Page 68 of Brim Over Boot
I stay in the living room, occasionally looking out the window at the front of the house. My motorcycle is parked inside the garage, my truck in the driveway. The road is dark, no headlights passing.
He better come. If he doesn’t…
Well, my threat to collect him was not an idle one.
It’s half past ten when headlights pass through the sheer curtain. I hop up, watching as the lights go dark. Colton doesn’t move from his truck for a long time. Several minutes, in fact. Finally, he opens his door and heads toward the backyard.
My pulse is heavy as I wait another minute. Two. Just to make sure Colton doesn’t run back to his truck and hightail it out of here. Once I’m fairly certain he’s waiting for me like I asked, I go out the back door.
The barn is open. The lights on. There’s a good chance Colton is looking through my collection right now. Examining the secrets I’ve kept hidden.
It was a calculated risk. An invasion of my privacy I’m allowing in exchange for his trust.
Is it wise of me? Maybe not.
But none of this is wise.
I stop in the doorway, pulse hitching as I see Colton’s fingers drifting carefully over the unfinished metal crown on my workbench. He freezes when he spots me, his hand dropping to his side.
“Don’t make it weird,” he says as I approach. “This doesn’t… It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know,” I tell him, taking his face in my hands.
His mouth pops open, his hands bracing against the table behind him. “It’s not… I don’t…”
“I know,” I repeat.
When my mouth covers his, Colton groans. It sounds like relief, and I encourage it, lifting him onto the table and sliding in close. I keep one hand in his hair and undo his fly with the other.
“Shit,” Colton murmurs, his grip tightening against me, his lips going temporarily slack.
I free his cock. Wrap my fingers around it. He stutters out a breath when I give him a stroke.
“Lemme hear you, little Colt.”
He manages a single breathy, “Ahh,” but that’s it. I kiss him again, hard, before pulling back. When I spit down onto his cock, he lets out a string of curses.
“Should I stop?” I ask, gliding my fist over him smoothly, loving the way it makes me feel like a literal king to have this man’s pleasure in the palm of my hand.
“No,” he rasps, locking his heels behind my legs.
“Then tell me what you want,” I say, tugging his head to the side so I can bite his neck.
He jolts, groaning against me, the sound near to a cry. “Want you to make me come, goddamn it.”
“Like this?” I ask, twisting my fist on the upstroke.
“No,” he says wryly, the one word endlessly sarcastic. “I’d rather have your lips wrapped around my cock.”
I can tell he meant it as a taunt. He doesn’t expect me to do it.
I give him a smirk before bending low and taking the head of his cock into my mouth.
Colton shouts, his hips jerking, his cock throbbing against my tongue. I’ve never had a dick in my mouth, but I don’t hate it. I suck on the end as I stroke his base.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Colton yells, his hand grabbing my hair. I pluck it off my head, pulling both of his hands behind his back and holding his wrists tight. Without an extra fist to stroke him, I let my mouth do the work, bobbing once, twice.
Apparently, that’s all it takes.
