Love in Xxchange: Miles to Go

by Bailey Bradford

  At least it did until the arm around his waist tightened, stealing Bo’s breath as his bruised ribs and hips protested the embrace. Before he could figure out a way to disentangle himself, and not really sure if he wanted to, Max ground his groin against Bo’s butt and moaned.

  If they hadn’t been so swollen, Bo’s eyeballs would have surely popped right out of his head when he felt the first spurt of wet, warm spunk seep through the back of his boxers. His heart thudded heavily in his chest as that damp spot grew with more proof of Max’s release.

  As much as he wanted to be flattered, Bo knew Max wasn’t aware of what he was doing. The man was asleep, and rutting against a damn fine ass, and probably dreaming about fucking some lovely woman. Bo refused to think about which woman that might be, choosing to think instead of how Max would react to this when he woke up.

  Not well, that was the answer, especially not if the guy was straight. If that was the case, Max could have a definite freak out, and while Bo didn’t believe he would be in any danger at that point, he still didn’t want to experience such a scenario at all. And he really wanted to spare Max from any trauma. The man hadn’t done anything except try to comfort Bo, and he shouldn’t have to be mortified for it.

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  Bo only had one idea for how to prevent that, and he really wasn’t too sure it’d work.

  Still, it was better than nothing. He just had to make sure Max didn’t wake up before the plan was put into action.

  “Ffffuuuuggh! God—” Max came awake in a hail of flailing arms and legs, kicking and swinging, his brain not yet capable of comprehending anything other than the sudden shock to his body. The back of his hand thudded against warm flesh. More cold liquid sloshed onto his groin right before something dropped down and slapped his cock and balls but good.

  Max wheezed and tried to curl up, groping at his wet, wounded bits. His forehead smacked into something hard and angular. Pain spiked up his brow. Added to the throbbing in his balls was the clumsy groping of a hand—and it damn sure wasn’t his own. Max yelped just about the time the synapses in his brain started firing. Bo.

  Max’s eyes snapped opened and he found himself looking at a kneecap covered in pale fuzz. He tipped his head back and Bo’s concerned and battered face came into focus. Before he could ask what happened, his groin was scrubbed vigorously. Tearing his gaze from Bo’s face, Max watched the man’s bruised hand swipe at the dripping wet material of Max’s boxers with part of the sheet. An opened water bottle lay in front of Max’s crotch, spilling out the last dregs of the clear liquid.

  “Sorry, slipped,” Bo rasped out as he continued rubbing the sheet over Max’s cock and lower belly. Max couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image of that poor hand stroking his shaft, albeit unintentionally, and not in the way that Max wished it would. That particular part of him agreed, twitching and trying to harden. God, no!

  “Stop! Just…stop,” Max gritted out, reaching for Bo’s hand. The last thing he needed to do was humiliate himself by popping a boner right now. And Bo certainly didn’t need it, either. Poor guy had been through more than enough, and he had to feel like shit for dumping that water on Max like he did. Didn’t he? A quick glance at the man made Max wonder—Bo looked…intent, amused, though with all the swelling and discoloration, Max could just be reading Bo’s expression wrong.

  Max clamped his fingers around Bo’s wrist and tugged gently. “‘S’okay, just leave it be.” Please, just leave it! He fought to keep from tightening his grip as his cock started to fill.

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  Bo grunted and swiped at Max’s waistband one last time before his hand stilled. Max started to breathe a sigh of relief as he looked at Bo. He had a split second to wonder at the grin teasing the man’s lips, then Max’s dick was caressed from root to tip. His half-hard shaft perked up fully and Max’s heart nearly burst from his chest. Eyes locked with Bo’s, anticipation and shame warred in Max. Jesus god, he wanted to feel Bo touching him, wanted to know what it was like to have another man’s hand on his dick. Not another man, just Bo.

  Just his hand on me… But what would happen after that?

  “B-Bo,” he pleaded, not sure what he was asking for even as he spoke. He tried to determine if Bo was mocking him; it was so hard to tell with the bruising and swelling, but it was too late. Bo was cupping him through the thin, damp cotton, and now Max’s humiliation was complete.

  Or so he thought, but he’d never been a particularly bright person in the morning. The bedroom door flew open without any warning and Annabelle stuck her head in the room.

  “Is everything all…” Annabelle’s eyes widened so much, Max wondered how they kept from shooting out of the sockets. “Oh. Oh! I’ll just…leave now.” She started to do just that, her head nearly disappearing before she poked it back through. This time she didn’t look so shocked, only confused and concerned. “Do you really think Bo’s up to that just yet? He might be loopy from the pain meds. I’m just saying.” Annabelle shot Max a narrow-eyed look before vanishing and shutting the door firmly as she did so.

  “Ah, god.” Max closed his eyes as his erection melted faster than a stick of butter in the hot Texas sun. His skin was burning with the intensity of his embarrassment, and all he wanted to do was crawl under the bed and hide for a decade or two. Spontaneous

  combustion would work, too. As if he hadn’t been utterly confused before, he now had to figure out how to convince Annabelle he wasn’t some dirty horny dog who couldn’t control himself. She thought he’d started this? Had he? After all, he was the one who’d popped wood. Bo had just been trying to help…

  “Max, don’t worry about it,” Bo whispered in his sandpaper-rough voice. “You weren’t awake, and I was grabbing at you.” Bo sighed heavily as if the words had cost him a great effort. Max knew they must have what with the damage done to the poor man’s throat.

  Before he could think of a suitable reply, the alarm clock blared. Max was used to the obnoxiously loud racket, but Bo, not so much. He squeaked and jumped and teetered at the MILES TO GO

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  edge of the bed. Max’s hand shot out before he could think about it, grabbing on to the man’s pale, lean biceps.

  “I gotcha,” Max soothed when Bo yelped again. “I ain’t gonna let you fall.” Keeping his grip on Bo, Max sat up so he could use both hands to steady Bo. Once he was sure the man wouldn’t topple off the bed, Max gathered his dignity—there wasn’t much of it left at this point—and scooted off the foot of the mattress. Water trickled down the insides of his thighs when he stood, which just felt a little dirty. It did not feel erotic or make him fantasise, not even for a minute, about something else running down over his skin.

  “Damn it,” Max muttered. At this rate he was going to be a walking erection. “Let’s get you moved to the other bed, and then it’s time for more pain pills for you.” Maybe, if he had any sort of luck at all, those pills would wash the memories of this morning’s events right out of Bo’s mind.

  Okay, so maybe that hadn’t been the best plan ever, but Bo hadn’t been able to come up with anything better. He was blaming the crappy plan on the pain meds. Dumping his bottled water on Max had been a true act of desperation, and possibly just cruel, but it had been effective. Hopefully.

  Bo lay on the dry bed and waited for the medicine to kick in. He was hurting all over, and Max had managed to knock the shit out of him, catching him in his sore ribs. It was worth it, though. Bo didn’t know if it was the drugs, the pain or what that had kept him from noticing Max’s sexy little body last night. He must have been close to dead, that was all he could figure, because there was no other way he could have ignored such a hot guy.

  Max wasn’t tall at all, but he still had an inch or two on Bo’s own five feet seven inches.

  When Bo had noticed the man before—sizing him up the fir
st time they’d met, because that’s just what Bo did to men—he’d thought Max had an attractive, compact yet slender form.

  He’d kind of been wrong.

  While Max did indeed look thin but toned, the truth was the guy was unbelievably cut.

  He wasn’t bulky at all, just exquisitely detailed. Max’s chest was covered with a thick dark pelt of hair, which turned Bo on in nine different directions. His pecs were still discernible, looking taut and tempting and topped with peachy-pink nipples. The groove running MILES TO GO

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  between his abs was deep enough that Bo knew he could drink from it—and he’d do his best to give that a shot, just as soon as he was feeling human again. And he really wanted to feel those hairy, muscled thighs wrapped around his waist—or his neck, hell, Bo wasn’t picky. If he had been, chances were that fucker wouldn’t have got the chance to stomp the shit out of him. But, no, Bo had been so lonely, and yes, horny, so he’d gone to a gay club in San Antonio, looking for something. The fact that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Max had been part of it. Bo had been interested in the man since they’d first met. He had been careful during that first time they’d hung out, flirting a little and testing the water. Max had seemed totally oblivious to Bo’s attempts to flirt, and that had been okay after a while because Bo had really just enjoyed the guy’s company. A lot. Enough that he’d found himself thinking about Max often, more than he ever had any other guy. Of course most of the other guys in Bo’s life had been one-night stands whose names he didn’t bother with trying to remember. He didn’t exactly really know them.

  But there was something about Max…Bo had thought he’d give it another try that night at Cowboys. He had held out great hopes for once in his life not for a quick fuck, but for something more, something that would last longer, be more intense. Between thinking about the way Chance and Rory seemed so perfect for each other, and the way he’d just whored around and studiously avoided anything serious, Bo realised he really, really wanted a relationship, one that was special and would last. It scared him, but he wanted it. Bo was tired of running from commitment, running from himself, running from his past.

  Of course his plans to seduce Max into loving him had backfired at Cowboy’s. First off, Max had seemed as oblivious to Bo’s charms as he had been before. The little flushes and stutters Bo had come to realise were from nervousness, not a raging attraction to Bo. Still, Bo had watched Max closely and noticed the man didn’t check out anyone else—not the women in the place, and there’d been a couple who were pretty attractive, and not the men, who Bo would have catalogued as okay but not particularly impressive.

  Especially not once Max had walked in. There was just something intense about Max despite his easy-going smile that drew Bo to the man. It made Bo want to giggle and act all coy like some teenage girl or something. It was that fluttery nervousness that had almost brought the dinner at Cowboy’s to an end before it truly got started. Bo really hadn’t meant to laugh at Max, he hadn’t, but he had been so fucking nervous, and he’d laughed like a fucking idiot, and that right there had been the end of his plan to seduce Max. It had been all MILES TO GO

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  Bo could do to prevent Max from leaving at that point. Bo had been willing to do anything to keep Max there, but he was pretty sure throwing himself at the man’s feet and begging would have only embarrassed Max more.

  So Bo had been on his best behaviour, and once they had got past that uncomfortable situation, they’d got on like best buddies for life. Which hadn’t been exactly what Bo wanted.

  Friends were all well and good, but he’d wanted that lover bit thrown in there too. And so he’d come up with the idea of having Max come to San Antonio and visit him. He’d figured that would give him time to work on Max, see if he was interested or not, because Bo hadn’t been able to squash the hope that Max was interested and just really shy about showing it.

  But Max had turned him down flat, using an excuse Bo didn’t quite buy. He’d tried to shrug off his hurt feelings; it was after all entirely possible Max was a hell of a lot more dedicated to his job than Bo ever would have been. In the end, the answer was the same—

  Max wouldn’t or couldn’t come to San Antonio, and Bo had gone home and nursed his wounded pride along with that strange burning in his chest. That particular sensation got worse every time he thought about never having Max, and by the time Bo realised he didn’t have some weird-ass heartburn induced by thoughts of Max, he’d already been trying to dance off the funky mood that had hounded him for days.

  Even once he realised he was sort of really fond of Max, Bo hadn’t stopped dancing.

  What was the point? Wasn’t like Max was interested in him, but maybe Bo could find someone who was, at least for a few hours and pretend it meant more than just getting off.

  Pretend he wasn’t settling, something he’d been doing for years but only then realising, thanks to his attraction to Max. Bo had set about putting on his most flirtatious manner, but every time it got right down to it, he’d felt off in some way he couldn’t quite describe.

  Picking up tricks hadn’t ever bothered him before.

  Bo had finally got fed up with his own newly developed morals or conscious or

  whatever the fuck it was that was keeping him from getting laid, and he’d thoroughly stomped down everything but his body’s need for release. He told himself to quit being so picky, to just take the next offer he got, but he’d already turned down most everyone who’d been interested.

  When Bo had just about given up on finding someone, anyone, and was seriously considering leaving, he’d seen the man watching him. It hadn’t taken more than a smile from Bo to have the big blond striding towards him. Bo remembered the shudder that had rippled MILES TO GO

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  over him then. Had it been a warning rather than the desire he’d taken it for? Probably, but Bo had been desperate to forget how alone he was.

  As soon as the big blond was close enough, Bo had noticed the cold look in the guy’s eyes. He had figured it for the disdain a lot of closeted men felt for their one-offs, or for themselves for seeking out another man. Well, he’d been wrong about that shithead, and it’d almost cost him his life. There was no use dwelling on that mistake.

  There was another mistake he was thrilled about, though. Bo had been wrong about Annabelle and Max getting down and dirty. There was no way she’d have been so calm about walking in on Bo stroking off Max this morning if she was Max’s lover. And Max had definitely liked the feel of Bo’s hand on his dick.

  If Max had liked that, then he’d love the other things Bo wanted to do to him. It was just too bad that Max would never love him. Nobody ever had, not really, which was why Bo was alone and miserable and looking for comfort in dark alleys and dangerous bars. He knew that, just like he accepted he was unlovable.

  For all he knew, that might be because he wasn’t capable of returning that tricky sentiment. Bo wanted to, he ached for that, to give it and receive it, more than he ached physically. It just wasn’t possible.

  But, for a little while, he could lie in this uncomfortable bed and imagine what it would be like to have Max love him. That’s exactly what he did, letting those fantasies coax him into a dream-filled sleep.

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  Chapter Five

  Max didn’t know whether it was the rude awakening a few days ago, or the dream he’d had right before being doused with cool water, or maybe a combination of both. Either way, he’d had a difficult time concentrating since that rather chilly event. It didn’t help that every time Annabelle looked at him, she had a smirk on her face that brought a flush to Max’s skin.

  And he was almost certain she’d muttered that he had a ‘really nice package’. Max was too afraid to call her on that. Between trying to avoid Annabelle and staring off at n
othing, feeling alternating moments of mortification and arousal at the memory of having Bo scrubbing at his dick, Max was thoroughly behind in his work.

  Then there was that damned dream he’d had the morning he’d ended up with a

  sopping wet crotch. Images from that dream kept popping up every chance they got. Visions of sliding his dick into Bo’s beautiful ass, burying his shaft so deep the man could taste it, would flicker through Max’s mind at the most inconvenient times. He’d dropped Rama’s saddle then promptly tripped over it—and he’d swear that horse snickered at him for it—

  when a wave of sensual heat had rolled over him.

  He’d just been minding his own business, doing his job then his brain had tossed up a vision of Bo’s ass thrusting back against his groin, grinding and rubbing until Max had nearly come in his jeans. If he hadn’t dropped the saddle, he’d probably have dropped his load. Taking a tumble was only marginally less humiliating than having his cock spew like a horny teenager’s.

  Now it was full-on dark, and Annabelle had gone to the bunkhouse to check on Bo.

  She’d given Max a wink when she told him she’d be dining at the big house. Max wasn’t sure what that wink was for. He wasn’t used to being around women much, and if Annabelle was a fair example of the opposite sex, they were just as confusing as hell. Maybe he should drag his heels and hope she’d be gone before he got back.

  Max discarded the idea as cowardly as he made his way home. Wasn’t like Annabelle was going to jump his bones—she just liked to tease, and that was something Max didn’t have a lot of experience with. The fact that he really wanted to see Bo, only to make sure the man was doing better today, was an incentive to hurry he wished he didn’t have to MILES TO GO