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“Actually,” I pointed out, “you can.”
I hadn’t thought through my answer before speaking, and the minute the words left my mouth, I realized the proposition inherent in them. Richard noticed it as well because his eyes snapped to meet mine. It was as though I’d dropped a bomb of electric current between us.
All at once, I had a vivid image in my mind of what it might look like trying to tame Richard. Him on his hands and knees, his ass bare before me, one of my hands holding his hip while the other guided my cock toward his hole.
Listening to him beg me for it before I eased myself inside him.
I shuddered, the fantasy so real that I could practically smell the precum that would be leaking from his cock.
In the light of the fire, his eyes burned into mine, flames flickering in wide pupils. I knew then that if I leaned forward, if I let out a sound or gave any indication whatsoever of my interest, he would be bare before me in seconds.
His eyes dropped to the unmistakable bulge in my pants, and his lips parted on a breath. “Do you want to…”
12
RICHARD
I hadn’t been sure how I was going to finish that question, but I never got a chance.
The second I started speaking, Boone was on his feet, scrambling away from me until the light from the fire barely reached him. I couldn’t read his expression in the shadows, but it was clear from the distance he’d put between us that he’d felt the same surge of sexual attraction as I had. He was simply reacting to it completely differently than I was.
“We should go to bed.” He snapped up his bedroll, which looked like little more than a couple of thin blankets. He held it against his chest, almost like a shield.
I glanced toward the tent, which was clearly large enough for two.
“You want to…” I repeated, gesturing to the tent and knowing how suggestive the question must sound. I swallowed thickly, forcing myself to finish. “Join me?”
Light from the fire flickered across his face, casting half in shadows. I couldn’t tell if it was the flames making his eyes appear full of heat or if it was something else. I knew I shouldn’t probe that question too deeply though.
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
Shouldn’t, I noted. Not that he didn’t want to.
I wanted to give him a sassy reply, to put a fist on my hip and give him my best playboy impression, but the tension between us was too heavy.
“Good night, Richard.” There was something final in the way he said my name instead of calling me McQueen like he usually did. He strode around to the other side of the fire and began to spread out his bedroll.
Birdie, on the other hand, wasn’t so stubborn. The minute I unzipped the tent, she barreled her way inside and took up residence at the foot of my sleeping bag.
“Seriously, dog?” Boone asked, watching her disappear. I swore I heard him grumble the word traitor under his breath.
“Looks like she’s got the good sense to take shelter in case of rain.” I gestured toward the distant horizon, where clouds had begun to gather just after sunset.
“It’s not going to rain,” Boone said.
“That’s not what the sky says.” As if to prove my point, a streak of lightning lit the clouds.
“Heat lightning, nothing more.”
I didn’t point out that it was practically freezing now that the sun had set. If he wanted to be stubborn, so be it. “Well, if it does start raining and you come knocking at my door, I’m not letting you in unless you tell me I was right,” I teased.
“It’s not going to rain,” he insisted yet again.
“Okay, then. Good night!” I said in my cheeriest voice.
He grunted in return.
Once in the tent, I stripped down to my briefs and the long-sleeve wool undershirt Harrison had loaned me specifically for the chilly nights. The sleeping bag was cold as fuck and a little too roomy, and I was glad for the warm spot Birdie created at my feet. As I settled into it, my ears picked up the sound of Boone’s movements as he tended the fire and set up his bedroll.
I strained to listen as he pulled off his clothes. I imagined the soft light of the fire playing off his muscles, throwing shadows from the ridges of his abdomen. Following that train of thought did nothing to lessen my hard-on. If anything, it made it worse.
I slipped a hand under the elastic of my briefs and ran my hand down the length of my shaft. I wondered what it would feel like to have Boone’s strong, callused fingers circling me, cupping me, pumping me.
I bit my lip against a groan. My hand made a distinct whooshing sound against the nylon of the sleeping bag. There was no mistaking what I was doing or that Boone could likely hear it. I hesitated, trying to decide which was worse: letting him hear me jack off or going to bed with all of this pent-up need filling my balls.
