by Taylor McKay
Preston moaned, his feet dropped to the bed and his back bowed. “Fuck me.”
Brock intended to. He pushed in deep, fucking Preston with slippery fingers. Hot smooth tissues contracted against the intrusion.
Because Brock’s actions had failed, he needed to give Preston words. He hadn’t shown Preston he was more than an employee, more than a partner working the ranch and sharing his bed. “This is my ass to fuck.”
Brock now understood that Preston needed Brock’s possessiveness, to know that he more than mattered…he did. Brock had gone out of his mind seeing Preston give to someone else what belonged to him. This was to show Preston just how much he needed him. Banging his fingers hard into Preston, slamming deep, he scissored his fingers and stretched Preston.
“Mine,” he said again with a grunt.
“Then fuck me.” Preston’s chest rose and fell as he gasped for breath. He licked his lips and dug his heels into the pallet and bucked against Brock’s fingers. “Please, I need your dick in my ass.”
Brock pushed Preston’s knees into his chest. Grasping his cock at the base, he aligned his dick with Preston’s opening. “Say it again.”
“Fuck me,” he said on a whispered breath.
Brock fought the need to fuck him—fuck him hard—and force the words he needed to hear to spill from his mouth. Pushing forward slowly, Brock slipped the blunt crown of his cock into Preston.
Preston jerked up and braced on his elbows. “Condom.”
Brock paused. “Do you want one?”
“No, I don’t. But don’t you? I told you I wasn’t with anyone. And I believe you when you say you haven’t been with anyone else either.” He met Brock’s gaze. “Unlike what I’ve done to you, you’ve never lied to me.”
“I trust you.” Brock released a shuddering breath and fed another inch of his cock into Preston’s ass. “I believe you.”
A tear slipped from the corner of Preston’s eye.
“You don’t have to cry.” Brock clenched his buttocks, gliding his dick deeper, feeling the pressure of the rings along his length, until he filled Preston. “You’re home, baby.” He buried the length of his shaft, trapping his balls between them. Velvety warmth encased his cock, the smooth flexing inner walls of Preston’s ass contracted, caressing his dick. Oh God, and so am I.
Preston’s thighs clung to Brock’s hips, and Brock rocked into Preston, driving his cock deeper. He stared into Preston’s jade green eyes as he reared back and slowly sank again. The room was dark, only the light of the moon falling across Preston’s face. His slightly parted lips curled with the pressure and thrust of Brock’s cock stuffing his ass.
Brock lowered himself, crushing his chest to Preston’s.
“You’re the only thing that matters,” Brock whispered.
Preston’s eyes closed and Brock kissed him. He filled his mouth with tongue as he drove his cock in and out of Preston’s ass. Hot, wet kisses and warm slippery thrusts. Preston’s fingers gripped Brock’s ass, kneading the firm flesh of his glutes.
Brock nibbled on Preston’s lip then dipped in for another taste. He sucked, kissed, sweeping Preston’s mouth with his tongue.
Then he thrust harder.
Preston gasped. Brock kissed along his jaw.
And he slammed deep.
He kissed his neck, suckled the pulse point in Preston’s flesh.
And pounded Preston’s ass. He rammed his cock in and out of Preston…just the way Preston liked to be fucked. Preston needed hard cock and tender touches. Brock gave him everything…including his love. In truth, Preston had Brock’s heart long before tonight.
Preston’s body tensed, his cock trapped between the sweat-slickened muscles of their stomachs. Brock moved against Preston, the friction of their bodies radiating into him as he drilled into Preston hard and fast. His muscles burned. Moisture trickled down his spine and his heart pounded. Heat pooled in his balls and his cock stretched, his nuts tightening.
Preston gasped, grunted and his head thrashed on the mattress. He pulled on his legs, rolling his hips. Brock plunged deeper.
Driven by need, by lust and by love, he hammered into Preston. Bracing his hands on Preston’s thighs, he reared up onto his knees, angled his thrusts and fucked. Skin slapped skin. Brock growled and raced toward release.
“Just like that. Oh yeah, you know how to fuck me. Make me come, cowboy.” With one hand Preston fisted the blanket, and with the other, he gripped his cock and furiously stroked the hard length. Every muscle taut, his stomach clenched and rippled, and he shot. Ropes of white cum spewed from Preston’s cock and splashed his chest. He groaned, gnashed his teeth and rode the wave. Contraction ripped through his body.
And Brock fucked him harder.
“Ah, fuck.” Brock pulled his cock from Preston’s ass and gripped the shaft. He stroked the length, the crown, fucking through his fisted fingers. “Coming.” He hissed, fire licking his balls and pleasure streaking down his spine. And then he was there, crashing into orgasm. In violent waves, he came. Jism erupted from his cockhead. Pulse after pulse of hot spray pumped through his shaft, coating Preston’s chest. Brock milked his cock with fierce strokes, marking his man.
Preston leaned up. As Brock held his cock, Preston licked cream trickling from the slit in Brock’s cock. “I beat off and taste my own cum just to remember the taste of yours.” He slicked his fingers through the cum crisscrossing his chest. “I missed you…missed us.” Locking gazes, he touched his tongue to his finger.
Brock panted, dragging oxygen into his lungs. He sat on his haunches, inhaled and released a heavy exhale. His pulse slowed, yet still pounded against his ribs. He leaned into Preston. The familiar sounds of the barn cocooned them in an intimate moment, heavy with emotion. “I missed us, too.” He licked one of Preston’s fingers, then kissed Preston’s mouth. Passion still simmered between them.
“Good, because I’m not through with you.” Preston fell to his back, taking Brock with him.
Brock laughed, sprawled on top of Preston. He rolled to his side. “As much as I love being in the barn, I want you back in our bed.” He used the edge of the blanket to wipe cum from Preston’s chest, then he wiped his own. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you left.”
“Gotta be better than sleeping in a truck.”
Brock shrugged.
“Believe me, this air mattress is a step up from a hard truck bed.”
Brock traced circles on Preston’s stomach. “I’m sorry the last two months were so hard on you.” Even longer than two months if he considered Preston’s history.
“I’m not complaining.” Preston covered his hand. “I take responsibility for my actions. I fucked up.”
“We’re both culpable. But I don’t want to think about that night. I love you, Preston. I have for years, I’m only sorry that I didn’t show you how much.” He grinned. “And I’m not talking about sex.” But that didn’t stop him from grazing his fingers over the already swelling shaft of Preston’s cock.
“The sex has always been pretty fucking incredible.” He widened his legs. “But I missed more than you’re cock. I missed working with you, late night poker games with the guys, a beer and burger on the deck, watching the sunset. And I miss riding with you. I promise, Brock, I’m right where I want to be.” Brock stroked Preston’s dick to full arousal.
Avril whinnied from her stall. “Speaking of riding, I want you to have the foal. I know she won’t replace Shiloh.”
Preston leaned up. “Are you sure?”
After Shiloh’s death, Brock had always planned to give the foal to Preston. He’d never questioned whether Preston belonged on the ranch. Assuming Preston understood that he was part of the tapestry of the land had been Brock’s mistake. He wasn’t going to let those assumptions come between them again. “I’m sure about us.” He kissed Preston. “I need you,” he said with his lips lingering against Preston’s.
“Will you let me fuck you?” They’d been lovers, givi
ng and taking. As much as Brock loved to fuck, he also ached for the pressure of Preston’s cock sliding into him.
Brock leaned over and closed his mouth over Preston’s cock. He’d had to swallow his pride, forgive and understand. Preston had to trust in Brock and trust in himself. They’d both hurt, both bucked against being vulnerable. They’d fought…and now they could love. Brock never thought he’d have his cowboy again. Never thought he’d be the cowboy tamed. He was.
The End
Demanding
Romance
www.DemandingRomance.com
If you enjoyed Cowboy Tamed by Taylor McKay, we suggest:
Rough Rider
By Taylor McKay
COPYRIGHT 2010 by Taylor McKay
www.DemandingRomance.com
Only the climax of sex rivals the climax of bull riding. But Rand Mata isn’t interested in buckle bunnies. He’d rather rope and tie up a cowboy. Rand won’t be satisfied with anyone less than a sub, one that likes to fight back before he gives in.
Fallon O’Shea has a soft voice and a beautiful face. He wants a wild cowboy to rein him in—a rough rider. But Rand isn’t sure Fallon knows what he’s asking for. Rand wants to dominate Fallon, wants to give him more than an eight second ride, but sometimes wanting can be dangerous.
Excerpt:
This was Rand Mata’s favorite part of the PBR rodeo. The heavy scent of bull and straw. The mounting excitement of the spectators. They could feel the anticipation. The bulls grew restless and so did Rand. He lingered near the pens. Earlier in the day, he’d drawn Tornado—more than a ton of pissed off animal. Tonight was the semifinals and he was eight seconds of hard rough ride away from money in the bank. Another step closer to the finals.
Rand rested a booted foot on the lower rung of the fence, slipped his can of Skoal from his back pocket and pinched a dip. Several deep breaths did little to tamp down the anticipation of his ride. He stared at Tornado. Huge, thick and solid. The big spotted black beast had piercing black eyes. Drool dripped from his mouth. Rand had been busted up by lesser bulls. He’d broken his nose three times, both arms, left leg and cracked more ribs than he could count. But tonight was his night. He could feel it in his bones—one particular bone. Fuck, he had a hard-on in his jeans. Later tonight when only the climax of sex could rival the climax of riding, he’d have to fuck his fist. He could have his choice of buckle bunnies, but Rand would rather rope and tie up a cowboy.
Not tonight, not after he left his troubles—trouble in the form of one hard-headed bastard—back in Nevada. Yeah, he’d felt just as used and just as ridden as Tornado and the other bulls. That was why he’d rejoined the circuit. Up until now trouble hadn’t followed him, and if he was smart he’d avoid future incidents by leaving tight-assed, hard-cocked cowboys alone. Like him, they got off on adrenaline. Rand liked to take the reins…he needed control. Rand and his ex-bastard had played hard, fucked hard…and fought hard. They’d needed a few hundred miles between them. Rand intended to keep the distance permanent. He wasn’t going back home to Reno. Rather looking for a new post to hang his hat.
“Do you mind?” A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
Rand tipped back his black Stetson and squinted into the setting sun. The silhouetted man stood a few feet away. A strap wrapped around his neck and he held a camera with a long lens, indicating he wanted to take Rand’s picture. Rand cocked an eyebrow and gave a nod. He spit on the ground and angled his face in profile to hide his dip.
“Thanks.” The man lifted the camera to his eye and focused the lens.
“No problem.”
“Fallon O’Shea. I’m shooting for the Examiner.” There was always print and television press at the PBR events. Rand was used to the attention, but not the shiver of awareness skittering down his spine. All day he’d been riding the edge of arousal. The soft voice and pretty boy face had heat surging into his dick. The uncomfortable tightness in his groin had his balls twitching. He shifted his stance and a low groan rolled from his chest. Damn, he needed to get laid.
“This’ll make a great shot.” A pony tail cinched Fallon’s reddish brown hair at his nape. Loose strands fluttered in the autumn breeze from the south. The camera clicked several times. “I usually offer copies to the riders if you’re interested.”
They always did. But Rand wasn’t interested in pictures and he couldn’t be interested in anything else with the green-eyed Irishman. But he said, “Yeah, sure.” Anything to get the man to move on. Distractions, good looking, hot as fuck distractions were better utilized after his ride, not before. However, in this case, Rand didn’t want entanglements of any kind. Tomorrow he’d have his rigging bag in the back of his truck and be on his way to Vegas for the finals.
“I’ll be sure to get several shots of your ride.”
“Great.”
Fallon smiled and Rand tightened his hands on the fence rail. Fallon dropped his camera to his chest and slipped the sunglasses resting on top of his head over his eyes. “Nothing more…intense…than a cowboy getting a rough ride.”
~ Also available from Demanding Romance ~
Boys In Blue
By AJ Hardcourt
COPYRIGHT 2011 by AJ Hardcourt
www.DemandingRomance.com
Adrian O’Rourke is the new rookie in the Boston PD. Tonight he’s buying rounds and bonding with his fellow boys in blue. The only officer Adrian wants to bond with is Owen Murphy.
However, Owen and Adrian have history. Will memories of the past stand between them or will Owen take Adrian as his partner…in and out of the uniform?
Excerpt:
“What the fuck are you doing?” Owen leaned against the door, his hands balled into fists at his side.
Should Adrian apologize? Pretend ignorance? “Drinking, celebrating. Buying all my friends a beer. Come on, let me buy you another one.” He took a step toward the door. “I could use another round myself.”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
“I think I can make that decision on my own.” Owen continued to block the door. “Fuck you, Owen.” He didn’t want to be taken care of. He needed Owen to see him as a man, one of the guys on the beat—or nothing. He had to step out of Danny’s shadow. At work and in life. “I’m not Danny’s little brother anymore. You don’t need to babysit me.”
“Is that what you think I want?” Owen pushed Adrian against a stack of crates closing the space between them. “You’ll always be Danny’s little brother, but believe me I’m not looking to babysit you.”
Adrian inhaled sharply. Owen’s breath, carrying the sweet scent of Irish whiskey, warmed Adrian’s lips. Owen braced his palms flat against the crate, framing Adrian within the circumference of his arms.
“I don’t know what you want.”
Owen growled. “Aside from what I’ve always wanted?”
“And what would that be?”
“Christ Adrian, I was always so scared Danny would see through me. If he knew my thoughts, knew what I wanted to do to his little brother he would have kicked my ass.”
“What do you want to do because if you’re about to kiss me, god, please don’t make me wait.” He hesitantly rested his hands on Owen’s hips. The moment was heavy, poignant for both of them. Adrian could barely breathe as he waited for Owen to say…to do something…anything.
“I’ve been waiting for you, hoping you felt the same. The way you’ve spoken to me tonight. The way you look at me. Fuck, do you know what you do to me?” He rocked his pelvis into Adrian’s. His cock was hard, stretching the denim of his jeans. “I need you, but I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want.”
Adrian stared hard at Owen. All the years of longing, of pining for this man. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Owen took a breath to speak, but Adrian cut him off. “Never mind. I don’t care why.”
He crashed his lips onto Owen’s. He kept his eyes open—couldn’t look away, could risk missing a moment of the rapture on Owen’s face—as he
guided his mouth over Owen’s, tasting the seam, wanting inside. Owen parted his lips and Adrian dipped in for the first delicious taste. Lips sealed to lips, sending a shiver of awareness, hotter than lightning, streaking down Adrian’s spine, searing a trail into his balls and warming him from cock to buttocks. He shifted his head, opened wider and claimed Owen’s mouth. Tongue rubbed along tongue. Hot. Wet. Passionate.
Owen groaned and at the same time, gripped Adrian’s ass and urged him closer, grinding his cock into Adrian’s rigid erection already leaking pre-cum. Owen’s body was hard beneath Adrian’s fingertips as he navigated his way to Owen’s ass.