Page 49 of The Rancher's Mail-Order Husband

Sweat ran down Graham’s neck. He could feel it pooling in his shirt, the cotton material damp against his skin hot. Leaves, bright and green, fluttered to the ground around them as their movements shook the tree. Graham panted against Ciarán’s flushed neck, wondering at the turn his life had taken, that here he was on a beautiful, warm, sunny summer day, fully clothed, rutting into his husband without a care in the world.

He let out a breathless laugh. “I love you,” he said.

Ciarán clutched his shoulders, spilling onto Graham’s shirt with a shuddering gasp. “Oh!” He tightened around Graham’s cock, milking the orgasm from him not a few moments later.

“God, Ciarán—” Graham panted. He pressed a wet kiss to Ciarán’s neck, felt his pulse against his mouth. “So good, sweetheart.”

Ciarán hummed, content and satisfied. He leaned against the tree, knees shaking, as Graham took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped away the cum dripping down the inside of his thighs.

“Still good?”

“Still very good.”

He couldn’t resist giving the soft skin of Ciarán’s freckled thigh a kiss. “Good.”

His own shirt wasn’t so easily cleaned. Graham gave it an honest try, dabbing at the stains with the same sticky handkerchief before simply unbuttoning it and draping it over his shoulder. It wasn’t the most seemly thing, to be out in his undershirt, but it was far better than walking around with his husband’s spend all over his stomach.

“Maybe we should try this more often,” Ciarán said, slipping back into his shoes. “I think that—"

“Hello?”

They both tensed at the sound of a stranger’s voice. Ciarán gasped, lacing up his shoes and fixing his hair. “Oh, Lord,” he murmured.

“Hello?”

Graham quickly buckled his belt. He called back, “H-hey, there!”

A man wandered tentatively into view. Graham knew his face, but not his name. Someone from town. He gave a jerky, awkward wave.

The stranger waved back. “You all need any help? Saw your cart stopped.”

Graham spluttered, flailing for an excuse, but Ciarán grabbed his hat from the ground, brushed a few blades of grass from it and placed it firmly back onto his head. “The wind took my hat off! We had to chase it down.”

The man frowned. “Hasn’t been much of a breeze today, I don’t think.”

“Sudden gust of wind. Surprised us both,” Graham grunted.

Before the man could respond, Ciarán cheerily said, “Thank you for your concern! We’ll just be on our way, now. Have a nice day!” He grabbed Graham’s arm and dragged him back to the cart, waving goodbye to the befuddled man as Graham took hold of the reins.

When they were safely out of ear shot, they burst into peals of laughter.

???

On the way home, the wagon swayed gently over the dirt path, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the fields. Graham held the reins loosely, his shoulders relaxed, while Ciarán sat beside him, a contented smile playing on his lips. Their earlier conversation about the market had meandered into other topics, eventually landing on one of their more daring pastimes.

“As enjoyable as it was to have sex outside,” Ciarán said with a slight flush creeping up his neck, “I think we ought tokeep those instances few and far between. You know, in case a neighbor happens upon us.”

Graham raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Even on our property?”

Ciarán paused, clearly weighing his words. “Well,” he said slowly, “I’m not saying never. Just that we should be more careful and aware of our surroundings.” His tone was practical, though the faint pinkness in his cheeks betrayed him.

Graham bit back a laugh. He decided not to mention that it had been Ciarán who’d proposed both their tumble in the field last summer and the romp in the woods just a few weeks ago. Each time, Ciarán’s enthusiasm had been infectious, leaving Graham more than willing to go along with the idea. Still, he had no intention of embarrassing his husband by pointing that out now.

Instead, he nodded solemnly. “Of course, honey,” he said, his voice laden with affection.

Ciarán narrowed his eyes at Graham’s tone. “You’re humoring me,” he accused, though there was no real heat in his voice.

“Am not,” Graham said, grinning. “I mean it. I’ll be careful. We’ll both be careful.”

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