Deep inside his lover, the tight squeeze of muscles and heat from Bo’s body felt so fucking perfect.
“I think I can get this rod loosened up for you. Just needs some grease.” He released one of Bo’s thighs and took matters in hand, stroking Bo from outside and within.
Bo stretched out on the bench, hair mussed, grasping the barbell over his head and forcing himself back, meeting Lucky’s every lunge. God, what a gorgeous man.
Faster, harder, deeper. Bo’s moans mixed with the squeaks from the bench and Lucky’s harsh breaths.
Sweat dripped down Lucky’s face. He’d wipe the drops away later. Bo lifted up, joining their mouths. His moan vibrated against Lucky’s tongue.
Lucky answered with his own moan.Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, hell yeah.Ecstasy slammed into him. His muscles seized. Staring into Bo’s eyes, he plunged in once more, twice more, held and let go.
“Ahhh…” Lucky arched back, shuddering through his climax.
Bo grabbed his hand, keeping the tempo going while Lucky’s brain turned to mush. Eyes unfocused and mouth open, he jerked and splattered his stomach and their hands. Again and again he lurched and shot.
Finally, he collapsed back on the bench, laughing. “I’ll never look at getting the Durango’s oil changed the same way again.”
“I’ll change your oil.” Lucky leered. He leaned over Bo, catching his breath.
“Anytime.”
Lucky eyed the Harley. “How about a ride?”
Bo laughed. “You just had one.”
***
Lucky didn’t bother fighting about driving when they wrangled the garage door open by hand and got out the Harley. Instead he hopped on the back and snugged himself up against Bo’s ass.
They rode out of the already-open complex gate, the purr of the engine balm for Lucky’s soul. The vibration and his dick pressed between Bo’s ass cheeks didn’t hurt. No need for talk, no need for thought. Out here nothing existed but him, Bo, the bike, and a hell of a lot of scenery.
Subdivisions gave way to abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town, which gave way to farmland.
They passed a freshly manured field. Lucky held his breath. The stench triggered memories of his dad fertilizing the tobacco fields. A few miles down the road, the air held traces of freshly mown hay, honeysuckle, and other things he couldn’t name.
And under it all, the scent of Bo’s cologne. His soap. His shampoo. The scent of sex clinging to him. Bo. Lucky’s entire world. Sun on his arms, his cares disappeared. Easy to cast them off out here. Pretend he and Bo could keep driving and never have to face facts again.
They’d go to the mountains, maybe find a place to camp. Love each other on the ground with nothing but stars overhead. How many times had he promised to take Bo hiking? How many times had something else gotten in the way?
If he made it out of this, he’d take Bo hiking. Hell, he’d go anywhere the man wanted—even a vegetarian restaurant.
If he made it out.
All too soon, the fantasy ended where it’d started—back at the house. Bo ran his fingers over a worn Mr. Pizza flyer posted to the refrigerator door. “We could order pizza. What kind do you want?”
What? Mr. Healthy eating carbs, and fat, and whatever else? “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why pizza?”
“We gotta eat, and I don’t feel like cooking. We’d have to go grocery shopping first anyway.” Bo planted a kiss on Lucky’s nose. “I’d rather stay here with you.”
The condemned man’s last meal: pizza. Well, maybe not last meal, but close.
“Besides,” Bo said, “we got a visitor coming.”
Lucky’s heart dropped to his stomach. If Bo warned him first, probably not Walter or Rett. “Who?” And should he hop in his car and haul ass?
