Page 18 of Dusk's Devotion (Blue Ice Ranch 3)

All the way to Smoke Lake, I pushed aside any thoughts about how this spur-of-the-moment dash to the guest cabins might be an error in judgment. I was rather well known for making bad decisions. Why stop now? I snuck past Perry and Will’s tiny little place, headlights out, like some kind of lowlife cattle rustler, and pulled around to the side of the fourth cabin. It was the only one with lights on inside. Shucking off any misapprehension that this was a huge screwup or not, I jogged to the door and hammered on it.

Shep answered wearing jeans, a thick teal sweater with happy little gnomes, and yellow wool socks. All hand-me-downs from our staff for the ostracized McCrary, I assumed. The fucker had never looked sexier.

“I brought you cookies.” I said instead of something intelligent. He eyed the tin, then those bewitching eyes lifted to my face. “They’re good. Welcome to the ranch. Need anything?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.” He grabbed the front of my coat, fingers fisting in the coarse brown material, and jerked me into his toasty warm cabin. His mouth slammed over mine. The tin of cookies hit the floor as I met his kiss with equal fury. My teeth skimmed over his. His hands slid down my sides and around my hips to cradle my ass. His dick was rigid and hot, just like mine. I carded my fingers into his hair, twisted his head to the right, and rolled my tongue over his.

Yep, no mistake here. Not a fucking one. This was pure good. Nary one error or inaccuracy to be found. This was a brilliant idea, and I was a genius. We tore at each other’s clothes. The ugly gnome sweater flew this way, my coat the other. Mouths locked, we fumbled to the small bedroom to the left of the kitchen area. I sucked a hot mark on his clavicle, inhaling the scent of a seafaring soap lingering on his skin. He unzipped my pants, took my dick in his hand, and thumbed the weeping slit.

“Fuck,” I growled into his throat.

“You want to fuck?” I lifted my head from his neck to stare at him. His pupils were fat little black dots that had swallowed up every bit of blue. I nodded, nipped at his lower lip, and claimed his mouth. “Good, yeah, good. I want to fuck you. Hard.”

“Shit, Abbott.” When we fell to the double bed that was all done up tidy with a duvet in rustic tones of deep blue and green, we were naked. His thick cock stood out proudly from the small thatch of wheat pubes. He stared down at me spread over his bed like an all-you-can-eat buffet and wet his lips. “I haven’t been with anyone since Lionel.”

“Is that your way of saying you don’t have condoms?” I asked because I did. But just one and a packet of lube in my wallet, which was somewhere between here and the front door.

“Yeah. Morgan and Clay didn’t toss out my safe sex/toy box after they kicked me to the curb.” He smiled a bit, but the attempt to make light of things fell flat. I ran my hands over his chest, enjoying how his nipples pebbled under my rough palms.

“I have stuff. And your brothers are galloping gits.”

He moved over me, his cock slipping sinfully against my prick, his nose coming to rest on mine. “What the hell is a git?”

“Not a clue. Heard it on some old British show.”

“You’re an oddball. Where is the stuff?” His smile was slow and easy.

“In my wallet.” He scrunched up his face, kissed me senselessly, and scurried from the bed in search of my pants. And the cookie tin it looked like. I rose to rest on my elbows. When he charged back into the bedroom, the tin hit the lone nightstand with a clatter. My wallet landed on my chest with a small slap of leather to skin.

“The cookies are for later.” He climbed back over me, taking a moment or ten to suckle on each of my nipples until I begged him to stop. Then he was back to lapping into my mouth, rutting that fat dick into my hip, all the while slowly driving me to the precipice.

“Fuck me, fuck me now before I come all over myself,” I panted when the kiss ended. With fingers that felt like Vienna sausages, I managed to get the condom and lube out of my wallet. I dropped it beside me, uncaring of if I ever saw my wallet again. All I wanted was Shepherd’s cock buried in my ass. My dick was leaking all over my belly.

“What are you fifteen, Abbott?” he asked, then ripped the condom packet open with his teeth and rolled it over his prick. I opened the lube, smeared it over my fingers, and reached down between my legs. He grabbed my balls and pulled them up and out of the way. “Christ, that’s hot. Finger yourself, Abbott. Get your hole all slick and ready for my dick.”

“Oh fuck you, McCrary,” I huffed as I pressed three fingers into my hole. I winced, moaned, and shuddered. Shep sat on his heels, stroking his dick, his sight riveted to what I was doing to myself. “Shit!” I pulled my fingers out and struggled to not come. He, being a shithead, hooked my legs over his shoulders, leaned down to plunder my mouth, and slid his dick into me. It burned for a moment. I dug at the bedding, wadding up the mountain motif duvet, until he bottomed out.

“You good?” he asked on a hot exhalation. I nodded. I think. “I’m going to fuck you fast and hard. I’m too close. I can’t—”

“Do it. Fuck me hard.” I latched onto his forearms. He grunted, pulled out, and slammed home, ramming my prostate. Those were my last pseudo-intelligent words to come out of me—or him—for at least five minutes. Who needed to talk in complete sentences? That was so overrated. All we needed was simple one word exclamations like faster, harder, fuck, shit, good, there, and I’m coming. Sure, “I’m coming” was two words, but when it’s drawn out as your balls contract and your spine detonates, it counts as one word.

“Shit…coming,” I yelped just as he plowed into me so hard he drove my head up into the headboard. I threw a hand up to stave off a concussion and let the orgasm steamroll me. Hand on my dick, I blew apart, coating my fingers and belly with spunk while Shep bit down on my ankle. I felt his cock throb and the hot rush of him filling the condom. More cum leaked out of me, adding to the slick, sweet glide and pull. It took me several minutes to catch my breath after Shep kissed the bite mark on my ankle and collapsed to the bed beside me like a felled aspen.

My ass was sore, but I was oh so fucking happy. So was my dick. I peeled my hand from my cock, held it in the air, and worked at pulling in air. Shep mumbled something into his pillow.

“I’m fine,” I replied and hoped that was the correct reply to whatever he had said.

“Good,” he answered as he moved to his side. I rolled my head to the left and there he was, staring at me and being so fucking sexy hot. Jesus, this man did things to me. Bad, wild, crazy, sensual things. “You hoping to flag down the maître d?”

“Fuck off, McCrary,” I said around a short chuckle. “Asshole.” I slowly sat up. My hips weren’t happy about the feet to brow position I’d been in and my ass was complaining about the huge dick that had just buggered it, but overall I was feeling pretty damn good. Glowing if cowboys glowed, which I kind of doubt. “I could have wiped it on your pillowcase. Ouch. Fuck. You are a big dick.”

“You mean I have a big dick.”

“Nope.”

He laughed softly. I leaned back to grab a kiss, eased myself to my feet, and pattered to the bathroom to wash off. It was a small room with just enough space for a sink, toilet, and corner shower. The cabins weren’t luxury accommodations, but the sportsmen and women who came here didn’t seem to mind. Roughing it a bit was part of the experience they were after. They should spend a month at Lone Vale if they really wanted a rustic time. But maybe that was a bit too primitive for most.

When I returned to the bedroom, Shepherd was lying in bed, nude, his soft dick catching my eye the moment I walked in. I ran an appreciative eye upward to see the cookie tin resting on his chest and him holding the lid.

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