Page 31 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

He crawled atop Ciarán, kissed all along his neck and jaw as he took hold of his cock and pushed, so slowly and so carefully, easing himself past Ciarán’s rim.

“Oh!” The cry was muffled as Ciarán buried his face in the crook of Graham’s neck.

As Ciarán went still underneath him Graham asked, “You okay? It doesn’t hurt?”

“It’s different from my fingers,” came his husband’s breathless reply.

“But you’re okay?”

“I’m okay, Graham. Please, keep going.”

He did so, burying himself into that tight heat until he was completely sheathed inside him, his balls, heavy and taut, resting against Ciarán’s ass. Graham all but collapsed on top of him, pinning him to the bed, their legs entwined.

He gave an experimental thrust and was rewarded with a sweet moan, Ciarán’s lips right against his ear. “Again—please, Graham.”

Again and again and again—with each thrust his husband squirmed underneath him, nails digging into his back, his hole squeezing his cock tighter and tighter until all Graham could do was hump with abandon.

The room was filled with Ciarán’s panting cries of delight and by Graham’s ragged moans. There was no longer a rhythm to his movement—he’d long dreamed of taking Ciarán and he did so in earnest now, thinking of nothing but his husband’s keening and frantically pumping his aching cock into Ciarán’s tight little hole.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck.”

“Yes, please, Graham. Oh! Please, more,” Ciarán begged. He lifted his hips to better meet Graham’s frenzied rutting.

Ciarán’s legs were wrapped tight around his waist, his knee-length socks rubbing deliciously against Graham’s skin. It felt good—all of it felt good. Holding his husband, his husband holding him, being inside him, being together, joined as one, a union of their bodies, their collective pleasure.

He sensed it now—Ciarán’s orgasm building. How his cries became short, high-pitched gasps, how his legs kicked at the air in an effort to chase his pleasure, how his nails raked at Graham’s back as he tried to pull him closer, ever closer—and then, suddenly, he was trembling and moaning Graham’s name, desperately rubbing his cock against his stomach as he spilled between them, wonderfully hot and messy.

He wanted to see him better—to watch him tremble through his climax—but as Graham tried to push himself up Ciarán said, “No! I want it—” He closed his eyes and groaned as Ciarán squeezed around his cock. “Graham—inside me—I want you to—I want my husband—”

That pushed him over the edge into his own release. Once more Graham let himself fall on top of Ciarán, let him coo and stroke his back and run his fingers through his hair and murmur such sweet things into his ear as Graham desperately continued to thrust, spilling his seed inside him in sharp bursts as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him until he lay there, exhausted and spent and more satisfied than he’d ever been.

When the sweat had cooled on their skin and the cum was drying on their stomachs and leaking onto the bed, Graham asked, “Was that good?” He nuzzled Ciarán’s neck, kissed the delicate skin there. “Did you like that?”

Ciarán stretched against the sheets, a lazy smile on his face. “Oh, Mr. Shepherd. I think you’re fishing for compliments, now.”’

“I want to know if I made love to my husband the way he likes,” he growled. He gave Ciarán’s shoulder a sharp bite.

His husband squealed with laughter. “Oh! Graham! I wouldn’t know—that was my first time, after all.”

“Guess we’ll just have to keep going.”

“I’d like that. Maybe next time you could have me on all fours? Or—maybe I could ride you.” At the look of surprise on Graham’s face he added, “I’ve read—publications—about what goes on between a married couple.”

“Not in The Matrimonial Journal?” Graham had read plenty of articles in it when he'd had a subscription. He'd even clipped some of the useful ones about household management out and saved them in a scrapbook. He most definitely didnot recall anything about bedroom activities. Those would have been squirreled away for sure.

“No, of course not. Its columns rarely mention the intimate duties of marriage. I had other subscriptions.”

He kissed Ciarán’s fingers and considered that. They had to have a lot of things in New York that they didn’t have in Montana. Or, perhaps, some material was just easier to find in a city. It wasn’t important. Whatever Ciarán wanted to try. Whatever he asked of him.

A buzzing, pleasant kind of warmth coursed through his body. A good tired, an intimate happiness, cozy and comfortable. Who would have thought that marriage could bring such bliss? Or, no—it had to be Ciarán especially. His husband, the man he was lucky enough to marry, the best in the world.

“Graham?” Ciarán was playing with his hair, tracing his finger along the shell of Graham’s ear. It tickled. “What are you thinking about?”

He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “I want to get you a puppy.”

“W-what?”

Hell. Graham slapped his face with his hand and groaned in frustration. “I mean that—You make me so happy. And I want you to be happy. And protected. With this horse thief around, I was thinking that you should have a dog. It’d keep you company—keep you safe when you’re here by yourself.”

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