The music changed behind us, and couples started gathering on the floor for a two-step. “Why, Agent Brice,” I said. “You dance?”
“Call me Marty.” He nodded toward the floor. “You want to give it a go?”
I took his hand in mine. It was warm and firm. “You betcha.”
We stepped out onto the dance floor, bent our right legs, and started to dance. He was good, and we must have spent an hour out there. When the tempo changed to something too fast for a two-step, we left the dance floor and went up to the bar. Marty ordered us a couple of beers, then led me to a table in a quieter area of the bar. I put my shirt back on and sat back against the chair.
“To the two-step,” I said, holding my beer up.
Marty knocked his against mine. “And to new friends.”
“That what you’re interested in?” I asked. “Friendship?”
“I’m not the kind of guy who jumps into bed on the first date. I’ve been around the rodeo a few times and learned my lessons. Right now, though, I’m looking for a friend, as well as a cowboy.”
I took a long drink. “Not sure what you mean by that,” I said.
He put his beer down on the table and leaned forward. “My old man decided, after a long, productive working life as an accountant, that he wanted to have his own ranch. Don’t know where he got the idea; closest I know he ever came was playing cowboys and Indians with me when I was a kid.”
I didn’t say anything, just drank some more beer and listened.
“He passed about three months ago,” Marty said. “So right now it’s just my mom about an hour west of Houston on a hundred acres of land with a dozen head of cattle, a herd of goats and a llama.”
“A llama?”
“My dad was a sucker for a lot of things, including a fast-talking llama salesman.”
I laughed.
“So here’s the deal. My mom can’t run that place by herself, and I don’t care for most of the guys she’s got working for her. I need a cowboy who I can trust, who can step in and look after things.” He took a pull from his beer. “You interested?”
“Me? You don’t know a thing about me.”
“You forget I’m an agent of the FBI. When I thought you might be responsible for Christopher Graf’s disappearance and murder, I did a thorough background check on you.” He smiled. “And I liked what I found.”
I didn’t know whether I should feel flattered or creeped out. But I did need a job. “Tell me about the spread.”
He did. We went through another pair of beers and I found myself falling in love. Mostly with the ranch; it sounded sweet. But if it came with a side helping of Marty Brice, that could be very fine.
They played some two-step music again, and we danced some more. By the time we finished it was after three and I was tired, drunk and horny. “You said you don’t fuck on the first date,” I said, both of us leaning up against the wall watching the younger guys keep on dancing. “But this isn’t the first time we met.”
He turned to me. “You think me searching your motel room was a date?”
“At this point I’ll agree to anything if it’ll get you in bed with me. And who knows, maybe your dick will seal the deal and I’ll head out to your ranch and take on the job.”
I looked down at the way his crotch bulged against his jeans. I stepped in front of him and pressed my hand down on it.
“Jesus,” he groaned. It was the first time I’d seen the tough FBI agent look vulnerable, and I liked it. I leaned over and kissed his throat. “I can’t…”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t do anything here,” he said, catching his breath. “Public indecency. Have to take you back to my place to do what I want to you.”
I leaned back and looked him in the face. “What are you waiting for, then?”
He wouldn’t let me touch his crotch in the car, or even hold his hand. He kept both hands on the wheel, in the ten o’clock and two o’clock positions. Fortunately he didn’t live far from the bar, in a sweet little cottage on a side street. He led the way up the driveway, unlatching a gate that led into a private courtyard.
As soon as I was inside he turned back to me, pressed my body against the gate, and kissed me. His lips were moist and they tasted like beer. He pressed his head against mine, prying open my lips with his tongue. He wrapped his arms around me, his big hands splayed against my the cheeks of my ass. We kissed like that for a while, and when he pulled away he said, “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Since I saw you walk into that crummy motel room in your boxers and your cowboy hat, carrying your boots and your puke-stained clothes. I couldn’t help noticing the way you got hard when you talked about Graf.”
“Hard like I am now?” I pressed my dick against his leg and he groaned again.
“Oh man, that feels so good. We’ve got to get into the house before I have an accident.” He pushed me away enough so that he could dig his house key out of his jeans and open the front door.
Once we were inside, we went right back at it, like animals. We pulled each others’ shirts off, and I wrestled with his brass belt buckle. “Damned tight jeans,” he panted, pushing them down his hips. I dropped to my knees and pulled down his white briefs far enough to unleash his dick, which was already stiff and leaking precum.
I took his dick in my mouth and sucked, just like I’d done for the guest back at the Bar None. But there was no disapproving ranch owner to find me; instead there was just Marty Brice, and he sure liked what I was doing. He groaned and pulled me off him. “If you don’t stop that I’m going to shoot my load too fast.”
I stood up and kissed him. “Maybe I like things fast and hot,” I said, when I pulled back.
“Well, that’s a problem, because I like them slow and hot.” He pushed me against the wall of his bedroom and began undoing my pearl-buttoned shirt. Then he leaned down and took my right nipple between his teeth, sucking then biting down. My whole body shook with desire.
He was so slow and careful it was a torment to me. When he finished with the right nipple he went on to the left. Then he licked his way down my stomach to my belly button, and he nibbled and bit on that. My dick was so hard it hurt, and I was leaking a fountain of precum in my shorts.
He unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down over my hips, then pulled my boxers down. I kicked off my boots and stepped out of everything else, and then we were both naked, pressing our bodies against each other. He bit at the side of my neck, and I kissed his ear.
Finally he moaned and said, “I give up. I can’t hold out any longer. I want to fuck myself some cowboy ass.”
I let go of him, and let myself fall backward on his bed. Then I pulled my legs up to me, presenting him with my ass, all hot and shiny with sweat. He stepped over to the bureau, his dick standing up like a flagpole, and retrieved a condom and bottle of lube. Then he knelt on the bed and slung my legs over his shoulders.
He squirted the lube into my ass, and it was warm and squiggly down there. I wanted him so bad.
He slid the condom over his dick, then positioned himself at my asshole. “This might hurt a tad,” he said.
“I’ve ridden bucking broncos and came out just fine,” I said. “I can manage a dick.”
“Oh, yeah?” He grabbed my legs and slammed into me. “Manage that, cowboy.”
He slid right into me like he was meant to be there, and I tossed my head back against the pillow and pushed back against him. He pulled out, then went right back in again. He grabbed my dick with one hand and started stroking me as he fucked my ass, and then he exploded, taking me over the edge with him.
My whole body shook with the power of my orgasm, as Marty Brice stayed right where he was, with his dick in my ass, and the look we shared was one of pure lust. After a minute, he pulled out of me, tossed the used condom in the trash, and then lay down next to me.
I wrapped an arm around him and pulled him cl
ose. “That ranch of your daddy’s is looking better all the time,” I said.
“Christ, I may end up having to move out there myself. It’s an extra drive in to the office, but I’ll bet you could make it worth my while.”
“I’ll bet I could,” I said.
That’s the way it worked out, too. I moved out of the Lone Star and into Marty’s cottage for a couple of days, when we did little more than fuck and eat and dance and then fuck some more. Then he drove me out to the ranch and got me set up, and his momma and I got along just fine. Within a month, Marty was living out at the ranch full time, driving in to his office in Houston, and I had taken charge of the cattle and the goats and the llama.
We don’t get back into Houston much on the weekends, but who knows, maybe one of these days Marty and I will take our own spin in the photo booth.
THE END
Author bio: Neil S. Plakcy writes character-driven mystery, romance and mainstream novels.
Find him at:
www.mahubooks.com
http://www.facebook.com/neil.plakcy
Dustin Adrian Rhodes – STORM OF PASSION (Friends to Lovers)
Selected by Dustin Adrian Rhodes
Dear Author,
Jaime and Parker here are best friends. After realizing he is gay and knowing he can never confess his true feelings for his straight best friend, Jaime joins the army right after high school. 10 years later he's come home and their friendship rekindles as if he had never left. Jaime knows he is still in love with Parker but he would rather die than tell him his true feelings. But the way Parker looks at him sometimes, especially his lips, is making him think maybe there is something more between them.
Parker is so happy Jaime is back in town. He missed their friendship and all the things they used to do. But why is he all of a sudden having erotic dreams about him and why cant he stop looking at his lips? I mean he's straight, right?
Can someone please help these two out???
[PHOTO: Pictures of two dark-haired muscular young men in shorts. The first sits in a wooden-paneled corner, arms braced on the seat, accentuating the size of his shoulders. There is something tentative in the expression of his dark eyes. The second holds a football cocked to throw. His features are strong, hair shaved, a single tattoo on his shoulder.]
Sincerely,
Judith
Genre: contemporary
Tags: coming out, cop, first love, friends to lovers, police, soldier
Words: 7,988
STORM OF PASSION
By Dustin Adrian Rhodes
Within each of us lies a storm of passion.
Climbing from the Greyhound bus, his combat boots made a thud, coming into contact with the severely crumbling pavement. Taking in the view of the quaint town, as if it were for the first time, he was relieved to be home. Surprised, during the ten years he had served in the army, the quiet rural town had not changed as he had expected. There was Grover's Drug and Gifts, The Palladium Theater, JC Penney's, VanCleeve's Ladies Wear; Stocker's Shoe Store with the same faded Red Goose sign. On the opposite side of the street, there was the volunteer fire station, Fuch's Funeral Home (pronounced FOX, why they had not legally changed the family name was beyond anyone’s comprehension), the Piggly Wiggly Market, the Baptist Church, and of course, Morrison's Cafe. Down the center of town ran an unmarked, two lane asphalt street. Not much of a place to look at, there was a remote chance Norman Rockwell might have been inspired to capture the eccentric town on canvas, had anyone known of its existence, did not even rank a speck mark on road maps.
There had been no hero's ticket-tape parade, no marching band or anyone for that matter to welcome him back. A sleepy little town where the greatest excitement came from guffawing at Beulah, old man Howard's milking cow; which frequently escaped the pasture to sashay down Main Street. The old saying “there’s no place like home” is true, because honestly, there was no place like this town, but it was home, his home and he was glad to be back.
“I declare, as I live and breath, if it ain't little Jaime Duncan.” Exclaimed, a portly woman, rushed to greet him with pudgy outreached arms, squeezing him in an enthusiastic bear hug, he swore his ribs were bruised. Madge had not changed a bit, white waitress uniform, silvery blue hair coiffed like a huge cotton candy ball on top her chubby smiling face. Swirling in a fragrant bouquet aura of rose water and Aqua Net, wrinkling his nose, did he detect a recent addition to her repertoire, could it be Ben Gay? Hugging him, he was certain her overly made up lacquered face imprint was permanently embedded on his shirt collar and there was no mistaking the huge false eyelashes tickling his neck.
“Madge," pulling from her arms, he held her soft hands; scanning the woman from head to toe. “Just as lovely as always,” planting a tender peck on her flushing cheek.
“Oh you,” playfully swatting him with a dish towel, “still the charmer.” Drawing him into her voluptuous bosom, she forced yet another strangulating embrace. “It's so good seeing you again boy, welcome home.” Pulling back, dabbing her leaking eyes with the towel, “Oh dear lord, where are my manners, let's get you settled. Hon, would you like a table or a booth?” radiating a contagious smile with all the warmth and brilliance of a dazzling halogen bulb.
“How about a booth?”
He had forgotten how friendly and warm folks from a small town could be. Lingering, hazy memories of his childhood began to come into focus, growing sharper and more vivid in his mind. During the bus trip, he had needlessly worried, after all these years; he might not feel like he fit in, but all that was vanishing. Scanning the cafe, Madge literally drug him by the hand to an available booth. In the flurry, he recognized smiling faces and honest to goodness genuine waves from folks he thought he had long forgotten. Resurfacing memories, sweet lovable Madge, being back home, all of it was a tad overwhelming for this small town boy.
Madge parked him in a center booth of Morrison's Cafe, making him feel like he were the floor show at the only diner in town. Tossing his cap on the empty space next to him, the camouflage fabric of green, brown and white reminded him, even though he was dressed in army fatigues, he was no longer property of the US Army. He was looking forward to returning to civilian life. Transitioning from years of military discipline would most definitely be awkward, but he had proudly served his country, looking forward to transforming from GI-Joe to Regular-Joe. Lost in thought, a friendly hand clapped his shoulder, he spun around. Paralyzed. Stunned speechless, he gawked at the apparition lingering next to his table.
“What's with you? You look as if you've just seen a god-dang ghost!” followed by a familiar exhilarating laugh from his youth. “Don't you remember me, your best bud Parker?”
Shocked to be ogling his best friend from high school, but the man was drop-dead gorgeous. Not to say he had not been good looking before, obviously time and working out had been more than generous to him. Jaime found it difficult to not gape upon the tanned muscled man with buzzed auburn hair and deep set emerald eyes.
“Uh – sorry, you've grown up since I last saw you.” Jaime blushed from rose to crimson, as a bound-and-determined boner bloomed in his boxers.
“Hey, look at you, a military man, with your army hair cut,” rustling Jaime's short cropped sandy brown hair. “Muscles? Where did these come from?” squeezing Jaime's biceps with a teasing grin. “You're not exactly the kid you were when you left after graduation. What's this,” brushing Jaime's stubbled cheek with the back of his hand, “a 5 o'clock shadow at 8:10 in the mornin'? Hell-fire, the last time I saw you, you'd barely begun to scrape your face," enthusiastically gliding into the opposite bench, refusing to take his eyes off Jaime, afraid to blink, fearful his best friend would disappear again. “You home for good? Or are you too cool for us simple folk now?”
“What?”
“Hell you've been in Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran and who knows where the hell else. You're a traveled man, a man of the world. No one would hold it against you for not wanting to return to the boring rur
al life. We can't hold a candle to the world you've see.”
“You know, with a convincing spiel like that, I'm appalled you're not heading up the local Chamber of Commerce.” Jaime laughed.
“Touché,” nodding his head, he snickered. “You’re right. I'm sorry. Maybe I came on a little too strong. But, this is home for me, and once, it was yours as well.”
“Yeah, I know. I had a lot of time to think on the bus ride, and did a lot of soul searching. My tour is over and it's time to get on with my life. Honestly, I couldn't imagine anywhere I'd rather be than right here, in our backward one-horse town, where nothing changes but the seasons. I'm back home to stay.” Jaime smiled. Plagued earlier by serious doubts, simply saying the words out load made all the difference in the world. He was home. There were no regrets, he was certain of that. Home, where he had grown up, surrounded by good decent folks and reunited with his best bud. Could life get much better than this?
Gazing across the table at his best bud, he could not help but wonder, how many nights have I gone to sleep dreaming of Park, never imagining he’d grown up. No. Transformed into a hot, sexy, hunk of man flesh. Grrr! Dancing emerald eyes which had always mesmerized him, a quick killer smile curling devilishly in the corner, the most perfect lips he had ever seen, he would give almost anything, to just once, feel those alluring lips pressed tight to his. But, he knew that would never happen, Parker was as straight as they come. Even though he had come out to Parker when they were in their teens, it had never been an issue in their friendship. All those years he had secretly yearned for Parker, telling himself their friendship was too valuable to risk losing, he would rather die than tell him his true feelings.
“So, buddy, what're your plans, now that you're back?”
Eager Parker, just like old times, looking to me to have a plan or agenda, it might be a camping trip, fishing, anything. Park always looked to me for what we'd do next. “Well, the first item on the agenda is to sleep in late,” he chuckled, “that's my first adjustment to being a civie.”
Don't Read in the Closet volume one Page 47