Bo’s heart actually pinched a little, and that was flat out scary.
Chance sighed, sounding extremely put out. “Bo, if he hasn’t made a move on you, and you two have been sharing a bed…”
Bo had that one covered. “I’m injured, and Max is too much of a sweetheart to try anything when he knows it might hurt me.”
“Yeah, maybe, but he’d tell you.”
And that one as well. “No, he’s really shy. You know that. I’d have to start it.”
“He’s probably cranky because he doesn’t know how to tell you he wants his bed
back.”
Okay, that one hurt. Bo went back to staring at his lap when he countered it. This needed to end before Chance ripped his heart out along with his pride. “He wraps around me like a warm blanket every night— before he falls asleep. He pops wood every time we’re in a room together. I’ve seen him looking at me, watching me from the corner of his eye as I strip for a bath. He’s never had a problem with scrubbing my back. And what straight man would be secure enough to sleep with an obviously gay man, to hold him close and whisper to him when the nightmares come, to try to comfort and soothe—”
“All right, you win!” Chance snapped “He’s queer as a three-dollar bill! I’m just not sure he got the memo, and he’s headed this way, so we’re done—for now.” Chance stood and looked down at Bo, blocking his view. He really wanted to see Max. “You better fix him, though, not make it worse. I want my old foreman back. Yesterday.”
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Bo nodded even though he didn’t agree. He liked the Max that held him at night and always made him feel like someone cared about him. Why wouldn’t Chance want him to have that, to have what Chance and Rory had? Or did he just think Bo was too much of a flake to ever have a solid, loving relationship? Bo would have agreed not very long ago, but every moment he spent with Max made Bo believe he was worth something more than a fuck. Though he definitely wanted that, too.
Bo watched Max approaching, looking tired and dirty and oh so happy to see him. The man had a smile that lit up his whole face, and Bo’s whole world. Maybe it was time for Bo to make his move.
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Chapter Six
Max wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but he thought Bo was up to something. The man had been sweeter than sugar to him for the past week. Bo was a nice guy, although Max was aware he had a bit of a reputation. He’d heard all about Bo’s ardent but failed pursuit of Chance not very long ago. This went beyond nice, but it wasn’t quite pursuit. He thought.
Every morning, Bo had somehow managed to wake before Max. The obnoxious blaring
of the alarm was no longer necessary. Instead, Bo’s soft hands kneading the muscles of Max’s back was Max’s new alarm clock. It was a better way to be roused from his sleep, even if Bo did occasionally let his hands dip a little lower than Max suspected they should.
Not that he was complaining. It just made his dick hard as a steel pipe, and maybe, when he thought Bo wasn’t looking, Max rubbed that aching length against the mattress in tiny little thrusts. Bo never said a word about it, just massaged Max’s back for several wonderful minutes—and yeah, sometimes a little south of there, too—before leaving Max alone and hobbling off to the kitchen.
Max had tried to stop him the first couple of times, not wanting Bo to strain himself, but Bo had just flapped a hand at him and…hobbled away. The erection Max had kept him from trying to talk the man out of it at that point, and besides, Max really enjoyed watching Bo’s plump, pert ass as he made his way out of the room.
These morning massages had led Max to morning showers during which he jacked
himself off. He’d been so reticent before to perform that particular action, always waiting for the wrath of God or his pa to come down and strike him dead. However, with Bo around, Max decided it was worth dying over. And it was either jerk off or die of blue balls.
There was lots of touching, accidental brushes against Max’s hips, his ass, his hands, chest, shoulders, back—he didn’t think there was a part of him Bo hadn’t managed to lay a hand on this past week. Except for his cock—Bo hadn’t touched that part of him since the whole cringe-inducing water bottle trauma.
Then there was Bo, teasing and laughing, bringing him coffee that he spilled half of before he handed it to Max. He’d also taken to packing lunches for Max and Annabelle, but MILES TO GO
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Max’s always had something extra, a candy bar or a muffin, something to take the edge off Max’s sweet tooth.
The result was that Max was confused as hell. He didn’t know if Bo was just being nice, or if he meant something more by all the attention he was giving him. It was driving Max nuts, because every little thing Bo did was a cause for his dick to swell, which permanently demolished Max’s view of himself as asexual. He wanted Bo something fierce, but he wasn’t quite sure what that entailed, or how to go about getting what he wanted. It was just flat-out hard to get something when you weren’t real clear on what it was you were wanting.
Asking someone was out of the question. He’d rather be caught in a stampede of
panicked cattle and squished into a puddle of guts and goo. The Internet was out, too, seeing as how the desktop in the bunkhouse was shared property. Max wasn’t a total idiot—he had a damn good idea of what went where, he just didn’t understand how that could go there!
Christ almighty, that had to hurt. Only, if it did, then no one would do it, would they? Or not many people, anyway.
“What’s got you frowning like that, Maxie?”
Oh yeah, there was that, too. Bo had decided to call him by a name that made Max think of a feminine hygiene product. That could not possibly be a good thing.
Max shovelled up another scoop of shit-covered straw as he tried to think of an excuse Bo would buy. Nothing came to mind, but that was mainly due to the fact Bo had stepped up right behind Max as he was bent partially over to shovel out the stall. Max could feel the heat from Bo’s groin. The guy had to be standing with his dick a hair away from Max’s ass, which gave Max’s constant companion, Mr Wood, permission to try to burst from his jeans.
“Maxie?” Something kind of hard brushed across Max’s butt when Bo spoke. Max
thought about what went where and nearly leapt out of his boots trying to stand up and put a little space between them. All he succeeded in doing was stumbling, which resulted in Bo grabbing his arm and spinning him around. Max suddenly found himself face to face with Bo…and cock to cock.
Bo gave him a beatific smile and Max nearly creamed his jeans. “Is that for me, or do you really like the horse this stall belongs to?” Bo’s eyes were twinkling, the thin skin at the outer corners crinkled into lines that Max wanted to lick. Surely that was not normal.
Max stepped back, his mind racing with not a single helpful thought. It was all in league with his dick, thinking about sinking into one of Bo’s orifices. Max wasn’t experienced MILES TO GO
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enough to have a preference. He took another step back, slamming against the stall wall. Bo’s smile shifted from angelic to predatory in the blink of an eye. Max found himself paralysed at the rapid-fire change as Bo began stalking him.
“Oh shit,” Max stuttered out, not in fear, at least not entirely. His dick was beyond hard now, pre-cum leaking steadily from the tip. He clutched at the rough wood under his hands, trying to find something to hold him up because his legs were quivering, his knees knocking together.
Bo didn’t stop until he was nearly on top of Max. When he spoke, his voice was lower than Max had ever heard it. “I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried being nice, being a flirt, being the perfect little househusband, dropping hints, dropping bigger hints, copping a feel, and yet you still haven’t done one thing to let me know you want me. And I know you
do.” He reached down and rubbed Max’s aching shaft. Even through his clothes, the touch set Max’s blood on fire. It did absolutely nothing to help with his inability to speak.
“G—ungh!” Max thrust against Bo’s hand, seeking more. Of what, he didn’t care, he needed to come. His fingers scraped at the wood, then somehow, Max’s hands ended up on Bo’s shoulders.
Bo smiled wickedly. “I thought you’d never ask,” he purred as he dropped to his knees.
Bo had wanted this for so long, and he was terrified that Max would stop him if he gave him even a second to think about it. He had Max’s jeans undone and shoved down along with the man’s boxers in record time. Bo grabbed the base of Max’s thick cock and sucked the fat dripping crown into his mouth.
Max yelped but didn’t pull away as Bo let the bitter salty flavour roll over his taste buds. He tongued the wide slit, seeking out every bit of pre-cum he could find as he gently cupped Max’s balls. He rolled the furry sac in his palm as he sucked Max’s cock to the back of his throat.
Bo swallowed, knowing the constriction would demolish whatever control Max had
left, and it did. Max groaned and fisted his hands in Bo’s hair, then did what Bo had been hoping he would. Max began thrusting, holding Bo’s head still, fucking his hard dick into Bo’s mouth, into his throat. Bo fought the instinct to gag as he revelled in each push and MILES TO GO
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bump, in driving Max this far out of his normally easy-going state. He loved knowing he had done this to and for this particular man.
Max started pumping harder, faster, and Bo sucked and laved, teasing the fat vein, the slit, the little bundle of nerves on the underside of the crown. Max was grunting with each thrust. Then as Bo slid his fingers beyond Max’s balls to stroke the soft skin behind them, Max began gasping out Bo’s name over and over.
Bo fought against slipping his fingers further back to tickle Max’s hole, afraid that would freak the man out and end this perfect blowjob. He released his grip on Max’s cock and grabbed a handful of ass instead. Bo’s throat and lips were taking a battering, but it was the hottest thing he’d ever done by far. He returned his other hand to Max’s balls and squeezed gently.
Max’s thrusts became short and jerky as a guttural sound was ripped from him. His fingers were clenched and entrenched in Bo’s hair, jerking the strands painfully as Max shouted and buried his cock deep. Bo felt the first warm spurt in his throat then pulled his head back despite Max’s hold on him.
Hot bursts of spunk filled his mouth, Max’s voice filled the air, and Bo filled his briefs, coming in his underwear like he hadn’t since he was a kid. It was completely unexpected and definitely distracting since Bo had never climaxed without some stimulation to his dick, not when blowing a guy, at least.
Bo realised he still had his hand clamped on one sweaty butt cheek. Max was still trembling, hopefully from the intensity of his orgasm. Bo looked up at him and realised that wasn’t the reason for Max’s shakes after all. The man looked mortified, and angry. Those weren’t the feelings Bo had hoped to inspire in him and his heart started beating double time as he tried to fight back panic. How had he fucked this up?
Sliding both of his hands up to Max’s waist, Bo tried to figure out what was going on in the other man’s head. Max refused to meet his eyes—his Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly as he stared at some spot above Bo’s head.
If Bo didn’t know better, he’d have thought Max hadn’t been ready for a blowjob. But that wasn’t possible—all men were ready for blowjobs pretty much all the time. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Bo realised that all those men he was thinking about were the sluts he used to fuck around with, and yeah, he’d been a huge slut, too.
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But Max…Max wasn’t like them, or like Bo. He was the best man Bo had ever known, and Bo’d just kind of bulldozed the guy. Bo felt worse than he did right after he got the shit beaten out of him. How did he fix this?
He didn’t know, but he damn sure had to try. He gently squeezed Max’s waist, hoping to get the man to look at him. “Hey, Max? You okay there? I’m sorry if…”
Max swallowed loudly and jerked. He nodded and began pulling his pants back up,
still avoiding Bo’s gaze. He sidestepped, making it impossible for Bo to keep his grip on Max’s waist.
“Max?” Bo couldn’t help the squeak to his voice. He was utterly terrified. “Maxie? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He wanted to know how he’d so badly misjudged the situation.
Max hadn’t said no, hadn’t tried to push him away or anything, and he’d seemed to enjoy the blowjob. Not that it was obvious now.
Max looked at him like he was crazy for a moment, then turned and walked out of the barn, leaving Bo on his knees and feeling like the biggest fuckup in the world.
Jesus, what was wrong with him? Max nearly giggled at the thought. He was a damned mess, that was nothing new. And he was scared of the way he’d lost control and went after Bo like he had, shoving into his warm wet mouth and just pounding away. Actually, he was furious with himself for it. That wasn’t the way he should have treated the man he cared so much for. Neither was running off, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He’d had to leave before he did something worse, like push Bo to the ground and fuck him until they were both unconscious.
Max walked faster, his mind stuck on the fantasy of feeling Bo under him, the tight clench of his ass around Max’s dick. He was so lost in the thought he nearly collided with Annabelle as she rounded the side of the barn the same time he did. Her surprised squeak was almost as loud as his, and she looked at him with startled blue eyes.
“Did you already finish the stalls?”
Damn it! What was he thinking, walking away from a job? Rapid footsteps distracted him and he craned his head around in time to see Bo hustling towards the bunkhouse, his MILES TO GO
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slight shoulders drooping and his head tipped down. Max’s stomach burned with guilt that he tried to hide. He didn’t want Annabelle to know what a heartless ass he was.
“No, not yet,” Max mumbled as he pulled his gaze away from Bo’s slender form. He pivoted on his heels, his legs feeling strangely boneless. “I’ll finish them now.” Maybe shovelling more shit would keep him from thinking of the things he wanted to do to Bo.
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Chapter Seven
“Bo sure took off in a hurry for an injured man.”
Max grunted as he lifted the shovel full of nasty mess. It’d figure Annabelle would show up right after he’d had his brain melted. The best Max could hope for was that he hadn’t lost the cells that controlled his power to speak—or not.
“Guess he’ll be leaving soon since he’s getting around so well.”
Well, god damn it, how’d he manage to miss the fucking wheelbarrow? And why was
Annabelle still chattering on, forcing him to think about things he didn’t want to? Max glared at her from the corner of his eye as he started trying to scrape the mess up and toss it where it belonged. Annabelle wore that smirk, the one that told Max she knew something he didn’t and thought it was hilarious. He gave up on glaring at her and concentrated on what he was doing, sort of. In truth, he was just trying to wait her out. She had to leave sometime.
“Smells a little funky in here.” Annabelle made an exaggerated sniffing sound, her teasing voice stoking Max’s irritation. It wouldn’t do him any good to let her know that.
“Well, seeing as how I’m shovelling shit out of this here stall, I imagine it does smell
‘funky’.” Surely she couldn’t smell anything else. The barn smelt like a manure-filled oven, thanks to the barn heater. Max sniffed cautiously—quietly—and didn’t detect anything other than the usual.
Annabelle hummed and stepped in front of him, her expression fa
r from teasing.
“What’d you do to Bo?”
“Shit!” Shit, shovel, hay, it all hit the ground. “Annabelle, you need to let this be. I didn’t do anything to that man.” Adding on ‘except lose my mind when he gave me my first blowjob, then I fucked his pretty mouth like some animal, rutting and shoving my dick down his throat’ wasn’t really an option.
Once he’d come, Max had been well past appalled with his behaviour. Bo had done
something for him no one else ever had. Max had repaid Bo by violently thrusting into his warm, wet mouth over and over, battering away with no thought to whether or not he was hurting Bo. Added to that damning realisation was Max’s pa’s voice, dredged up from childhood beatings—not always his own—during which his old man screamed
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condemnation and threatened God’s retribution for finding pleasure in the flesh. Max didn’t believe the same hateful shit his parents had preached, but he still couldn’t shake that voice or the judgmental words.
Annabelle stooped to pick up the shovel then began cleaning up the second mess.
“Whether you know it or not, you did something, because Bo looked… Well, besides looking like he’d come in his jeans, he looked pretty damn unhappy.”
As much as Max wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment, there were five words that seared into his brain: he’d come in his jeans. Max ignored the heat, from the heater and from the blood he knew had rushed to his cheeks. If Bo had come in his jeans, then that meant, what? That he’d actually enjoyed Max’s brutal behaviour? Surely that wasn’t the case.
Maybe he’d… Max couldn’t think of another scenario that would have left Bo with a wet spot right where it would have been in such a case.
Love in Xxchange: Miles to Go Page 8
