Page 27 of Playing Cowboy
“Try never,” I insist.“They were a gift from Parker.For my eighteenth birthday.Said it was tradition in his family to get cowboy boots when you become a man.When I started to argue, he knew what I meant.Said he’d always considered me family.”
“But you don’t wear them?”
“I don’t like cowboy boots,” I tell him, crossing my legs and feeling the way my slick, hard cock rasps against my maroon boxer briefs in reply.“I don’t like cowboy hats.Or big belt buckles or saddles under my ass.I’m not a cowboy, Chet.Not a real one anyway.”
“But you wore them?”he croaks, standing abruptly.“Tonight.Why?”
Chapter Twelve
Chet
“You have to ask?”
Grady watches me walk across the room, bare feet padding on the rich blond floorboards.“I want to know,” I insist, heart fluttering anew at the way his big hazel eyes drink in my body, even after swallowing my load.Most guys would be gone by now.Not that any man’s ever let me fuck his face before tonight, but still.After we nut?Or he nuts?Gone, like an Olympic sprinter in the night.But not Grady.
“Know what?”he croaks as I stand in front of him, tousling those honey brown curls gently.Instinctively, his hands cling to my waist.I shiver at the touch, another aftershock of my biggest load to date.
“I want to know why you wore them here tonight,” I insist.“You know, if you don’t like them.”
“I wore them for you, Silly,” he insists, peering up at me as the candlelight shimmers in his big, wide eyes.“Because you asked me to.Because you wanted a cowboy.”
“Even though you’re not one?”My fingertips drift from his charming curls to his chiseled jawline, tracing it as if to chart it on a map later.
“I...”He begins, before self-editing.“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he promises.“For as long as you’ll let me.”
I gasp at the sheer romance of it all: charcoal briquets, candlelight, and a cowboy of my very own.“That ...that’s the prettiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.You know that?”
He shakes his head as my hands fall to his broad, sturdy shoulders.“I don’t know that, Chet.I don’t know ...anything about you.”
I cluck a tongue, peering over his head as my eyes moisten with the profoundness of it all.“Trust me, cowboy,” I croak.“You know everything there is to know about me.There’s ...not much to me.”
“Bullshit!”His voice is rich and raw, grip tightening around my waist as his big, calloused fingers dig into my supple, willing flesh.“You’re a goddamn wonder, and I’ll be damned if I listen to you say another word against it!”
I chuckle at his ferocity, an idea forming quickly as I peer into his scowling eyes.“Sorry,” I whisper, watching his eyelids flutter at the softly erotic sound.“I do that sometimes.When something feels this good?I worry, instantly, that I’ll fuck it up somehow.”
“You won’t,” he insists, hands drifting from my waist to clutch my hands.“Wewon’t.Promise, okay?”
