by Sarina Bowen
Kieran Shipley waits quietly while my thoughts ping around like caffeinated ping-pong balls. Forty minutes ago he manhandled me into the living room and removed my jeans. But now he’s watching me with soft eyes, and I don’t even know what to do with all his patience.
“Hot mess, here,” I say, holding up a hand. “I’m not very handy with rules. But I’ll make some if you want me to. Like I said before, I don’t want you to end up hating me.” I need to keep my job, and I’d rather not alienate the guy whose house I’m living in.
“Roddy, I’m never going to wind up hating you.”
So you say. “What rules were you looking for? Are you worried that I’ll invade your space? Too much togetherness?”
“No, uh, the opposite.” He shakes his head. “What am I allowed to do. What am I allowed to touch?”
“Oh, honey. I told you that I gave up on trying to stay away from you. Pretty sure there’s no part of me you can’t have if you want it. What else?”
He likes the sound of that. Those brown eyes look warmer. “Well, you told me you use Grindr sometimes.”
“Oh.” Now I feel like a tool. I should have guessed what he was thinking about. “No, I haven’t had any Grindr hookups in more than three years. I’d only downloaded it because I was curious what it was like in Vermont. I chatted with a few guys just because I was lonely. But I’ll delete it tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He lifts his chin and studies me. “I don’t know how these things work. But I don’t think I can share.”
My needy heart likes the sound of that. “They work however we say they work. And I know your lack of experience embarrasses you a little bit.” His eyes flip up and then right back down again. But he gives me a quick nod. “The truth is that we’ve both probably had the same number of healthy relationships.”
“Zero?” He snorts.
“Yeah. That many. So you’re smart to bring this up. But I wouldn’t live in your house and fool around with you while also fooling around with someone else. That’s too complicated, even for me.”
“Okay.” I get a quick smile.
“On the other hand, I sure don’t want to get on your nerves. If you don’t want me in your bed, or whatever, you can just say so.”
“I want you in my bed, preferably naked,” he says immediately. “That’s easy. But the other hours of the day are more complicated.”
“Because of work,” I say slowly. Kieran is in the closet. Or more accurately, he’s still experimenting. And the truth is that I don’t really need to be the face of Kieran’s sexual exploration. “Work is a problem. I guess we’ll have to be very discreet.”
He nods. “It’s private. My family has no clue.”
“Right. I understand.” But oh, the irony! I promised myself that after all that time helping Brian hide our relationship that I would never get myself into this situation again. But here I go.
This is a totally different situation, though. Kieran isn’t trying to manipulate me. He’s just sowing his first queer oats.
I just have to remember that.
Kieran grows thoughtful again, finishing his dinner in silence. Then I gather our empty plates and stack them on the tray, while he finds the next episode of Silicon Valley on his computer.
When I return to the bed, he’s balancing the laptop on his lap, searching for the right viewing angle for both of us. “Can you see this?” he asks. “Wait. Let me try this.” He tucks the computer between us on the mattress and fusses with the position. “Maybe the screen is too small for this.”
“Kieran, man, let me help. The problem isn’t the small screen.”
“Then what is?”
I pick up the computer. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But your cuddle game is weak.”
“My—?”
“Let me show you how this is done. Lift up your left arm.” I nudge it upward until it’s shoulder height. “Just like that. Now…” I shove a pillow against the wall and then move my ass until I’m snugged against him, tucked under his arm and leaning against his muscular chest. The laptop lands on my knees, and we’re close enough that we can both see the screen.
“Oh,” he says softly.
“Yeah, see?” I hit Play and relax against him.
For the first few minutes of the show, he doesn’t move a muscle or relax. Kieran isn’t used to being touched, but I’m a cuddle whore of the highest order, and undeterred by his hesitation. I stretch out against his body, my hand finding one of his muscular thighs beneath the sheet. And I gently sift my fingertips through the soft hairs at the top of his knee while I watch.
Bit by bit he relaxes, too, until one wide palm cups my ass, and his other hand rests snugly on my chest.
And I’m like a happy housecat, drowsing against his bare skin, his chest bouncing against my ear whenever he laughs. This blissful, simple moment is everything I ever wanted. Why does life have to be so fucking complicated, when this right here is so easy?
Snuggling closer, I reach up and stroke his bare chest with light fingers. I’m rewarded with a happy sigh.
“Another?” I ask when the episode ends. I could stay here my whole life.
“Maybe,” he says, catching my fingers. “But it’s hard to concentrate when you’re touching me like that.”
“Is it? The problem is that you have no cuddle stamina. We’ll have to work on that.” I turn in his arms until I can see his warm brown eyes. I can’t believe I ever thought I could resist Kieran Shipley. This lonely man needs me almost as badly as I need him. “Maybe that’s enough TV, then.”
I fumble for the laptop, clicking it shut. I roll my body all the way onto Kieran’s, and, without waiting for an invitation, I kiss him.
Long arms wrap around me almost instantly. As he dives into my mouth like he’s never tasted anything so good, we sink down against the sheets, hands grasping, bodies shifting, hearts thumping.
And nothing has ever felt so right.
Roderick
After that, I give Kieran many more chances to improve his cuddling. In fact, we work on it the very next night, after I retrieve my groceries from my broken car.
We cooked that roast, and almost burned the risotto, though, because we got to fooling around on the couch while we waited for the meat to finish cooking. I forgot all about the food as Kieran pushed me down onto the cushions and blew me.
Work. Food. Sex. Cuddle. Sleep. Repeat. I’m living the dream right now. My job is going well. I live in a nice house with a hot man who can’t wait to see me every night when he gets home. And we still have Mondays off together. That means sleeping in and waking each other up with various naked activities.
There hasn’t been any full-on sex, though, in spite of the hints I’ve dropped. The sex fairy (that’s me, I guess) has left a bottle of lube on the nightstand and some condoms in Kieran’s bathroom.
He’s taking it slow, though. And that’s fine with me. Mostly fine. Except it’s midmorning on a Monday, and Kieran is stretched out on the rug in the living room, reading a magazine.
And I’m stretched out on his back, thinking dreamy thoughts of being pounded into the rug. As one does. Lifting my head, I look down at the magazine to see what’s keeping Kieran so busy. “You’re reading about…” I squint at the page. “Cows?”
“Yup,” he says patiently.
I stretch out a little more, as if he were my personal cushion. And then I kiss the back of his neck just once. Okay, twice. But not in an annoying way.
So much has changed since the night my car died, and we barely managed to eat that pizza between make-out sessions. On the other hand, a few things haven’t changed at all. A very expensive car repair has left me just as strapped as before. And apparently I’m still a needy fuck. Because here I am pestering Kieran with more kisses to the back of his neck, while the poor man tries to read a farming magazine.
He doesn’t really mind, though. In fact, after a moment or two, he drops his head, giving up on the article, and providing me with better a
ccess to the sensitive skin under his ear.
“So tell me about these cows,” I say between kisses. But what I really mean is roll over and grab my ass.
He tells me about the cows instead. “Kyle wants to breed some Angus cross cattle this spring. Up until now we’ve only done purebred Highland cattle.”
“Oh.” I don’t know squat about the Shipley family business. “Is that a good idea?”
“It’s a fine idea,” he says. “And I’m kinda stunned that he had it. Kyle isn’t much of a businessman. Or maybe he could be if everyone stops telling him what to do. My dad is a dictator. Usually Kyle just agrees with him, to stay on his good side.”
“But not this time?” I run a hand shamelessly through his hair. Touching him is my new favorite hobby.
“Well, he wants my support. Which means he wants me to fight his battles for him with my dad.” Kieran flips a page in the magazine, and I see an ad for chicken feed.
“Calcium for great laying. There’s a joke in there somewhere,” I quip.
“There’s lots of dirty jokes in farming,” he agrees. “Not to mention that I grew up outside a town called Hardwick.”
I snort. “I noticed that. And I wasn’t going to say anything, but that is the gayest sounding town I ever heard.” After the joke comes out, I wonder if Kieran will object. He doesn’t use the word gay, or discuss his sexuality. Or his feelings, for that matter.
But now he turns his head and smiles at me anyway, like he’s in on the joke. “I’ll bet you don’t know how cattle is bred.”
“You’d be right about that. But I want to hear it. Are we talking about cow sex now?”
“Yes and no. Our operation is organic, and small. So we breed by putting our bull in the same pasture as the cows. But on a big ranch they do everything artificially.”
“Artificially,” I repeat slowly, trying to decide what he means. “Now you have me picturing a bunch of cowboys jerking off bulls.”
“Well…” Kieran chuckles. He flips to the back of the magazine and shows me a whole page of listings for…
“Does that say semen?”
“Oh yeah.”
“This farming stuff is freakier than I thought. They do jerk off cows?”
“Bulls,” he corrects.
“That sounds both dirty, which I appreciate, and dangerous, which I do not. How does that work? Are cow condoms a thing?”
Chuckling, Kieran sets the magazine aside. “It’s almost like a condom—but thicker. And the funnel has insulated sides—like a warm water bottle. The heat of it makes the bull ejaculate immediately.”
I let out a whoop of laughter. “Are you telling me that bulls are two-pump chumps?”
“More like one pump. And the young ones sometimes get overexcited and jizz on the floor. As soon as they walk into that breeding barn, they know what’s going to happen. Except the older ones don’t always get it up.”
“Then what?” I demand. “Is there a channel on Porn Hub for bulls?”
“Better,” Kieran says with a naughty smile. And, wow, there’s nothing hotter than Kieran’s naughty smile. I see it a lot these days. “When the bull won’t get with the program, the rancher does this.” He reaches back and runs a hand up my thigh. “Usually does the trick.”
“Oh my fucking god. There’s foreplay?”
“Basically. And bulls are used to doing the deed on their hind feet, right? They mount the cow. But in the breeding barn, they can’t use a cow, because they can’t take the chance that the bull hits that target. So you’ll never believe what they use instead.”
“Please tell me it’s a big, bovine blow-up doll. With big tits and long eyelashes.”
“Nope.” Kieran laughs. He’s enjoying this story almost as much as I am. “They train a steer who’s particularly calm to just stand in front and let the bulls mount him.”
“A steer,” I repeat. “That’s a boy.”
“Right—a young, castrated male. A rancher leads the breeding bull into the stall. He rears up onto the other dude’s back. The breeder plops the funnel bag over his weenie and he shoots. The whole thing takes less than a minute.”
“Get out of town,” I gasp, rolling off Kieran so that I can look into those amused, light brown eyes. “You’re telling me that bulls are mounting one of their pals to bust a nut?”
“That’s right.”
“Holy fuck. The gay agenda is alive and well, so long as you’re a bull. Why are the evangelicals not up in arms about this?”
“Because.” He taps the magazine. “Quality bull semen sells for fifty bucks a pop, and they can harvest him once a week.”
“Hot damn. I’m in the wrong line of work. This is like our favorite episode of Silicon Valley. How many bulls can I jack off in an hour? Forty, you think?”
Kieran just shakes his head. He knows I’m clowning around to get his attention. And he doesn’t even seem to mind.
“Let’s practice,” I suggest. “On you.”
His chuckle is low and deep, and I feel it against my chest. “I would if I could. But I have a call with an admissions officer at Burlington U in ten minutes.”
“Oh!” I wrap an arm around him. “Is this it? Did you get into the class you wanted?”
His brow furrows. “Not yet.”
“Then what’s the call for?” I sit up to give the man some space. He’s so tolerant of my clingy nature. He’s still gruff and a little hard to read. But he also seems starved for physical affection. And I sure don’t mind providing it.
“Well, she’s trying to talk me into applying for the undergraduate degree program. She said I’d be eligible for financial aid, and every class I took would be half price or less.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” I clap my hands. “Sounds like a plan. What’s the catch?”
“It’s more work,” he says slowly, and those eyes I love so much grow worried. “I’d have to take two courses at a time instead of one.”
“So? Zara already agreed to cut your hours in the new year.” Besides, nobody works harder than Kieran. He could slice through two design courses like a sharp knife through butter.
“But they’ll grade me,” he says with a shiver. “I’d have to do well to keep my financial aid. That means taking the tests instead of just listening from the back.”
“Oh,” I say softly. And now I understand the issue. Kieran had planned to audit these classes the way that he does everything—thoughtfully but silently. If he’s taking the courses for credit, he’ll have to raise his hand, or even—gasp—contribute to a group project.
“And do I really want to be a twenty-five-year-old freshman?” he asks, sitting up beside me. There’s confusion in those lovely brown eyes.
Yes you do, I realize. The question wouldn’t be troubling him at all if he didn’t understand the benefit.
But I won’t push him. My strong, silent-type boyfriend doesn’t need someone to order him around. Instead, I ask a couple of crucial questions. “What’s the commitment?”
“Two classes, starting in January.”
“And how long will they last?”
“Well, the semester goes until May. But a degree would take me eight years at that pace.” He laughs. “Can you imagine?”
The thing is that I can. Kieran loves design. He should get the chance to find out what it’s like to surround himself with other design nerds. “So you’re saying that it’s only a four-month trial. If you hate it, you can stop before the strawberries are ripe. And you’d still have the benefit of those two classes.”
He opens his mouth to argue with me, and then shuts it again.
“Look, I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to tell you how to plan your life, because I’m pretty bad at planning my own. But this is an opportunity, not a problem. I never got to try music school. And I’ll probably always wonder what that would have been like. Here’s this nice lady who’s offering you a shot. Just think about it.”
He rubs his forehead. “I just wanted to ease
into it.”
“Uh-huh.” I grin.
“I’m terrible at trying new things.”
I reach out a hand and pat his firm chest. “Gotta call bullshit on that. You tried me in bed. And on the rug. And in the shower…”
He snorts. “Fine. Sure. It only took me eight years after I first thought about you.”
“Good point,” I concede. “And you’ll be seven years older than the other freshmen. So you’re right on schedule.”
Kieran laughs, turning his head to the side in that way that he does. As if laughing were a private matter. And it’s just as well, because a full-on smile from him is hotter than the sun.
“Okay. I’ll think about it,” he mumbles. Then he reaches out and takes my hand. And when his fingers close over mine, I feel like I won a prize. “What are you doing today, anyway?”
“Taking a run. Testing out a recipe for shortbread cookies.” His eyes brighten at the mention of cookies. “Trying to decide how many holiday cookies I can bake in the next ten days. I thought we could let people buy in bulk, and pull in some extra cash.”
He tilts his head. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up making cookies all night, every night.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad.” I shrug. The truth is that I’d rather be indispensable than well-rested.
Everything in my life is going so well right now. My job is working out, and my new man is the nicest guy in the world.
I’m basically just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always does.
Kieran
Pratt and Son Advertising Agency is slammed because Christmas is a’coming, and everyone wants to glam up their promo imagery with bows and glitter.
Honestly, it’s boring design work. I can’t wait until the holidays are over.
“Kieran,” Mr. Pratt barks. “Can you redo this Christmas tree? The client doesn’t like all the ornaments. They’re too busy.”
Ornaments? I take the page out of his hand, and what I see there makes me feel ragey. Once again, Deacon has taken my nice, crisp design and mucked it up. “There shouldn’t be any ornaments at all. Ask Deacon to delete that layer on the source file.”
