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Race stared at him. “Why would you want that? You’re into women.”
“Maybe… maybe I’m curious.”
Race bit back a smile. “You wouldn’t be the first. I’ve met enough curious straight guys in my time, that’s for damn sure.”
“Have you ever thought about… me in that way? You said I was your type, but—”
“But I’ve kept my hands to myself, is that it?” Race leaned forward, his gaze locked on Butch’s face. “We talked about this, you remember? That small but vital word—consent?”
“But what if I… give consent?”
Race’s breathing hitched, and his pupils enlarged just enough to let Butch know he’d hit his mark. Then Race leaned back. “If I was to… give you a taste…”
In that second ButchknewRace was talking about his dick, and the prospect sent tremors up and down his spine.
“I’d want to be one hundred percent certain this was a genuine request.” His eyes focused on Butch’s. “You understand? You need to be sure about this. We’ve built up a good friendship these past few months. I don’t want to ruin that.”
“Would it ruin things? If we did… other stuff besides shooting pool and drinking beer?”
Say it wouldn’t. For the love of God…
Butch’s heart thumped.
“That all depends on how you react when I get your cock in my mouth.”
Sweet Jesus.Butch was on fire.
Race widened his eyes. “And you like that idea, don’t you?”
Butch swallowed. “Yes.” The word came out as a croak.
Race studied him for a moment, then stood. He walked slowly to where Butch sat on his recliner, knelt in front of him, and stroked Butch’s hard-on that pushed against his zipper, almost as if it were demanding to be freed.
“You sure about this? Last time of asking.”
Butch was close to breaking point. He popped the button on his waistband, lowered the zipper—carefully, because his dick was like a steel pipe in there—and lifted his ass off the chair to shove his jeans over his hips. His shaft stood to attention, the foreskin already peeling back to reveal the wide head.
Race caught his breath. “Damn, that’s pretty.”
And before Butch could thank him for the unusual compliment, Race leaned forward, and Butchfinallygot what he’d been thinking about since he was seventeen years old.
Oh FUCK.
Race left Diana in the dust when it came to oral skills.
“You takin’ a day off?”
Butch jumped. Zeeb stood beside the couch, grinning. Behind him the two male guests were removing their hats.
“Don’t sneak up on a guy like that,” Butch groused.
“Who was sneaking?” Zeeb’s eyes sparkled. “I got no clue where you were just now, but it seemed to be a nice place. I was almost sorry to disturb you. Almost.” He gazed at the coffee table. “You might wanna do something about the mess,” he muttered. “Teague was on his way down the hill just now, and he’ll have your ass if he sees this.” He glanced around to see where the guests were, but they’d gone to the bathroom at the rear of the bunkhouse. Zeeb’s grin came back full strength. “Although I’m sure he wouldn’t complain about getting a piece of your ass.”
Butch was about to reply thatno oneever got a piece ofhisass, when he thought better of it.
That was one can of worms he didnotwant to open.
Chapter 7
