Office Romance Box Set

by J. M. Snyder

  But he doesn’t. Instead he leans over, reaching for his pants, as Hank steps back, his now limp cock slipping free from between Delfino’s cheeks. “Muy bien,” Hank mutters, slapping Delfino’s bare ass before he pulls up his own jeans. “Gracias, chivato.”

  Delfino looks my way again and winks. Winks. The gesture spikes through me like lightning during a prairie storm. If he’s going to point me out, it’s going to be now.

  Instead, he stands as he tugs up his pants. “Anytime, Mr. Hank,” he murmurs in that soft-spoken way of his. I hear insinuations in his tone, promises of more, an invitation almost. But he doesn’t mention me to Hank, and doesn’t spare me another glance as he follows the ranch foreman back to the squeaky barn door and out the way they entered.

  My knees ache from being forced to squat for so long. I let myself fall back onto the ground, my hat brushing against the mare’s belly. She whinnies in protest and moves away. Seconds stretch into minutes as the blood rushes to my lower legs, awakening them. I lay back, wipe my come-covered hand in the nearby hay, and tuck myself into my jeans. I can’t get Delfino’s gaze out of my mind. He saw me, me.

  And almost smiled.

  * * * *

  For the next few days, I avoid Delfino and his friends. It isn’t hard to do—I don’t really pal around with any of the other ranch hands, and the Mexicans all keep to themselves. But I can’t shake the image of his tawny round ass in the air as Hank’s long, slim cock plowed into it. Every time I close my eyes, he’s there behind them with a secretive wink sealing the moment between us. His heavily hooded eyes and simmering smirk burn through my dreams. He wants me, I tell myself when I’m alone in one of the shower stalls behind the bunkhouse, where I can let myself touch the places on my body I long to feel his hands. He wants me, not Hank. That wink confirms it.

  Or maybe, it’s me who really wants him.

  About a week or so after the incident in the barn, I get a chance to find out.

  Most of the ranch hands are out in the lower fifty, where an enraged bull tore through one of the fences and scattered the herd. I spend most of the afternoon with the other cowboys, riding hard to wrangle the smaller calves back onto the Swanson property. When I grow saddle-sore, I swap places with a fella who’s been splitting posts to help fix the fence. With a full crew of men working steady for several hours, we manage to secure the fence and round up the cattle. Hank’s right there with us the whole time, throwing logs or roping alongside his men.

  Delfino’s there, too, his strong shoulders moving beneath the fabric of his work shirt like pistons in an engine, never tiring, never failing. I watch him covertly whenever I can, riding my horse around behind him as he works on the fence so I can get a good look at the way his body moves. I imagine those muscles clenching around me, holding me tight, my mouth and hands on that ripe, firm flesh. I flush at the thought, and play it off by wiping my bandanna across my forehead to chase away the sweat. Once Delfino even glances up at me as I pass, but his gaze doesn’t meet mine.

  It doesn’t meet Hank’s, either. If I hadn’t seen them together, I would never know they spend any time together after hours. Hank gives orders and Delfino follows them, same as the rest of us. There’s nothing else between them, nothing romantic, nothing special.

  After the cattle are corralled, Hank dismisses us. Most of the guys spur their steeds down the dirt road heading back to the bunkhouse—in a half hour, the supper bell will ring, and they want to wash up before they have to jostle for a place in line. The Mexicans head in with them. Hank takes an extra few minutes to check the new section of fence before mounting up and heading in, too. When he sees me hanging back, he tips his hat my way before riding on. He knows I don’t like to crowd in with the rest of them.

  I let my mare pick her way down the road at her own pace. She’s worn from the work and I’m already thinking ahead to the barn, where I’ll wipe her down and brush her out and maybe, just maybe, get an eyeful of raunchy ranch hand sex to satisfy my curiosity for another week. But up ahead I see two riders have stopped—one of them is Hank.

  The other? Delfino.

  I hang back, wanting to rush up and see what I can overhear but not wanting to be obvious about it. After a moment, Hank tips his hat at the Mexican and goads his horse with those silvery spurs of his. He takes off down the road at a fast clip, leaving Delfino alone.

  Leaving him for me.

  I urge my mare to pick it up a little. When I’m close enough that he hears her hooves, Delfino turns and gives me a quick glance over his shoulder. Catching up to him, I slow my mare down to match his horse’s speed and nod. “Delfino.”

  “Mr. Johnny.” Delfino nods back, his voice soft.

  “Just Johnny,” I say with a grin. “Hell, man, we’re about the same age. Mr. Johnny’s my paw.”

  Delfino’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which stare at mine until I have to look away. I don’t hurry past him, so he reins in his horse to see what I’m going to do. When I pull up short, half-turning my mare around to keep him in sight, his smile widens. Now it ignites those coal-black eyes of his.

  “It was you.” The words are low between us, almost lost on the faint breeze stirring up from the arroyo. “In the barn. Watching us.”

  I don’t deny it. My face burns with sudden color and I clear my throat, searching for something to say. I know what I want to say—do me—but I don’t want to rush it and spook him away. I want this to happen. So I keep still.

  Delfino misreads my silence. “What’s it you want, amigo? Was it you?”

  “Yeah.” I guide my mare alongside his—we’re so close, I could easily reach across the distance separating us and touch his arm, his leg, something else. But I don’t. I clench my reins tight in my hands and look him in the eye. “It was me. Do you love him?”

  “Mr. Hank?” Delfino’s grin breaks into laughter and I realize it’s a stupid question. “No, no, chico. It’s nothing like that. Mr. Hank has a woman he plans to marry. The date’s been set. But she’s a proper lady, si? She’s making him wait until the wedding. Mr. Hank has needs he wants serviced now.”

  “So what, he pays you?” I sound painfully naive, I know, but I’ve never known anyone before who I could ask about relations between men. I have only my own daydreams to go on, and lately, Delfino has figured prominently in them.

  With a shake of his head, Delfino looks away. “He’s the boss,” he says softly. Everything about him seems so soft. “He doesn’t have to pay me. I get a nicer mattress than my friends, a thicker pillow, another blanket when it’s cold. You see? He looks out for me, I give in to him. What’s it to you?”

  Sounds reasonable. Holding my breath, I dare to ask, “I don’t know, would you—?”

  “Oh, no.” Delfino shakes his head again, his mouth now set in a tight knot. “No, no, this isn’t—”

  “I’ll pay you,” I offer, raising my voice to talk over him. “I have money.”

  He shoots me an angry look. “Not enough.”

  “How much?” I want this—I want him.

  Now his gaze turns appraising. The smile’s back, insolent and leering. After a long moment, he says, “Four dollars.”

  I almost choke. “That’s just about half a week’s pay!” He shrugs as I sputter in disbelief. “The saloon girls down at Billy’s charge half that for practically the same thing.”

  He gives me a smirk and half-turns his face from mine, suddenly coy. “How would you know what the girls charge? You don’t go for their type.”

  I try to ignore the meaning beneath his words, but his suggestion cuts deep. He knows what I like. What about the others? Who else has figured it out?

  Delfino moves his horse a step closer and reaches out to place a hot, sweaty hand high up on my thigh. I feel the heat from his palm burn through the denim of my jeans. “You want a real man,” he tells me, “you have to pay a higher price. If you’re cheap, settle for one of the girls down at Billy’s. Or you can sacrifice a little to get what you really
want.”

  Which is him, and from the way he stares so openly at me, I know he knows it. Damn it. Not yet conceding defeat, I ask, “When?”

  “Payday,” he says.

  My whole body trembles with a mix of anticipation and relief. That’s Friday, two days from now. Can I wait that long?

  Delfino’s hand eases up my leg, trailing fire in its wake. “Mr. Hank will go into town to visit his lady friend, and the other gringos always head over to Billy’s to drink away their money. Friday night you meet me in the barn after sunset with your four dollars and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Oh, please God, yes.

  * * * *

  When quitting time rolls around Friday afternoon, I line up with the rest of the ranch hands to get paid. If Hank notices I don’t lag behind like I usually do, he doesn’t mention it. He just hands over my week’s wages, marks my name off the list he keeps, and nods at me without looking up. I grip the dollars in my hand and hurry away.

  Sunset seems a long time coming. I brush down my mare twice, muck out her stall, and give her fresh hay, all the while glancing at the open window in the loft to check the color of the sky. It seems to take hours for the light to shift the shadows, but eventually the others come into the barn to saddle up and head into town. They show up in groups of two or three, sometimes more, and though they nod at me or tip their hats, they don’t invite me to join them. When I first started at the ranch, they asked a few times but I always said no. Now they no longer bother.

  Then Hank comes in. He’s dressed in his Sunday best, no doubt heading for dinner with his lady friend. He takes the ranch’s prettiest steed, and his spurs catch the dying sunlight as he vaults into the saddle.

  As the sound of his horse’s hooves disappear into the distance, I’m finally alone. So where the hell is Delfino?

  I wait a little longer, brushing my mare’s mane until the hair feels soft beneath my hands. At last I hear multiple voices call out in Spanish—the Mexicans. I can’t make out what’s being said, but now that I’m listening for it, I can hear Delfino’s voice rise above the others. “No, está bien, amigos. Que salir de aquí.”

  So he’s going to do this. With me. With me.

  I flush with sudden lust. When I move, my jeans chafe my cock and I want to whip it out now, be ready for him, but no. I make myself wait. What if someone else comes in with him? I’ll see how he wants to play this.

  I almost can’t wait.

  When he finally enters the barn, he uses the side door Hank favors. It squeaks to announce his presence, and I wipe my hands on my jeans as I come out of the mare’s stall. I hope I look dashing and debonair leaning against the side of the stall, but inside I feel as nervous as a teenager on his first date. Delfino emerges from between the bales of hay, that insolent grin of his already in place. “Hola, amigo,” he drawls, sauntering toward me. “You got the money?”

  I hand him four wrinkled dollar bills. Our fingers touch as he takes them, sending a tingle through me. He smoothes out the bills and stacks them together, folds them in half, then folds them in half again. Then he tucks them into the back pocket of his jeans. “So, tell me what you want to do.”

  Now the moment is here, I freeze. “I…I don’t really know…”

  “You don’t know what you want?” he asks, laughter in his eyes.

  The truth is, I know exactly what I want—I just don’t know how to put it into words. With a shrug, I suggest, “Why don’t we do what you did with Hank?”

  Delfino moves closer, one hand straying to the front of my shirt. His fingers toy with the buttons, slipping them out of their buttonholes one by one. Then his fingers ease beneath the fabric to play across my smooth chest. I gasp as he plucks a nipple erect. “You mean this?”

  I nod, yes, this, but not only this. I want more. I want Delfino on me, in me, bringing me to ecstasy and pushing me over the edge into the abyss of desire. I want everything he has to give; I want everything I can take. “Please,” I sigh, leaning in to kiss him.

  He turns away. “No way, Jose,” he says, shaking his head. “Not on the mouth. That’s something money can’t buy, si?”

  Disappointment stabs through me, but it’s quickly replaced with another shot of lust as Delfino pinches my nipple. Watching my face, he bends down and places his lips on the front of my shirt, right where the other nipple is. His tongue licks out, dampening the fabric, and I feel its wetness through the shirt. It teases me stiff, not just my teats but my cock, too. My crotch aches with the pressure of my erection. “Please,” I say again, fumbling with my belt.

  He helps me with the buckle, then unbuttons the fly on my jeans and tugs it open. My briefs are pulled down and tucked below my balls. My hard dick points Delfino in the face, already rock solid and dribbling the first beads of pre-come. I wonder if I can hold back long enough to enjoy this, or if my body will shoot straight past the foreplay to release.

  As I watch, Delfino squats before me, the same way he did with Hank. But he doesn’t just swallow my dick whole—no, he takes his time, pressing his face into my crotch and breathing in deep my scent. Giving me my money’s worth, I suspect. With one hand, he fondles my balls and strums along the underside of my cock; with the other, he rubs between my thighs, over sensitive skin, to rim my puckered ass.

  My knees go weak when his fingernail scrapes across my hole. “Jesus,” I gasp, gripping the side of the stall behind me with both hands to stay on my feet.

  Delfino smiles into the kinked hair at the base of my shaft. “Like that?” he purrs, his breath ticklish on my overheated skin.

  My voice is as wobbly as my legs. “God, yes.”

  His tongue licks out again, this time connecting with my bare flesh. I watch as he uses the tip to trace the veins standing out along my cock, following them from the root all the way to the flared head. He licks under the bulb, tonguing the slit, then opens wide and takes me into his mouth. Suddenly my dick is thrust into the hot, wet chamber and I feel his tongue working along my length as I thrust gently into him. The tip of my dick bumps against the roof of his mouth, and his cheeks suck in as he works at me. In, out, the same way he did with Hank. One hand on my balls, one farther back, and his lips and tongue and teeth in a harmonious symphony drawing me towards climax.

  Then he pulls back, letting my slick cock slip from between his lips, and at the same moment, the finger between my legs breaches my ass with a quick burn of pleasure.

  I can’t hold back. I shoot my load right in his face, one quick rush of delight that rockets through me and is over before I even realize it.

  Delfino looks up at me, brows and eyelashes beaded with white droplets. Come streaks his cheeks and lips. “Oh God,” I sigh, embarrassed I didn’t last as long as I’d hoped. Hell, that had to be the quickest four bucks I’d ever lost. “Delfino, I’m…jeez, you’re a mess. I’m so sorry.”

  With the hem of my shirt, I wipe at his face, but he laughs and pushes my hands away. He uses his sleeve to rub off most of the mess, then pulls himself up to stand beside me. He’s so close, I feel the heat radiating off him like an oven in the summer, and the way he’s angled his hips pushes his groin against my leg. I feel his hard cock through his jeans, and despite my early ejaculation—or maybe because of it—I still want more. I want him.

  Pressing into me, Delfino murmurs, “Don’t tell me that was it.”

  “I hope it wasn’t.” I don’t look at him directly—instead, I stare at the bulge below his belt and wonder if he’d let me touch it. Let me see it. Let me…

  As if he reads my mind, he takes my still semi-erect cock in one hand and begins to stroke it slowly. The feeling is heaven, pure and simple. I want to melt into him, let him do with me what he will, let him have his way. “It’s no big deal,” he’s saying, his soft voice soothing in the growing shadows. “Everyone jumps the gun now and then. All we have to do is reload and see if you can’t aim a little better next time.”

  His hands are relaxing on my body, comforting. I
lean against his shoulder and stare at his lips, wanting to taste them but not daring to ask. Would they taste like me? My juices flavoring their fullness, my spunk on his breath? Softly, so softly I’m not even sure I’ve spoken out loud, I whisper, “Take me.”

  He gives me a quick look from the corner of his eye. “Where?”

  I reach out and touch the front of his jeans. “Here,” I say, tugging at the fly. The buttons pop open almost on their own, as if under the weight of his eager dick. “That’s what I really want. The way you and Hank were at it.”

  “We’re getting there,” he assures me, giving my cock a gentle squeeze.

  But I pluck at his belt buckle and shake my head. “No, I want you in me. Will you…can we do that?”

  With a shrug, he admits, “It’s your money.” Then he releases me and takes a step back, shucking off his pants in the process. His briefs follow suit, exposing that thick, fat cock of his, already standing at attention, eager for my touch.

  I’ve dreamed of this all week long; now that the moment is here, I hesitate. I want this so much, but I don’t want to rush through it like I did my own orgasm. I want to bring him to the brink, tease him until he wants me, then give myself to him in every way possible. I want—

  “Aren’t you going to touch it already?” Delfino asks, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Go on, it won’t bite.”

  I kneel before him in the hay and sawdust covering the floor. Then, following his lead, I lean into his crotch and breathe in deep his scent. It’s a warm musk that reminds me of sweat and sex and something raw, something primal. Him, I think, breathing it in. It’s all him.

  Intoxicated, I press my lips to his cock. It feels like steel sheathed in velvet, dry and smooth against my mouth. I stick out my tongue, lick under his shaft, try to wrap around the length even though I know I can’t. He tastes bittersweet and salty, and I swirl my tongue around his shaft as I move along it toward the tip. It’s tantalizing, like candy, I can’t get enough. When I lick around his cockhead, I taste sticky pre-come and lap at his slit, eager for more.