opened his mouth to reply and a well-practiced dance resumed. He slid his tongue against one nearly as familiar as his own, the slide of greeting before exploring began.
Just because they were fighting didn’t mean they couldn’t fuck, battle-sex having once been a favorite pastime. Armando’s arms tightened around him, jarring him away from the kiss long enough to realize how securely he clung to Armando’s back: eight second ride tight. Or eight hours.
The years disappeared, carrying him back to the first time he’d held this man. They’d both chosen the same stall, and it might have possibly been an accident, but two young ’uns at their first rodeo found each other—and nearly set the barn on fire.
As before, he didn’t struggle when Armando stepped back, grabbed Kerry’s shirt, and ripped. Silver buttons ricocheted off the walls. Oh well, Kerry hadn’t liked the shirt all much anyway, plastered with sponsor’s logos. He released his hold on the man to allow the chambray scraps to fall to the floor. The gold-plated belt buckle he’d won last year popped open under Armando’s nimble fingers.
Kerry toed off his boots, shucked off his chaps, stepped out of his jeans, and made short work of his everything underneath.
With a confident smirk on his too-handsome face, Armando dropped his jeans. He wore nothing underneath. His muscles bunched with each movement. Damn, but the bastard was built. Whereas Kerry had muscle, Armando appeared to be nothing but muscle.
Someone had taken a lot of time and effort to sweep and mop the stable floor. It took Armando and Kerry two seconds to undo their work with a ripped open hay bale to line the floor. Down they went, frotting like two horny teens.
Armando grabbed Kerry’s ass.
“Ow!”
Armando stopped.
“Don’t even think you’re getting in there after the pounding you gave my ass out in the ring, you sorry cow poker. They should have made a steer out of you a long time ago.”
“I was doing my job. Diablo has a reputation to uphold! It means ‘Devil,’ you know.”
A whine? Armando whined? “Your job is to buck, twist, and make the action look good for the fans. No one said you had to beat my ass so hard I couldn’t sit down for a week!” Kerry rubbed his damaged goods. Though this would hardly be the first time Mando had been a pain in his ass—literally or figuratively.
One side of Armando’s mouth lifted. “Seems to me you kinda liked that sort of thing once.”
Only in the bedroom. Hmm… had that rodeo in Oklahoma City ever missed their whips? “Don’t use our history against me.”
“Seeing as your backside is out of commission, don’t look to be nothing wrong with the front.” To prove the point, Armando descended, taking Kerry into his mouth.
“Hey! You were the one who shot out of a chute plastered with ED ads!”
Kerry’s brain short-circuited before he could form another insult. Damn, but the blast from his past sucked cock fit to be the star of a cock-sucking rodeo event. Kerry wouldn’t consider who Armando had been practicing on since their breakup. He wouldn’t. No, not going there.
“Seems to me you’ve gotten better at blowjobs. Who’s lowered their standards and let you blow them lately?” Oops, where had that come from? Jealous much?
Armando mumbled around his mouthful, “The better to please you, my dear.”
“I’m not a deer. They have cloven hooves.” And were far less intelligent. How many mustangs let themselves get caught in cars’ headlights?
What kind of answer did he expect? If the horny son of a bitch said, “No one,” Kerry would have pushed the liar off his cock no matter how skilled Armando’s suction. Too bad the man was a bull instead of a vacuum shifter. Was there even such a thing?
Kerry’s libido bitch-slapped him upside the head, with a “Shut up and feel, you moron!” leaving him incapable of any sound more complicated than a moan.
He ignored the scratchy hay and his aching butt and lost himself in the past, and their eight-year, March through December annual love affair, when the rodeo season offered reasons to be together.
Kerry’s breed didn’t hibernate over winter like bears, but damn, he’d wanted to. Nothing existed worth living for when the rodeo wasn’t in session, though he’d never share the information.
He used to count the days till spring, then try to put the brakes on come fall, when his folks headed back to Montana and Armando returned to Texas until the next rodeo season.