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His heart pounded, and he pulled Clint tight, closing the final distance between them and bringing their lips together.
Clint gasped as they touched, and Scotland let out a groan as he leaned in, Clint so soft and warm that he was lost in seconds. Tracing the seam of Clint’s mouth with his tongue, he dipped inside, touching and tasting as the sweetness turned addictive.
I could live off this. The moment, the touch and the taste of Clint would be enough to sustain him for a lifetime.
Clint’s tongue met his own with a tentative touch that had Scotland’s grip going tight, heat pooling in his belly. He slid his hand into Clint’s hair, tilting his head and deepening the touch as a low groan answered his own. He tasted so fucking good, like licorice with a touch of whiskey and smoke.
There was innocence, too, of someone who had kissed and forgotten what it really felt like. Clint seemed hesitant, only following Scotland’s movements, barely there in his touches that burned with concealed hunger.
He felt Clint tugging away, and his body acted of its own accord. His grip on Clint’s hair turned punishing, their teeth clacking as he refused to give in. Twisting his tongue with Clint’s, he took one final taste before nipping at his lower lip and digging his teeth in enough that he would leave a bruise behind.
They were panting as he drew back, Clint’s lips glistening against the setting sun behind them. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth open and his lips bruised from more than just the single bite.
Christ, how can one person be so perfect? Scotland stared for a moment, trying to let everything sink in so he would remember forever. At any time, it could shatter before his eyes, just like last night. He needed Clint to be more than a wisp and a breath.
“Don’t pull away from me,” said Scotland, lowering his voice into a growl before he brought their lips back together, immediately taking possession of Clint’s mouth. Clint only fought him for an instant before he gave in, melting against him and parting his lips.
Scotland lost himself, cupping Clint’s hip with his free hand as he brought their groins together. He wasn’t hard—not yet—but his gut was aching for more as Clint responded to him. If the kiss lasted forever, it wouldn’t be long enough.
I’m in too deep. I’m drowning.
He drew back, sucking air through his mouth as his head started to swim. Clint’s eyes were still closed, his head tilted back and his lips looking so soft that Scotland couldn’t help himself.
With both hands, he grasped Clint’s ass, sliding down to his legs and hefting him off the ground with a grunt. Clint seemed to catch on, wrapping his legs around Scotland’s waist as Scotland went to his knees, tilting Clint back onto the ground. To hell with the bugs—and the donkeys, who were watching them with an attention that was just a tad creepy.
“I’m going to fuck you in this—”
“Ouch!” Clint yelped as soon as his back hit the ground, scrambling to the side and out of Scotland’s arms. “Ow, Ow, fuck.”
“Shit, are you okay?” asked Scotland, leaning back on his toes as he tried to get to his feet. His legs were like jelly and his knees hit the dirt again a moment later. “Did I drop you? Was it a rock?”
“No.” Clint winced as he looked over his shoulder. “It was a thistle I think.”
Oh shit. Scotland glanced to the spot he’d tried to lay Clint out in the grass. An absolutely massive thistle glared back at him, its sharp spines practically glinting, and the purple flower on top looking much too innocent. So much for hot sex in a field.
“Oh, I think they’re stuck,” said Clint, struggling to his feet as he kept trying to look at his back. “Ow, that is so not the kind of pain I need right now.”
“Here.” Scotland stumbled to get up, grasping Clint’s hips to try to still him as he looked at his back. There was a trail of spines in his skin, the larger ones easy to spot against the pink scars, but others probably disappearing into his freckles. He knew how tricky the buggers could be, which was why he usually went around and pulled all the thistles a few times a year.
He’d been putting the task off for a rainy day that lacked inspiration, but obviously, it was overdue.
“Come inside, and I’ll get the tweezers.” Scotland glanced to the house. It was getting darker as the sun fell fast, the porch light flicking on automatically.
“Not if you’re going to push me into another thistle the next time you get horny,” said Clint, spinning so his back was out of view. “I can get them.”
“Uh-huh.” Scotland pinched Clint’s side. It was the same thing he’d do to a bratty sub. “Get in the house now.”
Clint sent him a glare, grumbling as he shrugged Scotland’s hands off him. “Fine.” He stomped toward the house, kicking up dust along his way. “But you’re not fucking me. That was a one-time thing.”
Scotland let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as Clint disappeared into his house. Things were going swimmingly. At this rate, Clint was going to hate him for the rest of his life.
Chapter Ten
Clint
Clint pulled the blanket around his shoulders, tucking his feet into the edges. A few mosquitoes had already wormed their way inside to bite him, but he hadn’t been able to muster the courage to go inside yet. His back was still stinging from every spot that Scotland had tugged a barb out, and Clint was determined there were a few he’d missed.
That wasn’t the reason his skin was buzzing or why he’d retreated back to the solace of the cabin as quickly as possible.
