that threatened to slip out. “Shut up, you bastard.”
Nash chuckled—a sound that sank deep into Patrick’s core like hot coal and lit his body from the inside—then went back to peppering Patrick’s neck with hot, wet kisses and kitten-bites. While assaultin’ his neck, Nash began to grind against Patrick’s thigh. Every roll of Nash’s hips caused the slightest bit of friction against Patrick’s cock. He could feel his boxers becoming wet with how much he was leakin’.
Teeth sank into Patrick’s neck and he just about came undone. “God almighty,” he keened, back archin’ off the blanket.
Nash worried the skin trapped between his teeth, and Patrick knew there would be a nice dark bruise there. He didn’t care about the mark though; it would fade well before spring anyways. All that mattered was how good and right it all felt. Unlike anything Patrick had ever experienced.
“I ain’t gonna make it if you keep on like this,” Patrick panted, face burnin’ when he heard the state of his voice—whiny and breathy.
“You gonna come in your pants like a virgin, cowboy?”
Patrick’s chest grew real tight real fast as if someone had plopped a tractor right on top of it. He’d never gotten far with any of the women he’d dated. Most of them were God-fearin’ churchgoers that wanted to wait 'til marriage, and the ones he met at Broken Spoke, well, those never even made it to the back of his truck.
Nash lifted his head and looked Patrick in the eye. “You are, aren’t you?”
Patrick averted his gaze. A shame he was all too familiar with snaked through him, chokin’ out any possibility for him to speak. His eyes grew hot like the rest of him.
“Baby, look at me”—God damn did Patrick hate that nickname. He hated even more how sweetly Nash said it—“it don’t matter to me if you are or aren’t. All I care is that you’re enjoyin’ it. And, judgin’ by this”—Nash pressed his knee into Patrick’s still painfully hard cock—“I’d say you’re enjoyin’ it.”
Patrick looked away again, unable to deny it. The comment, as humiliated as it made him feel, had also made his cock twitch, and Nash had probably felt it with how close they were. Nash chuckled then dropped his head again, pressin’ a kiss right beneath Patrick’s ear.
“But I’m ‘fraid it’s time for us to head back, Baby.”
Patrick swallowed his protest, ‘fraid he’d make a bigger fool of himself than he already had. He stood and tried to ignore how tight his jeans were.
Patrick was a lotta things in his life, but one thing he wasn’t was a beggar. He learned the hard way to shut up and be content with what was given to him. Not havin’ the things he wanted in life didn’t bother him; goin’ without was just the way of life after all. Until, of course, Nashfuckin’Colby decided to give him a taste of something he’d unknowingly been cravin’.
It hadn’t been long since they got back to the ranch to take care of the evening chores before it got dark, so Patrick held his tongue, kept his head down, and prayed that Nash would give him amore. Maybe if he was good and patient, Nash would give him a reward. Patrick stepped on the end of the blanket he was carryin’ and tripped over his feet. He caught himself on the stable door before he fell and swore. What the hell was he thinkin’?Reward? He wasn’t a fuckin’ show pony doin’ tricks for a fuckin’ sugar cube.
He’d be better off forgettin’ about the whole thing and pretendin’ it didn’t happen. It would make things a lot easier if he did. What happened out in the field would go nowhere anyways. It had been a-a slip up… a lapse in judgement… amistake. If Nash approached him or tried anythin’ again, Patrick would turn him down.
“You ‘bout finished in here, cowboy?”
Patrick tossed the blanket over the stable door then turned to see Nash leanin’ against Colt’s with his arms crossed and that smug-as-shit smirk present. Even after what happened, Patrick still wanted to wipe that look off Nash’s face. He hated how it made his body react in all the wrong ways, hated how hedidn’thate it. “Wrappin’ up now,” Patrick answered.
“You know”—Nash pushed off Colt’s door—“you’ve been mighty patient since we’ve gotten back to the ranch after our ride this mornin’.” Patrick froze as Nash walked towards him. “I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?”
“What’re you on ‘bout?” Patrick feigned annoyance.
“Don’t go playin’ hard just ‘cause you got blue balled earlier.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”
Nash stopped a few feet away, leavin’ Patrick half-prayin’ he’d stay there and half-prayin’ he’d come closer. “Tell me now if you don’t want me to come any closer.”
