Page 30 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

“R-really?” There was pure wonder in Ciarán’s voice.

“Yeah.” Maybe it wasn’t seemly to admit such a thing, even to one’s husband and even when he was about to bed him, but Graham suspected that Ciarán would like to hear it, so he said, “I’ve thought about you at night. Before I go to sleep.”

“And—and what exactly were you thinking about?”

“Your bare legs. All of you, bare, sometimes. But your legs especially. And you bending over in your old nightshirt. The short one. Or pulling up your night gown around your waist so that I can look at you.”

“What then?” Ciarán whispered.

With a gentle shove he pushed Ciarán onto his back. His husband lay on the mattress, staring up at him through long lashes, eyes dark, lips slightly parted. This time when he went forthe belt buckle Ciarán allowed it, even lifted his hips a little so that Graham could more easily peel off his pants. In no time he was left with a husband clad in nothing but socks that ended just above his knee. “Well,” Graham said, voice thick, “Then I touch you.” He ran his hand along the inside of Ciarán’s thigh.

“And do I like it?”

His words were playful, teasing. A surge of confidence rolled through Graham’s body. “Why don’t you tell me?” He wrapped his fingers around Ciarán’s cock, gave it a few leisurely strokes. “Do you like that, sweetheart?” It was a rhetorical question—the answer was obvious. He was hot and hard in Graham’s hand.

Ciarán let out a breathless little giggle. “V-very much so. I would like it more if I could see all of you, though.” He bit his lip and stared meaningfully at Graham’s lower half, still clothed. “Let me?”

Obediently, Graham straddled him, his knees on either side of Ciarán’s chest. Ciarán sat up on the pillows as he happily did away with Graham’s belt. His pants fell to his thighs to reveal his half-hard cock.

Whatever it was that Ciarán saw, it delighted him. He breathed, “Oh…” and reached out once more to touch Graham’s body, his fingers trailing along the scars along his hips, brushing through the coarse hair between his legs, and delicately, tentatively, with an uncertainty that was feather-light and near to torture, took Graham’s cock in his hands and began to touch and stroke and squeeze, testing the feeling and the reactions he caused.

He asked, “Do you—like that, Graham?” as he rubbed his thumb along the head of his shaft in little circles, precum glistening on the tips of his fingers.

Another rhetorical question. But that was something, too. Hearing each other voice their want, their pleasure. Graham shivered. “Yeah, I like it.”

With an impish smile, Ciarán brought his lips—so very pink and wet—to the head and kissed it.

A jolt of pleasure went through his body, swiftly accompanied by a twinge of pain in his leg. He winced. Ciarán immediately drew away, smile gone, his eyes wide and horrified. “Did I do it wrong?” he asked.

“No, no, no—you did it right. Everything was—right. And good. Great,” Graham panted. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s just my leg. I can’t stand like this anymore.”

“Oh—I’m sorry, Graham. We can stop—”

Graham gritted his teeth. “We are not stopping. Just means that I need to—change positions.” He cleared his throat, hoping that his husband understood his meaning.

He did. Ciarán’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Yes, of course. Let me grab the oil—” As Graham wrestled his pants all the way off and massaged his knee, Ciarán rolled over to the bedside table and grabbed a container that Graham had honestly thought was some sort of perfume.

“How long have you had that?”

The shy expression returned to Ciarán’s face. “Since we first went to town. I thought—well. I thought we’d have cause to use it together sooner.” Then, he pouted. “I’ve used enough just on my own.”

All this time, Ciarán had been lonely and wanting in their bedroom, thinking about Graham—touching himself to the thought of Graham.

“I’m sorry, Ciarán,” he said again.

Ciarán’s fingers were smeared with oil. He leaned back against the pillows once more and slowly, almost lazily, rubbed circles around his rim. “I knew you’d be kind from your letters. Ijust never imagined you’d be so handsome, too. And I hoped that eventually you’d want me like I wanted you. It’s been lonely at night.” With that, he slipped a finger inside his hole.

Graham’s mouth went dry. “Sorry, sweetheart.” It seemed all he was capable of saying at the moment, focused as he was on watching his husband open himself up, pumping and scissoring his fingers, gasping and shivering, his cock hard and leaking between his legs.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry that I left you here by yourself for so long. I’m sorry I was so dense. And I’m sorry that I could’ve been with you this whole time—touching you and kissing you and—” And a whole lot more.

Ciarán smiled. “We were both pretty silly about this whole thing, weren’t we? Why don’t we make up for it now.” He removed his fingers, still slick and shining with oil, and shifted to lay on his back, his head cushioned by the pillows. He spread his legs in invitation.

There wasn’t a prettier sight in the world. Just Ciarán, naked save his knee-length socks, open and ready for him.

Graham didn’t need to be told twice.

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