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What shocked him was the thought that ricocheted through his mind.
I wanna see.
“Oh yeah.” Sol let out a sigh.
Butch’s gaze drifted back to the middle of the bed, and he froze. Christ, it was sticking up like a flagpole, tenting the sheet. His hand itched to reach into his shorts.
Sol turned his head toward him. “Wanna join me?” he whispered.
What the actualfuck?
“You don’t mean—”
“You in your bunk, me in mine,” Sol interjected. He grinned. “See which of us reaches the finish line first.” He removed his hand, spat into his palm, then slid it beneath the white sheet once more, resuming his previous rhythm.
Butch couldn’t move.
Sol stared at him, his hand not pausing once. “You telling me you never jerk off in here?”
Butch was being stupid and he knew it.
“No, not saying that at all.” He spat into his hand, then with the other he freed his cock and balls from his shorts. He worked the shaft with his thumb and forefinger, keeping the touch light and trying not to look at Sol.
He could hear, though. More spit, followed by shallow breaths, only served to ramp up the electricity carried in the air. A stifled moan, low and urgent, filtered across, and Butch had to see. He turned his head and—
Sol had thrown back the sheets and removed his shorts. His dick wasn’t overly long, maybe six, seven inches, but dearLordit was thick. Butch watched, mesmerized by the fluid motion of Sol’s hand, the way he played with his balls, tugging on them, squeezing them, the way he circled the head with his finger before stroking the knot of nerves under it. The bedsprings gave out an occasional grunt of complaint, mingling with Sol’s low grunts of pleasure.
Butch threw back his sheet, shoved his shorts to his ankles, and curled his fingers around his turgid length, pressing his lips together to prevent his moans from escaping. He knew it wouldn’t be long—that familiar tingle was already snaking its way through him—and he sped up his hand, pulling on it, pausing to add more spit.
No words, just sounds, slicker now, their breathing almost in sync, Butch straining to hear the slightest change in the room.
Then Sol’s breathing hitched, and Butch knew he’d lost the race. He covered the head of his dick with his hand, and warmth filled it, seeping through his fingers. He shuddered his way through the jolts of pleasure, until his cock lay on his belly, softened and sticky. Butch grabbed his shorts and wiped himself clean, his breathing resorting to its usual rhythm.
Only then did he turn to look at Sol, who was busy with his own clean-up operation. He tossed his shorts to the end of the bed, then pulled the sheet up over him.
Their eyes met.
“Thank you,” Sol whispered.
“Not sure what you’re thankin’ me for,” Butch responded.
“The pleasure of your company? Now close your eyes and sleep. Sweet dreams. I know whatI’llbe dreaming about.” Sol smiled. “A certain cowboy with thesexiesteyes.” Then he rolled onto his side, facing the wall.
Butch lay there, unable to breathe.
He… he wasn’t talking aboutme, was he?
Holy fuck.
How in the hell did Sol expect him to sleep after firing a bullet like that?
Chapter 21
Tuesday, August 23
Sol closed the folder containing all the photos. “So, what do you think?” His laptop sat between the three of them on the dining table.
Toby’s grin said it all, and Sol wished he shared his confidence.
