by Amy Aislin
Marco pulled away with a final, quick peck and stole Las’s beer.
“How’d the cleaning go?” Las asked.
Resting his butt against the porch railing, Marco took a swig. “You could eat cake off that floor now. How was dinner?” He threaded an arm around Las’s waist, drawing him into his side.
“Good.” Las repositioned himself facing Marco and stood between his spread thighs. “Sorry you couldn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry.” Marco ran a hand down Las’s arm, wrapped loose fingers around his wrist. “Reid and I were already in town having dinner when you texted.”
“That’s okay. I know it was last minute.” Las crept closer, right into Marco’s space, and caught the flare of heat in Marco’s eyes when he leaned in to kiss him. Something about the way Marco kissed made Las want to keep kissing him for hours and hours. Hot and spicy, lazy and slow, deep and sensual, chaste and fun. He’d take it all, anytime, for as long as Marco wanted to give him.
This particular one was slow yet deep, tongues tangling, lips clinging. Las gripped Marco’s loose hair, angling their heads for a better fit. Heat pooled low in his belly, but a muted voice from the house behind him reminded him of where he was.
With a soft groan, he tore his mouth away and rested his forehead against Marco’s.
Marco cleared his throat. His hands squeezed Las’s hips. “So. Ticket to Ride?”
“Ticket to Ride.”
“Anything I should know?”
“Yes.” Stepping back, Las led Marco into the house by the hand. “We’re all very, very competitive.”
Twenty minutes later, after introducing Marco to his parents—
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. March, Mrs. Windsor-March.”
“Oh please. Call me Whitney. My husband is Derek.”
—Marco got a crash course in Windsor-March competitiveness while all five of them sat around the coffee table. Marco placed his trains on the board and Alice growled, thumping a fist on the floor by her hip. “Ugh. You took my route, you jerk!”
Sitting between Alice and Las, Marco went wide-eyed, finished placing his tiny trains, sat back, and scooted closer to Las.
Las reached across him and patted Alice’s arm. “There, there.”
Alice wasn’t impressed. “You didn’t tell me he was so good at this game.”
“I didn’t know.”
“The lounge in my dorm only had four board games,” Marco said. “This was one of them.”
Two hours later, Marco and Las’s dad coming in almost neck-in-neck as the winners, his mom pulled out cannoli from the bakery in town and brought it into the living room with plates and forks. Alice wolfed one down before leaving for her date.
Chewing thoughtfully, Marco checked out the name of the bakery on the plastic container. “These aren’t bad. I can make them for you next time. I’d just need use of your kitchen.”
Las licked filling off his thumb. “You bake?”
“Not often and not much. Only a few select Italian desserts my sister showed me how to make.”
“Your sister?” asked his mom, sitting in the armchair. “Not your mom?”
“I grew up in a traditionally gender-roled household. The women cook and clean, the men barbecue and drink scotch.” Marco polished off his cannoli. Sitting with his back against the television stand, legs stretched out, his feet butted against Las’s thigh. “But my older sister made sure I didn’t fall into those roles. Teaching me to bake was one of her ways of making sure I was a well-rounded, sensitive dude, in her words.”
“She sounds smart,” his mom remarked.
“She and Alice would definitely get along,” Las said.
His mom put her plate on the coffee table. “Well, in this family, the men barbecue and drink scotch and muck stalls and deliver cows. But so do the women.”
Las’s dad toasted them all with his own cannoli. “Hear, hear.”
His parents went to bed shortly after, and once they’d put the game away, Las sat with Marco on the couch, feet propped on the tabletop. He rested his head against Marco’s shoulder and twined their fingers together on Marco’s lap.
“Is this why you didn’t want to go to Laramie this weekend?” Marco asked. “Family game night?”
“Yeah. We have them once a month, and we’re all so busy that they’re hard to reschedule if someone can’t make it. Plus, with me being away at school the last four years and leaving again in a few weeks, I haven’t gotten as many family game nights as I’d like.” Las rubbed the tips of his fingers over his forehead with a weak chuckle. “Fuck, that sounds so lame.”
“No.” Marco kissed the back of his hand. “It doesn’t.”
It was hypocritical of him to have kept Marco at arm’s length for so long just because he was leaving at the end of the season when Las himself was too. The difference, however, was that Las was coming back. Since he’d been old enough to work the land alongside his mom and Cal and the rest of the ranch hands, he’d known this was his place. That he’d take over managing the ranch when his mom retired, like Alice would take over the guest services side of things when she was ready. This was home. It was his to come back to. To live and breathe for as long as he wanted.
And he wanted. For a very long time. Attending college in Vermont had proved to him that he didn’t want to be anywhere else long-term.
Windsor was home. It wasn’t Marco’s and that was okay. He was seizing the day even though he knew his feelings for Marco would break his heart when Marco left.
“Do you miss home?”
Pursing his lips, Marco rested his head back against the couch. “I miss the people at home: my parents and sisters. My extended family to a certain extent. Not so much Philly itself. I’m not like you. I’ve never had a slice of the world I consider home. Except…”
Except what? Glen Hill, Vermont? Had their college town felt like home to Marco?
“You, though,” Marco continued without finishing his thought. He turned his head to smile at Las. “You embody this place.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like…” He paused for a moment, little lines forming at the corners of his eyes as he seemed to attempt to put thought into words. “You live and breathe the Wyoming air. You know all of Windsor Ranch’s secrets, which makes me think you know all of Wyoming’s too. You’re so confident in your place here. Don’t laugh, but it’s like seeing a wild animal in its natural habitat. You’re a part of these mountains and they’re a part of you.”
They’d drifted closer, nose to nose. Marco’s soft words whispered over Las’s lips while his free hand came up and cupped Las’s neck, thumb sweeping over his jaw.
“I don’t like to think about how I’ve got only two months left here.”
Las sucked in a sharp breath and bit his lip, Marco’s words about him, about leaving, squeezing his chest painfully tight.
“But then I think of you here,” Marco went on. “Stargazing at your tent, or herding cows astride Harriet, or sitting on the fence surveying your land, ever-present cowboy hat in place, and it makes it okay. Knowing you’re still here where you belong makes it better. You aren’t just part of this place, Las—you are this place.”
The growing lump in Las’s throat was seconds away from choking him, the wetness behind his eyes threatening to spill over. The only thing left to do was kiss Marco to high heaven.
So he did.
Marco’s words, the passion behind them, the strength underlying them… It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him, and the most beautiful. It was almost too much for his heart to take.
Emotion swirled in him, making him light-headed—affection, awe, sadness, fear, love. So much love. Something he would’ve denied just a few weeks ago, but now he was so far gone he was afraid this moment would end. Ending this moment meant the night would end, and then tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that, and all of a sudden it’d be the end of the season.
He kissed Marco hard
er, desperate to think of anything else. They had time. Eight weeks exactly before Marco went back east. It was eight weeks more than they’d had when Marco had first asked him out in April. And despite a piece of his heart already breaking at the thought of Marco leaving, they were eight weeks Las intended to take full advantage of.
He’d tried seizing the day without losing himself in the process and failed miserably. But that was okay; he’d take advantage of the time they had and deal with the fallout later.
Marco pressed him back into the couch, his solid body pushing him into the cushions. Las wrapped one leg around Marco’s hips, bringing their groins into contact, and they both groaned. Marco’s mouth was hot and urgent, hips pumping, increasing the pressure through their jeans.
Pulling away, Marco said, “Jesus, fuck,” and tucked his face into Las’s neck. “I want you to fuck me so bad.”
Wet warmth on Las’s neck, his collarbone, a bite to the underside of his jaw. White-hot heat arrowed into his erection, spreading outward until it consumed him whole. “Not here.”
Marco’s chuckle was breathy. “God no, not here.”
Directing Marco’s mouth back to his for a messy kiss, Las then said, “I know where.”
“The hayloft? Really?”
Las smirked at Marco and placed a soft blanket on the floor. In the five minutes it had taken him to run up to his room to gather supplies—condoms, lube, the comforter off his bed, towels—and then race Marco to the barn, his erection hadn’t abated but the urgency had. “Yup. It’s empty at this time of night.”
Somewhere, a horse neighed.
“Of humans.”
A chuckle creased Marco’s cheeks, lifted his cheekbones. He was still flushed from their couch make-out session, hair tangled around his shoulders. Simply looking at him had urgency returning. Once the blanket was positioned and the rest of their supplies dumped onto one corner, Las removed his T-shirt and thumbed the button on his jeans. His skin was overly sensitive and he couldn’t take the sensation of material against his body any longer.
“Why don’t you let me do that?” Marco’s soft murmur accompanied his fingers on Las’s jeans, pushing Las’s hands away before undoing the button and lowering the zipper. Dropping to his knees, Marco pulled Las’s pants down, the palms of his hands touching every newly exposed inch of him as he went. The inside of his thighs, the back of his knees, his calves.
His erection straining the front of his briefs, Las stepped out of his jeans. Marco flung them aside, running his hands back up Las’s legs until he reached the back of his thighs and squeezed. Las sucked in a breath.
“You know.” Marco rested his chin on Las’s belly and smiled up at him. “I used to think you were skinny.”
Las scowled. “I’m not skinny.”
“No. You are very well-defined. Especially this part right here.” In one smooth move, Marco’s hands were down the back of Las’s briefs, pulling them down and off, exposing the pearl of pre-come on the tip of Las’s dick.
There was something incredibly erotic about being naked and exposed while Marco was still dressed. Marco’s appreciative gaze made Las feel like he was the center of the universe. Like he could do anything. Like he was ten feet tall.
Marco’s open mouth aimed right for Las’s erection, and although Las groaned at the sight, committing the image to memory, it wasn’t what he wanted. He pushed on Marco’s shoulders until Marco took the hint and lay back. Las crawled on top of him and, against his mouth, whispered, “I want in you.”
“Fuck yes.”
Marco was naked less than thirty seconds later, all wide shoulders and lightly haired chest and strong thighs. A minute after that, as Las worked him open with fingers coated in lube, Marco’s head was thrown back, hair spread out around him in a halo, tiny pieces clinging to his sweaty forehead. He was beautiful, so uninhibited that Las had to bite his lip and count to ten to stop himself from coming way too soon.
“Las. Ready.” Marco’s hands clutched a fistful of the blanket. Spread-eagled before Las, panting and hard and open, he was the most amazing thing Las had ever seen.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Las tapped his hip. “Flip over.”
Marco did so as Las rolled on a condom and lubed up. Sweat dripped down his temple and pooled at the base of his spine. He was almost too turned on to go slow, but he forced himself to. He wouldn’t hurt Marco, not for anything.
When he was finally fully seated inside Marco, Marco trembling beneath him and muttering, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Las took a second to stop and breathe and regain his bearings. But Marco was still trembling, still muttering. He was clamped hard around Las’s dick, legs spread wide, and thinking went out the window.
Las pumped his hips once, twice, three times, giving Marco a chance to adjust to him. But when Marco groaned a curse and buried his face in the blanket, Las’s control slipped away.
“Yes,” Marco said over the slap slap slap of Las’s balls hitting the tops of Marco’s thighs, over the noise of their harsh breathing. The sound that came out of Marco’s mouth was part groan, part sob, part harsh exhale, and it arrowed right for Las’s pelvis as liquid heat traveled down his spine lightning fast.
Marco came, fingers tensing in the blanket, back going rigid. Las followed, unable to help himself as Marco clenched around him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his ass and came so hard he saw stars.
Marco’s trembling increased as little aftershocks tore through him. Running a hand over Marco’s sweat-covered torso, Las carefully lowered them onto their sides, keeping Marco out of the wet spot, remaining joined as they breathed hard and came down from the high.
Tilting his head back, Marco’s half-lidded eyes begged for Las’s mouth. Unable to deny Marco anything, Las obliged and kissed him lazily until their lips were too raw for more.
MARCO FOLLOWED LAS DOWN THE stairs from the hayloft the next morning, grinning so wide he was sure he’d have some kind of horse-related dust particle stuck in his teeth. And admiring Las’s ass in those tight jeans because the man had the tightest butt Marco had ever seen—and he’d spent years in a locker room with other guys. He knew what he was talking about.
Las had the towels in his arms. Somewhere within them was last night’s used condoms. Marco was glad he wasn’t going to be the one dealing with them. Or the comforter bundled in his own arms. They’d gotten a bit . . . messy.
Okay, a lot messy. Marco needed a shower in the worst way, but at the same time, he liked knowing he had Las’s dried sweat and come on him.
Which probably made him utterly disgusting, but whatever.
They stopped to say a brief hello to Harriet and then continued toward the back doors of the barn.
“Why Harriet?”
“Hm?” Las threaded their fingers together.
“Why did you name your horse Harriet?”
“Oh.” A small chuckle from Las. “I loved the Harriet the Spy books as a kid.”
They were smiling at each other as they exited the barn…
And found Austin and Cal sitting on the fence of the corral, eating Twizzlers at six in the morning. Cal’s eyebrows went up. Austin smirked and twirled a Twizzler around like helicopter rotors.
Marco and Las stopped right outside the barn. Marco moved closer to Las, hiding their linked hands behind their backs. As if there was any hiding their disheveled hair, Las’s overnight scruff, or the towels and blanket.
Austin took a huge bite of his candy. “Have a good night?”
“As a matter of fact.” Las strode forward, pulling Marco along by the hand, at ease and slightly smug and one hundred percent sexy. Dropping the towels on the ground, Las hopped up next to Cal. Marco added his blanket to the pile—it all needed to be washed anyway—and climbed up next to him.
“What are you doing here so early?” Las asked.
“I’m always here this early,” Cal said in his slow rumble of a voice.
“Not on the weekend.”
“I need
a couple of days off this week, so I’m making up for it now.”
“And how about you?” Las waved in Austin’s direction.
Swinging one foot, Austin rested the other on the bottom rung of the fence. “I’m traveling for work for the next week or so. Came to say bye before I left.”
Mock tenderness crossed Las’s face and he pressed a hand to his chest. “Aww.”
“Not to you,” Austin said with a chuckle. “I don’t care about you.”
Las gasped dramatically. “This from the guy who was upset I said he was like a brother.”
“Wait,” Marco said, realization hitting him. “If you’re gone, who’s going to run your workshops this week?”
“My assistant. Unless she goes into labor before I get back.”
“Cool. Second question.” Marco leaned forward to eye the bag in Cal’s hand. “What are the odds of you guys sharing your Twizzlers?”
Cal and Austin looked at him with identical expressions of consideration. As if they couldn’t decide if he was good enough for their precious candy.
Austin rested his chin on Cal’s shoulder. “I suppose we could spare one.”
“Hey!” Las’s brow pulled low. “What about me?”
Austin frowned right back at him. “I’m not sure about you.”
“Oh, for the love of…”
“They did have a busy night,” Cal pointed out to Austin. “They must be hungry.”
Las’s expression went flat. “You guys think you’re so funny.”
“I think they’re funny,” Marco said.
“You,” Austin said, stealing the bag out of Cal’s hands and holding it out to Marco, “get a treat.”
Marco munched on his candy happily.
Las turned to him. “Traitor.”
They sat on the fence munching on Twizzlers for a few minutes. Marco shared half of his with Las, earning himself an eye-crinkling smile, as they listened to the sounds of morning waking up. Cars parking on the other side of the barn; doors slamming closed. Ranch hands saddling up amid quiet conversations. Birds busily singing as loud and as often as they could. The creak of the fence as Austin swung his foot. Wind sifting through trees and tall grass.
