Joa kissed his collarbone, right above his heart, then settled again, cheek on his chest. It always surprised him, how light and curly Joa’s hair could be, when he went too long between trims.
He loved the springy mass, loved how smooth Joa’s skin felt. That crooked nose drew him to kiss it, too. Joa chuckled for him, fingers drawing shapes on his belly, the touch just hard enough not to tickle.
He sucked in a breath, his muscles quivering, trying to get away and get more. Balta needed to remember that Joa loved having sex with him, but seemed so happy just to be there, touching, sharing air.
“Your heart beat is like a rumba, Balta.”
“Better than a samba,nao?” He grinned. That beat was for when he was about to ride.
“That is too fast. That would be Raul,sim? He sambas now, when he rides. The women scream.”
“You like Raul.” Balta scratched at the spot under Joa’s shoulder blade that always itched.
“Mmm. Right there.” Joa arched and stretched. “I do. He’s a good rider and I think he’s lonely. His English isn’t good, you know? That makes it hard.”
“Sim. I know how that isolates.”Deus, when he had come to the big tour in America he had been the only one. The first. The few riders who spoke Spanish had tried to talk to him, but he had no clue what they were saying. He’d worn more than one black eye because a rider thought he was ignoring them. Now no one would dare take a swing at him.
He grinned at the thought, though. Joa was lovely in a fight, quick and brutally strong, with his tight core. People expected Joa to be something of a coward, with his pretty face and man-scaped body. They were wrong. So wrong.
“He’s pretty,” Balta murmured.
“Hmm? Who?”
“Raul. He’s like a model, you know? Very nice.” He pinched Joa’s buttock, teasing.
“A model? Do you think? I don’t think that suits at all.” Obviously his Joa had considered this.
“An actor? A beach bum in Rio?” That would make Raul someone who had sex for money, and he was a bit too hairy for that, Balta thought.
“No. A good man, like someone you don’t see and then he’s smiling and you can tell he’s decent.”
Oh, his still innocent love. Raul’s eyes promised something so much more interesting than good. At least when they followed Joa. Raul was more cautious with Balta, more reserved.
Almost guilty.
Interesting, for sure.
“You have been helping him, Joa?”
“I have. He went home to Sao Paolo for Christmas. He won Rookie of the Year.”
“Did he?” Balta raised his eyebrows. “Good for him. He’s consistent. That will go well for him.”
“Sim. Way more than me.”
Yes, well, his Joa was the Babe Ruth of bull riding—ninety or nothing. A home run hitter all the way. Joa made plenty of money, but he would never win a championship. He had too many falls.
Balta said a prayer that the falls never damaged too much.
He needed Joa like breathing.
Balta woke up when the knock came on the door, the sound jolting him. “I napped.”
“Shh. You did. I have this. Stay.” Joa shrugged on a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and open.
While he mourned the loss of the view, Balta was glad Joa wasn’t showing off for the server, who wheeled in a wee table. Oh, that smelled amazing, making his mouth water.
Joa stood between the waiter and him, protecting him without thought, and Balta smiled, shook his head. His knight in Luchesse.
