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“Kind of you to ask,” Trent said. “There’s an award ceremony coming up here in Honeybridge. A way to honor the folks who’ve made important contributions to our community, both large and small, while also celebrating the winners of the various contests that make up our winter festival. I’m sure you’ve heard Patricia mention the Honeybridge Festival of Ice?”
“I…” A warm tickle on my stomach had me sucking in a breath as my tongue lost connection with my brain. Looking down, I realized that my new position had left Reagan with his face pushed against my abs, and he was taking advantage of the situation by tracing them with his tongue. “No,” I told Reagan, low and stern.
“Oh,” Trent said, unperturbed. “Well, it’s one of our larger town events every January. We’ve got ice skating, of course, and ice dancing. Ice racing, ice wrestling, ice sleighing?—”
Reagan’s face—those glorious fucking eyes—turned mischievous, and my heart rate kicked up instantly. I knew that look. I shook my head resolutely.
I only caught the barest hint of Reagan’s grin before his disheveled hair disappeared beneath the edge of the blanket.
Oh fuck.
“—ice fishing,” Trent went on happily, “ice plunging, ice golf, ice bowling, ice painting, if you’re into that sort of thing?—”
His voice was lost beneath the pounding of blood in my ears as Reagan leaned forward to run his tongue up my shaft.
I sucked in a loud, sharp breath.
“Ahhh, you’re a fan of ice painting, then?” Trent said with a chuckle as his son sucked me off and I tried not to make a sound. “Patricia, too. We also have ice sculpting and ice music. Oh, and this year, we’ll have ice yoga, thanks to those Honeycutts?—”
Holy fuck. This was so fucking wrong. And I had never felt anything so good in my life.
I grabbed Reagan’s hair and yanked, half intending to pull him off, but when he made a deep sigh of pleasure from the pain, I nearly came in his mouth right then.
A deep, hoarse, needy noise escaped me.
“Thatcher?” Trent asked. “Everything alright?”
Reagan took me deep in his throat and gagged on my cock.
“Yes. Hell yes. Oh my god.”
He chuckled. “Glad you’re excited about it. I’m going to be winning one of the awards myself for, well, my tireless commitment to getting state funding to improve local infrastructure,” he said modestly. “And the town would also like to honor you, Thatcher, for investing in one of our beloved small businesses?—”
Reagan swallowed around me, sending my thoughts scattering like paper-thin leaves picked up by the winter wind, and I gripped my phone so hard the plastic case creaked.
“So we can count on you being there to receive the award, then? It would mean quite a bit to everyone, I’m sure?—”
“Yes. Yes.” I thrust my hips up, unable to keep them still. “I…” Reagan dug his fingernails into my inner thighs, tiny pricks of pain that lanced straight to my balls. “I have to call you back.”
I didn’t wait for Trent’s reply before mashing the red button on the screen and tossing my phone over the side of the bed. Then I grabbed Reagan’s hair and yanked him up to kiss me, pushing the blanket aside. We attacked each other’s mouths until I manhandled him around to finish what he started. As soon as my face was poised above that sexy tattoo, I grabbed his dick and sucked on the tip, savoring the salty taste while running a thick finger up and down his crease, across the hole I’d abused only a few hours earlier.
It was quick and gloriously dirty. We sucked each other off, hot and wet, filling the room with the scent of men’s bodies and eventually hot spunk as I pulled off him and jacked him while I came down his throat.
“Fuuuuck,” he croaked after swallowing. “Fucking Christ, Thatcher.”
“Yeah.” The single syllable was the best I could manage. I lay back and gulped oxygen like a drowning man, concerned for a moment that I might pass out when the sunlight in the room began to flicker. It took me far longer than it should have to realize the bus had begun moving.
If I had ever had sex this good before in my life, I couldn’t remember it… and I definitely would have remembered it.
“So.” Reagan turned to face me a moment later, and I was pleased to see he looked every bit as wrecked as I felt. “Did you have a nice conversation with my dad?”
I laughed. “You are…” I grabbed his hand and brought it to my mouth. “Filthy.” I nipped one finger.
Reagan whimpered, then sighed and cuddled against me.
“I think he’s giving me an award,” I said. “Or maybe I’m giving him one? Or both.” I shook my head. “I literally can’t remember a word he said. I’ll have January get details.”
My phone rang again, buzzing against the floor, but I pulled Reagan closer and ignored it.
