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  SPURS

  Rodeo Boys # 2

  Gavin E. Black

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright Notice

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidences, and dialog are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SPURS; Rodeo Boys #2 Copyright © 2018 by Gavin E. Black (Leigh Jarrett). All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. All trademarks are the property of the respective owners.

  Published by Steambath Press (self-published)

  Smashwords Edition

  eBook Edition published November 2018

  ISBN: 978-1-927553-46-6

  Spurs

  Garrett had been quiet for much of the six-hour drive, only turning his attention away from the road ahead when I cranked the stereo and started singing, or suggested we stop somewhere and have something to eat—or have a fuck break.

  My sexually insatiable buddy was always up for a good fucking.

  And I was happy to oblige him.

  The last stop we'd made though …what had unfolded between us had been unexpected. Incredibly hot—but surprising …and confusing.

  The restroom of a diner. We'd finished eating, paid our check, and finished up at the urinals. While I'd been washing my hands, Garrett had stepped up behind me, his breath ragged—hesitant almost, his heated intention cascading then faltering against the back of my neck.

  My breath quickened.

  Garrett had watched me intently in the mirror, his eyes locked on mine as he'd tossed our hats onto the countertop and pulled me backward into a restroom stall.

  His movements had been urgent but gentle, his tongue wetting the fine hairs at the base of my neck, his mouth savoring my skin—groaning, panting, his teeth teasing the back of my ear, his hands securing me tight against his chest.

  I'd reached back and grabbed a handful of his hair, overcome by my desire for him to possess me as he'd done the day before, bent over the hood of that Gator—riding me, devouring me.

  I licked my lips.

  In that diner’s seedy, dimly-lit restroom stall, he’d caressed my cock through my jeans with the heel of his hand as he thrust up against my ass, his cock growing and firming—hardening.

  He'd unlatched my buckle and button, unzipped my fly, and taken a firm grip of my cock, stroking it until my hard flesh had filled his fist.

  Then he'd released me and made his way back to the truck without explanation. He'd left me standing there with a raging erection.

  I shifted in my seat, adjusting my cock.

  …much like the one I had now.

  "Eyes on the road, Dirk." Garrett reached over and turned the radio off. The light was fading, but we'd decided to drive straight through and not stop for the night.

  Now I wasn't so sure. It had begun to rain, and the wet road ahead was reflecting the bright lights of every passing car into my eyes.

  Garrett tossed the toothpick he'd been chewing on for the past hour into an empty cup-holder. "Let me drive for a few hours. You can close your eyes for a bit." I could practically hear him grinning. "I promise I won't hurt your baby."

  He patted the dashboard of the new F-450 Diesel I'd picked up last week to haul my new horse trailer and home on wheels. The Lakota Bighorn with four-horse capacity was overkill for just the two of us, but my side business breeding and training working stock horses, and those used for stock horse competitions was doing well—really well.

  I figured Garrett and I deserved a little comfort when we were out on the road engaging in our new favorite past time—cruising for straight guys on the rodeo circuit.

  I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. We would need to stop and tend to the horses soon. We'd brought Mason, my prized wrestling and roping quarter horse, and Garrett's bronc, Apollo, a quarter horse he used primarily for bucking.

  "Maybe," I replied.

  Garrett leaned forward in his seat and pointed out through the front windshield. "Those hazard lights up ahead …does it look like a truck and trailer to you?"

  "Yeah, definitely." I scanned the right-hand side of the road. There wasn't much room to pull off, but I couldn't with good conscience roar past a guy and his horse trailer on the side of the road. The fading light had disappeared, turning an eerie, pitch black, and the rain was pelting down heavier than before. It would make for a miserable night if the guy had to hunker down roadside.

  I smirked. Perhaps we could brighten up the cowboy's night on a few counts.

  I flicked my blinker on and pulled over in front of his truck, ensuring the entire ass-end of my thirty-six-foot trailer was off the road. Garrett grabbed his hat and coat, leaped out of the truck ahead of me, and made his way toward the guy climbing out of his battered, pick-up truck.

  Walking toward the two of them, my flashlight illuminated them both, and a low purring growl passed my lips. He was older, late-thirties. Rugged. Sleek afternoon shadow—black with flecks of gray, deep lines etched into his face after years of living on the range, and a well-worn, oilskin cowboy hat and duster, darkening with rivulets of water, clinging to his muscular frame.

  My gut warmed at the sight of him. We needed to have him.

  "Your truck die on you," Garrett asked him.

  "Yeah." The guy tipped his hat back enough to address us properly without permitting the rain to stream down onto his face. "A couple of guys pulled over to help, but this old truck isn't going anywhere tonight." He extended his hand. "Blake."

  I stepped forward and took Blake's hand. "Dirk." I motioned toward Garrett. "My buddy, Garrett. We're jumping in on the circuit four hundred miles north of here."

  Blake nodded. "That's where I'm headed." He glanced over his shoulder at his horse trailer. It was an old bumper-pull, two-horse model. "I want to get out of here. Send someone back to fix the truck, but everyone who’s offered me a ride only had room for one of my horses."

  He pulled up the collar of his duster to cover the back of his neck and cocked his chin toward my trailer. "You got two empty spots in that goliath of yours?"

  "Sure do." I nudged Garrett as I walked past him to unlatch the back of the trailer. "Help him unload his horses." I lowered my voice. "Perhaps we can help him unload later."

  Garrett snorted with amusement. "With pleasure."

  I flicked on the loading lights at the back of the trailer and stepped inside. Mason and Apollo fussed at the intrusion but humored me as I moved them into the escape-door stall and the one next over. I redirected the cooling fans and jumped out of the trailer.

  "All ready for you." I stepped aside as Garrett led the first horse toward the trailer. I nodded to Blake as he approached. "There's plenty of room for your tack in here …" I opened the tack compartment door. It was fuller than I remembered.

  I grinned at him. "Or on the floor of the RV."

  Which is precisely where I wanted Garrett to be. Down on his hands and knees on the floor of the RV with Blake drilling his ass while I watched. My brow creased as I worked through the actual possibility. Blake struck me as a good-old-boy. He might not be easily persuaded.

  After both horses were settled, Blake retrieved everything he needed from his truck and placed it on the floor just inside the RV door, whistling in appreciation, or perhaps disapproval, at the high-end interior. I really had overdone it, but I'm a sucker for comfort and modern convenience. I had no plan of buying a house; I was already on the title of the farmhouse I'd grown up in. I felt no guilt over splurging on a second residence. My dad felt differently.

  Heading back onto the road, I let Garrett ta
ke over driving—reluctantly. The cab of the truck remained silent, mile after mile. Apparently, Blake wasn't one to start a conversation.

  "Are you staying with someone on the grounds?" I asked as I turned to face him where he was relaxing comfortably in the backseat. "Or do you have a motel room booked?"

  "Stayin' with my cousin."

  "And your event?"

  "Saddle bronc mostly."

  I waited for Blake to say more, but it appeared he had nothing more to share. "Ah." I set my hand on the backrest of Garrett's seat. "We had planned on driving straight through, but this rain is vicious." I tapped Garrett's shoulder. "Pull over at the next rest stop. We'll take a break."

  "Sure thing," Garrett said, "but I need you to look in the glove box."

  "Why?"

  "Just do it."

  I popped the glove box open and rolled my eyes. Garrett had managed to fill it entirely already. Maps, flashlights, pens—gummy bears. "What am I looking for?"

  Garrett glanced over. "Those two envelopes there—open them."

  "What are they?" I flicked the cab light on above me. "And why has the one addressed to me been opened?" Rhetorical. I didn't expect an answer.

  I unfolded the single sheet of paper and scanned it over. The only word I cared about appeared prominently in bold letters. Negative.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" I opened the one addressed to Garrett and tossed them both at him where they landed in his lap, then drifted onto the floor at his feet. His read the same as mine. Negative. After Garrett's solo adventure into drunken, unprotected sex, we'd visited the sexual health clinic together and begun our latest round of testing.

  "How long have you been sitting on these?" I flipped one of the envelopes over to check the postmark date. Months had passed since the initial tests …months, and he'd hung on to the results outlined in these letters for over two weeks.

  "Why, Garrett?" I gripped Garrett's thigh. I didn't care if the show of physical familiarity fucked up any chances we had of conquering the irresistible guy sitting in the back seat.

  Garrett shrugged. "I wanted to add a bit of intensity to the next few days."

  I merely stared at him. First accosting me in the diner restroom, leaving me sexually frustrated—and now informing me the condoms we'd continued using for weeks …the barrier we'd placed between us, depriving us of experiencing the intimacy and trust we both craved from one another had been completely unnecessary. I couldn't understand why he'd done it.

  I shook my head and switched off my overhead light. "Not good enough."

  "It's all the explanation I've got for you."

  I looked over my shoulder. Blake didn't appear to be paying much attention to us. If he was, our conversation wasn't alarming him in any way. He'd tipped his dark, oilskin cowboy hat over his eyes and reclined in his seat. He obviously had no clue what we were talking about.

  "And in the restroom …?" I asked Garrett.

  "Leave it alone, Dirk." Garrett peered over his shoulder at me. "Please."

  "For now." I released Garrett's thigh. "We're not finished talking about this."

  "I am …"

  I crossed my arms. There was little chance Garrett would offer up any more insight. He was stubborn …annoyingly so.

  The cab of the truck lapsed back into silence, but it wasn't long, maybe forty minutes tops when Garrett pulled off the highway and into a rest stop. Everyone piled out, dashed through the rain, and climbed into the RV after I suggested some freshly brewed coffee was in order before we turned our attention to the horses.

  I corralled a few tomatoes that had been rolling around in the sink and put them in the fridge. I'd accidentally left them roaming free after we'd made sandwiches earlier. Their acidic scent sharpened the sun-heated air in the RV.

  I nudged the air conditioning setting higher to cool the space.

  "Damn." Blake stepped over his tack and slid into the booth seating of the dining area. He set his hat at the far end of the table and took in his surroundings as Garrett turned on the coffee machine. If everything went well, we wouldn't be drinking any coffee tonight.

  Garrett tossed his hat onto the sofa and sat down across from Blake. He leaned against the table and tapped his index finger on its surface to get Blake's attention.

  "I want to suck your cock," he said.

  Direct—nice.

  Blake pulled his attention away from perusing the interior of the RV and squinted at Garrett. "Fuck you." He furrowed his dark brow as he watched the expression on Garrett's face—it was humorless, unchanging. "You're actually serious."

  He grabbed his hat and leaped from his seat. "Fuck. You." He took a step toward the door of the RV, but I blocked his attempt to exit, standing in front of him with my arms outstretched.

  "Whoa, hang on," I said. "There's no need to run off."

  "Get the fuck out of my way." Blake jammed his hat on his head and shoved me, but I held my ground. He hadn't thrown faggot onto the end of that demand, and despite his objections, he hadn't pushed me hard enough to knock me on my ass—and he was damn capable of doing so.

  Blake remained where he was, staring at me, then down at the floor, then back at me again, drumming his fingers on the side-seam of his jeans.

  Garrett's proposal was under consideration.

  Lonely months on the range had a way of escalating one's need for human contact—sexual human contact. The drive to get laid became irrepressible. A motivation we relied on heavily when coaxing these straight guys into setting their reservations aside.

  "No one will know." Garrett reached out and touched Blake's arm, which caused Blake to startle and scurry further into the RV—exactly where Garett wanted him. "Let me suck you off." Garrett smirked. "I've yet to have anyone complain …or regret it."

  Blake was no longer focused on me, but Garrett instead, which was fortunate. Garrett's husky, baritone voice had stirred my cock. Seeing the state of my arousal before his own lust had overtaken his inhibitions might've made this already skittish cowboy bolt.

  Garrett stood and leaned against the end of the table. Looking at him, most people would never guess the guy was hooked on having sex with men. Garrett was a muscular, rough-and-tumble brute of a guy. A gorgeous brute mind you, but the epitome of what most people in the farming community assumed was a wholesome, strictly woman-loving, cattle rancher.

  If only they knew. The things we had done together. Together and with others. So many others. Fucking, sweating—swearing. Savage—carnal.

  I released a quiet sigh, imagining Garrett naked and kneeling at my feet, sucking my cock— I groaned unintentionally.

  Garrett snapped his head around and looked at me, his eyes wide with annoyance.

  "Sorry," I mouthed at him.

  "Let me out of here," Blake said as he moved toward the door again. This time Garrett stopped him, standing in his way. He slid the palm of his hand down the front of Blake's jeans—belt buckle to balls. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do that?" he whispered.

  Blake shuddered and held his breath, but didn't resist as Garrett unlatched his buckle, his jeans, and released his cock. He gripped the wall on one side, the counter on the other, and closed his eyes as Garrett sunk to his knees and lifted his velvety, soft cock toward his mouth.

  It slipped between Garrett's lips, smooth and slick, his tongue lapping, and drawing him in—so incredibly effortless. One hand grasped Blake's balls, caressing, the other reached up under Blake's button-down shirt, headed for the muscular torso that surely lay beneath.

  Blake adjusted his stance. He glanced down at Garrett from beneath the brim of his hat, but only for a moment before looking off into the distance.

  He'd yet to make a sound.

  Garrett released Blake's thickening cock and stood, grabbed ahold of his shirt and removed it over his head, flexing his pecs in plain sight of Blake's apprehensive gaze.

  I stroked the front of my jeans, my cock pulsing—hard. I loved watching Garrett play his games. He wasn't
one to hide his maleness. If guys followed him deep into his world of ecstasy, they went knowing full well they were fucking around with a guy.

  Garrett winked at Blake then sunk back onto his knees, licking, sucking—wetting Blake's deep-crimson cockhead. His eyes fluttered closed as he nuzzled the underside of Blake's balls.

  This was pure bliss for Garrett.

  Blake tipped his head back, eyes closed, and set his jaw. I could tell he wasn't convinced he wanted to go through with this, but he couldn't pull away. I'd seen it before—many times.

  I kicked my boots off and flung my hat onto the bed in the loft as Garrett sucked each of Blake's balls into his mouth, dragged them down with his lips, and released them.

  It would soon be safe for me to join them. Blake was completely distracted. I ran my hand up under my shirt and pinched my nipple—twisting it until it burned hot and sharp.

  Garrett slid his hand up along Blake's smooth shaft, tight—strangling it. He spat on the taut head and circled the ridge with his tongue, coating it to glistening.

  I adjusted my stance to steady myself, my cock throbbing to be released. I reached back and shut off the air conditioning. I preferred Garrett's body to be glistening with sweat by the time I got to him. Sweat and the promise of cum soon to be licked off his skin.

  Off his lips—

  If only I could.

  I brushed my hand across my stomach and tucked it into the band of my jeans. I squeezed the base of my cock, reveling in the pulsing discomfort I was inflicting to distract myself.

  Garrett settled in, still on his knees, rubbing Blake's cock against his lips, slowly—seductively. Against his cheeks, caressing his face, groaning—sighing.

  It was almost too much. I struggled to undo my belt as Garrett enveloped Blake's hard, slick shaft in his mouth once more. The rapturous sounds of ecstasy escaping Garrett's throat.

  His cock-filled throat.

  I reached further into my jeans, straightening my cock off to one side, and pulled—tight and hard, milking what pre-cum there was into my fingers. My hand drifted back under my shirt, my fingers slick with pre-cum squeezing my hard, aching nipple.