Barn Dust and a Fort Worth Bed

The lights over the Will Rogers livestock pens had gone half-dead, and the charity rodeo crowd was nothing but taillights sliding toward University Drive. I stayed because my shoulders still hummed from loading panels, and because the big man in the snapped denim had been watching me from the rail. He came around the barn with dust on his boots and sweat darkening the hair at his open collar. Somebody had yelled Wade when he threw that last calf. Thirty-nine, sun-cut lines by his eyes, and every inch of him was work: thick pecs, a hard gut, forearms like fence posts, and a bulge he was not hiding. I was thirty-two, a framing contractor out of Arlington, and I had been half-hard since he looked at my hands.

- You gonna keep looking or you gonna say what you want.
- I want your mouth. Then I want the rest of you. Name's Cole.
- Wade. And I don't do shy. Back where the cameras don't reach.

He took my wrist and pulled me into the dark between the barn wall and a parked stock trailer. The metal still held the day's heat. He smelled like saddle soap, beer, and clean sweat. His palm spread over my chest and squeezed, thumb dragging my nipple through the thin T-shirt until I hissed and pushed into his hand. I got his shirt open and put my mouth on the heavy curve of his pec, tasting salt, biting just enough to make his breath catch. I worked lower over that hard stomach and opened his jeans with fingers that would not stay steady.

No underwear. His cock fell thick and heavy into my hand, hotter than the trailer, the head already slick, the shaft veined and pulsing. I went to my knees on the packed dirt and took him in. He filled my mouth until my jaw ached and my eyes watered, salt and skin and the faint bite of beer. One big hand settled on the back of my neck, holding, not forcing, while he rocked in slow strokes that bumped my throat. I stroked the thick base and let spit run over my fist and his balls. His thighs shook. He pulled me off before he finished, hauled me up, and ground that wet cock into the cleft of my ass through my jeans. He bit my neck and shoved a hand down my front, jerking me rough until I leaked over his knuckles and shook against the warm metal.

He stopped with his fist still around me. I almost cursed him. My cock jumped, denied.
- Not in the dirt. I want a bed and your face when you take me. Motel off Camp Bowie. You following?
- Try and lose me.

His dually led me through the Fort Worth dark, past closed taquerias and neon, heat still lifting off the pavement. At the motel a security light cut across his shoulders and the sweat on his throat. The room was small, the AC rattling, the bedspread the color of weak coffee. He locked the door and looked at me like a man about to get paid in full.
- Clothes off. On your back. I been thinking about those hands since the panels.

I stripped and the cold air raised every hair on my sweat. He shoved his jeans down and his cock stood thick against his stomach, shining, heavier than it had felt in the barn dark. He crawled over me and kissed me hard, mustache scraping, tongue deep, one hand pinning my wrist to the pillow. His weight was solid muscle and heat, chest hair dragging my nipples until I arched and felt him smear wet across my stomach. He bit the swell of my pec, sucked a mark over my ribs, then took my cock into his mouth and worked me until my heels dug into the mattress. He came off shining, spat into his palm, slicked himself, and pushed my thighs up and open on that ugly bedspread.

The head of him pressed at me, blunt and burning, and he waited only until I breathed out and bore down. Then he sank in, thick and relentless, stretching me until the burn flared and broke into a deep ache that blurred the light over the dresser. He bottomed out and stayed, forehead to mine, both of us shaking. When he moved it was long and mean, every inch dragging over the spot that made my cock jump and leak onto my stomach. The bedframe knocked the wall. Sweat dripped from his chest onto mine. I grabbed the hard muscle of his ass and pulled him deeper, feeling the slap of his balls and the sweet brutal friction that turned my head to noise.

He pulled almost out, flipped me onto my stomach, and drove back in, hauling my hips up so my chest stayed down and my ass was his. One hand fisted in my hair. The other shoved my hand away and jerked me, fist tight and slick with what I had already leaked. Heat coiled and broke. I came hard over his fingers and the cheap sheet, clenching so tight he lost his rhythm and buried his mouth on my shoulder. Two more thrusts and he locked up and came, heat flooding deep, his whole body trembling against my back. We stayed there, his cock still twitching inside me, breathing like we had run fence in August. When he eased out, the wet slide made me shiver. He dropped beside me, one heavy arm across my waist, Fort Worth humming past the thin door, his come already warm on my thigh.