Page 8 of Wistful in Wyoming
Jeremiah didn’t say anything more, just slipped on his coat and went out the back door, shutting it behind him. Realizing he’d left his hat inside and his gloves in his truck, he cursed under his breath and tucked his hands into his pockets. The man who’d become an obsession was nowhere in sight, but a whiff of rich tobacco tickled his nose. Recognizing the distinctive aroma of Dale’s cigarettes, he followed the scent down the long porch and around the side of the house. Leaning over the porch rail, he found the man standing ankle-deep in the snow, hidden in the shadows of the wrap-around porch with his back against one of the posts. Just out of reach of the lanterns on the side and back of the house, it made a perfect hiding spot. The tip of his cigarette glowed brighter when he took a drag, then pale white smoke was blown outward, curling around itself as it disappeared into the night. The man had to know Jeremiah was there—or at least someone was between the door opening and closing and the footsteps—but he didn’t acknowledge the fact.
Walking back the way he came, Jeremiah passed Willow’s swing and stepped off the porch. He crunched through the snow and ice, cursing Dale in his mind. His dress boots werenotmeant for this. When he reached the other man, Jeremiah muttered, “Cold night.”
God, you are so fucking lame! You can easily have a conversation with every other person on the fucking planet, but with this guy, you sound like a twelve-year-old kid trying to talk to his first crush and failing miserably.
“Yeah, it’s winter. In Wyoming. It gets cold.” Dale was gruff, even more so than normal, refusing to look at him as he took another long drag on his cigarette.
Jeremiah scowled at him. “You know, I never understood people who smoked needing a cigarette bad enough to stand out here freezing their asses off for a hit of nicotine that tastes like ass.”
“It’s a nasty habit. I’m trying to quit—have been for years, actually.”
The man’s simple confession surprised him, and he felt like a jerk calling him out like that. Addiction came in many forms. Cigarettes. Drugs. Booze. Hiding in a closet . . .
It was true. If Jeremiah really thought about it, he had his own addiction. He couldn’t let go of feeling like he had to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Overcoming that fear was probably just as difficult as someone else trying to conquer their own vices.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to sound judgmental. What I wanted to say was ...” he trailed off, uncertain how to put his thoughts into words.
Dale put his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot, tucking the butt into his pants pocket to dispose of later. “What? You wanted to say what, cowboy?”
“I don’t fucking know!” he snarled as anger and frustration flowed through him. He stalked closer to the taller man, stopping only when he was toe-to-toe with him. This time, when he spoke, he kept his tone low and in check, in case anyone else came outside for a breather. “I know I want you. I know I’m dying to know what you taste like. How you kiss. How your hands feel on me. What the skin over your hipbones feels like between my teeth. What sound you make when you come. I know I want all of that, but I don’t fucking know how to go about getting it. I want to know you, not just your body, but your mind. I want to know what you did in the Marines, if you have any family.Everything!”
“Fuck,” Dale said softly, almost to himself, as his eyes blazed with both rage and hunger, the combination potent and heart-stopping.
Jeremiah’s breath left him in a rush as his cock hardened in his pants, and he bit back a moan. He’d just opened his mouth to say something else, anything else, when Dale reached out, palming the back of Jeremiah’s head and crashing their mouths together. Jeremiah gasped, his arms going around the other man’s waist, pulling him tightly against his own aching body. In a move that was almost choreographed, Dale spun him around, slamming his back against the post. Snow showered down on top of them from the eaves, both too wrapped in each other to notice the cold flakes.
The kiss went on seemingly forever, with a lot of biting and licking. Dale’s tongue swept into Jeremiah’s mouth, causing him to moan again. The man tasted like smoke, beer, and something spicy-sweet that seemed to be unique to him. Jeremiah normally hated the taste of cigarettes, but with Dale’s lips against his, he found his need to consume him quickly overrode any negative feelings about it.
Lifting his arms from Dale’s waist, he knocked the man’s hat to the ground, filling his hands with the thick strands of his dark hair.So soft.
Dale grabbed Jeremiah’s ass, rubbing their groins together, sliding their hard cocks against each other’s. Dale thrust his hips forward, over and over.
“Please,” Jeremiah begged, not sure what he was begging for, as Dale’s mouth left his trailed kisses down Jeremiah's neck, laving and sucking on his skin. Shivers racked Jeremiah, and he shot his hips forward, desperate for more. More friction. More kisses. More skin. Just more everything.
“Please what? Fuck you in the snow?” Dale released Jeremiah’s ass and gripped his jaw, twisting his head to the side, granting himself more access to exposed skin of his neck. “God dammit, you taste amazing, I knew you would.”
“Yes, just ... fuck.” Jerking his head free from the man’s grasp, Jeremiah kissed Dale again, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth before sweeping deep inside. Groaning at the sensations bombarding him, Jeremiah tried to pull the other man even closer, though they were already as close as they could be with their clothes still on. He couldn’t get enough of him—he wanted every inch of Dale’s naked flesh pressed against his own.
“You want to be on your knees in the snow? You want me to choke you with my cock?”
“Yeess!” Grinding harder against Dale’s hard-on, he was breathless, so close to coming in his pants it was ridiculous.
All at once, Dale released him and stepped back. Jeremiah stumbled, his legs weak and wobbly as a new-born foal.
“No.” Bending, Dale picked up his hat and brushed the snow off it before settling it back onto his head. A firestorm raged in his eyes. “I want you, cowboy, there’s no denying that. On your knees, on your back, up against the wall, bent over that railing, however I can get you. But I also want to take you on a date, open doors for you, and put my hand possessively on the small of your back. No matter how tempting you are, I won’t be hidden. Never again.”
Without another word, Dale stormed away toward the barns and his trailer.
“Fuck!” Jeremiah shouted, spinning around. He smashed his fist against the porch post, busting his knuckles open. His chest heaved in a combination of frustration, anger, and lust. Bracing his hands against the railing’s spindles, he stared down at his boots, cursing himself for being a stupid, stubborn fool. He could’ve gone his entire life not knowing what it was like to kiss the arrogant bastard, but now that he’d had a taste of the man, Jeremiah didn’t think he could last an entire minute without needing to do it again.
Chapter Six
April
Jeremiah drankthe last of his coffee before slamming the empty travel mug into the cup holder as he drove over to Willow’s. His bad mood had started on Christmas and, even after four months, showed no signs of abating.
Willow’s fussy-ass alpacas wouldn’t eat the last shipment of hay she’d ordered, so he’d offered to swap hers for some of his. Cows don’t give two shits what cutting the hay was from, but apparently the alpacas did. They would turn their fuzzy noses up at the hay, piss on it, and walk away. Willow had been beside herself with worry, but he’d talked her down and told her he’d be over today to exchange the bales. The nursing mamas wouldn’t have to go without their preferred forage. Later this year, the Skyview Ranch would be reaping a field of its own hay for the first time, but it would only be enough for half a year’s feeding of the alpaca herd. Still, it would be a money-saver.
The only problem Jeremiah was having with making the delivery was Willow and Nathan had the baby at a well-child check at the clinic in town. He and Dale would have to work together. Honestly, Jeremiah could do it himself, but it would take him all fuckin’ day, and he had his own shit to deal with at the JP.
