Page 65 of Cattle Stop

Whit looks down between them, and Cooper’s cock pulses in the grip of his own fingers just from Whit watching. Cooper rubs his thumb through the bead of moisture on the tip of his cock, and there’s a soft, unfamiliar sound from the back of Whit’s throat.

“Don’t you dare fucking come,” Cooper says into Whit’s ear, all hot breath and his teeth scraping over the lobe. Whit’s breath hitches and Cooper bites harder.

Whit’s sharp inhale catches and he thrusts hard, his back tightening. Cooper digs his fingers into the dip of Whit’s spine and Whit does it again, his pace picking up.

“Good,” Cooper grunts.

Whit probably doesn’t need the encouragement. Insufferable, the guy is, and that’s without Cooper panting under him. But it’s good and Whit’s making a little, sharp noise with each thrust, his eyes closed now and his mouth lax.

“You better wait,” Cooper says. “I’m so fucking serious.”

“I’m sure”—Whit’s out of breath and he sucks down air—“I’m sure you—ah—are.”

Cooper lets his hand speed up. Whit’s forehead wrinkles and creases line the corner of his eyes. It hurts a little, that punishing pace Whit sets. And then Whit’s bending down and kissing him hard, Cooper’s lip caught between their teeth, foreheads knocking, and Whit’s gasping into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Whit groans and the weight of him shoves Cooper into the mattress, Whit’s hips pumping until he stills, shaking.

Cooper lets his eyebrows rise, his mouth touching the corner of Whit’s lips as he whispers, “It that the first time you ever swore? The second?”

“Shut up.” Whit’s back heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Cooper squirms under him, his skin flaring hot with Whit’s weight and the sweaty stick of him.

“Was that good?” Cooper asks. He squeezes himself. “I’m accepting compliments.”

“Of course you are.” Whit kisses him once, wet and messy.

Whit drops the condom on the floor before batting Cooper’s hand aside and tugging at Cooper’s cock. He sits back on his heels, Cooper’s legs still draped over his thighs, and oh, that’s a damn nice sight, Whit’s skin dewy with sweat, and Cooper’s cock in his hand, the head swallowed by Whit’s broad palm with each stroke.

Cooper licks at his lips, his hips lifting. “That the best you can do?”

Whit just jerks him all the faster, his forearm flexing. Heat builds in Cooper’s stomach, rolling over itself with each pass of Whit’s thumb over the tip of his cock, each squeeze of his fingers and twist of his wrist.

“Oh,” Cooper breathes, his head tipping back. He scrambles for purchase with his feet, but all he gets is Whit’s bandaged hand falling to his knee. Cooper presses his palm down on his own stomach. “Fuck, Whit…”

“Yes?” Whit asks, his voice low and deep and his eyes on Cooper. Oh shit, he’s going to just keep watching. Cooper scrambles, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets, pleasure pulsing hot in the base of his spine, gathering in his stomach as he squirms and Whit’s eyes are on him, heating his skin with each slow look over Cooper’s body.

Cooper comes like that, staring up at Whit, coating Whit’s fingers and his own stomach, and air caught deep in his lungs, pleasure like a hot knife cutting through him.

“I’m accepting compliments,” Whit says when Cooper’s eyes slide shut.

“Oh, I think I hate you.”

“As much as you hate getting out a new bottle of shampoo?” Whit asks.

Halfheartedly, skin buzzing and his hands heavy, Cooper tries to smack at Whit.

Whit just catches his hand and presses a kiss to his palm. Whit’s still kneeling. And Cooper’s bed is in a state. Whit’s going to stand up, Cooper’s sure. He even lifts Cooper’s leg and slings it to the side, but then Whit just settles on his hip, stretching out between Cooper and the wall.

It’s nice, not that Cooper’ll tell Whit that. All that naked skin pressed up against Cooper’s, the warmth of another body next to his. Cooper yawns. He’s going to fall asleep like this, even all gross and sticky, unless Whit moves. He doesn’t, and Cooper doesn’t move either, and when the sun rises, Cooper can’t pull the pillow over his head like he wants to ’cause Whit’s using the other half of it.

Outside, the rooster crows. They’re going to be late for milking. Whit’s foot lies crossed over Cooper’s ankle, his knee crooked over his thigh. He’s sleeping still, by the slow pace of his breath against Cooper’s shoulder. Work, Cooper thinks again. He needs to shower. But he lies there longer anyway, far longer than he should, studying the sunlight that glows over the ceiling and the warm hand lying over his stomach.

III

June

Chapter Twelve

The blazing heat so early in the morning and swarming bugs aren’t Cooper’s favorite, but Whit working without his shirt certainly is. Smooth brown skin, shifting muscles as Whit picks up the sledgehammer, and the shine of sun across the beads of sweat dotting his spine—