If Wishes Were Horses

by Jm Cartwright

  “I still can’t believe you paid three hundred for those.” Brandon put one knee on the bed and stroked his hard-on slowly, loving it as Angel’s eyes followed the movements of his hand. “But I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Even though you’ve gone country”—he paused to circle the head of his dick and pressed his thumb against his slit for a second—“ahh—you’ve done it your way.”

  Snorting softly, Angel tossed the covers down to the foot of the bed. “Yes, I have, haven’t I?” He motioned with his fingers. “And let’s keep it that way. How about you come over here and lie down again?”

  All too willing to go with the flow and table the discussion, Brandon hopped back into bed and quickly lay down. He bent a knee to show off and at the same time coyly covered his package with one hand.

  “Oh no you don’t.” Angel dropped over Brandon, then grabbed both wrists and planted them beside Brandon’s head. He used one knee to nudge a wider opening between Brandon’s legs.

  Feeling a thrill deep in his belly at the show of dominance, Brandon breathed deeply. Angel didn’t take control all that often, but when he did, it was usually hot. “You trying to make a statement here, sugar?”

  Lips pursed, Angel studied Brandon’s face. “You think I need to?” With that, he ground his hips into Brandon’s.

  Gasping at the slide of skin on his dick, Brandon nodded, then shook his head. “Yes. No. Um.” He closed his eyes as Angel continued to circle against him.

  Angel leaned close. “Now you’re going to hide?”

  Brandon popped his eyelids back open. Determined to get back on equal footing, he spread his legs and brought his knees up to squeeze Angel’s strong hips, then wrapped them around the long thighs. He held his lover tight, grinding upward and using his heels to spread Angel open. Jerking one hand free, Brandon slid two fingers down Angel’s crease, and he arched his brow as he slowly rubbed over the tight little opening there. “Nope.”

  Angel hissed a soft curse. He let go of Brandon’s other hand, then pushed upright on his palms. He forced Brandon’s thighs upward and out with his knees.

  That tilted Brandon’s ass up. He gulped. A thrill shot through him. They didn’t do it this way a lot, and Brandon still felt just the teensiest bit vulnerable with his ass in the air.

  “What’s the matter, amado?”

  He swore Angel was hiding a smirk, though the man’s expression didn’t give anything away. He tried to roll Angel, but the little shit was too quick for him. Angel grabbed his wrists once again and slammed him back to the mattress. He was held fast.

  “Fuck.”

  “I was planning that very thing.” Angel let loose one of Brandon’s arms long enough to reach for lube. They kept a supply stashed in each of the nightstands, so it wasn’t a far stretch for him to grab a bottle. He popped the top one-handed, then, with a definitely smirky eyebrow raise, leaned back far enough to drizzle the slick on Brandon’s balls.

  “Hey!”

  “Oops. Sorry.” Angel didn’t look sorry at all as he lowered the bottle to pour a tad more, this time over Brandon’s crease. He tossed the bottle back at the open drawer and sneaked one hand down in time to catch the lube as it crossed Brandon’s hole.

  Brandon opened his mouth to complain again, then grunted when Angel pressed a finger inside his hole. “More.” He felt that digit go deep. “Gimme one more.”

  “Whatever you say, B.” Angel obligingly added another finger. After three years, he knew the hot spots and how to hit them. He scissored and circled his digits.

  Brandon’s hips moved to get more sensation, and he sighed when Angel pressed his gland. “God, sugar, love that.” He ran his own hand down his chest and plucked at his nipples.

  “Dios, you look so hot when you do that.” Angel released Brandon’s wrist and sat back on his heels, knees spread wide. He placed three fingers at Brandon’s hole and applied a tiny pressure with the tips. “Pull them.” When Brandon obliged, using both hands, Angel scooted closer. “C’mon. Pull harder.”

  Almost ashamed to hear the whimper that left his lips, Brandon did as he was told.

  Angel rewarded him by shoving all three fingers inside, and Brandon moaned hoarsely. He felt precum leak from his slit, and he squeezed his nipples again on reflex.

  “Now stroke yourself. Pull your dick.” Angel matched the command by circling his own cock, then stroking roughly.

  When Brandon complied, Angel felt his breathing speed up; there was a hitch in his movements. He slowed his fingers inside Brandon’s ass.

  “Don’t-don’t stop. Need it.”

  “Sí, amado.” With an evil glint in his eyes, Angel reapplied himself to making Brandon need. He shoved his fingers deep and pressed on Brandon’s gland. “I know you do.”

  Loath though he was to stop playing with his nips, Brandon needed pressure on his dick. He licked up the length of his left hand and started jerking himself off. He even spread his knees wider, shamelessly begging. “Maybe you do at that.” He began panting, gripping a little tighter. With his free hand, he grabbed at his tits again. “And you know what else I like. Don’t you, cariño?” Brandon knew saying the Spanish word for “darling” was guaranteed to get Angel moving. For some reason, that word was magic.

  Sure enough, Angel dropped forward over Brandon, covering him. Using the lean strength in his legs, he kept Brandon wide open.

  Brandon felt Angel’s lips on his ear at the same moment he felt pressure on his opening. “Cariño.” He whispered it again. Brandon moaned softly as the head of Angel’s dick pushed inward. “Please. Please.” He shouted in relief as Angel thrust all the way in, then had to duck to dodge the pillow Angel aimed at his head. “I know! I know!” The old house was hardly soundproof, and both of them were conscious of noises carrying between the first-floor bedroom and the kids’ rooms upstairs. “Turn on the iPod!”

  Brandon tried to suppress his moaning as Angel began moving faster and deeper. “God! You’re…all the way in-inside, sugar. Feels so, unh, so good.” He slid his hands flat against Angel’s back and rubbed. He loved the dichotomy of soft skin and strong, tough musculature. Brandon used his legs to pull his lover as close as he could, then pushed his ass into the impalement.

  Angel licked his way along Brandon’s neck, moving upward, ending with his teeth around Brandon’s earlobe. He bit down gently.

  “Uh.” Gasping, Brandon rolled his hips up with a slam. “You…you know…how that gets me,” he panted. He retaliated by sliding his fingers to Angel’s hole once more, this time pressing a fingertip in. “Gonna let me do you…while you, oh, while you do me?”

  Angel thrust forward again, once, twice. “May-maybe.” He jerked his head toward the drawer. “But you’re gonna need some of that.”

  Rolling his head toward the nightstand, Brandon stretched his arm out.

  The sound of feet thundering on the stairs next to the bedroom froze them both. As one, their heads turned toward the wall, looking at the plaster as if they could see through it.

  Not the kids. Not now. Brandon bit his lip. The Collins children had interrupted them on more than one memorable occasion, and they’d learned very early on to lock the bedroom door.

  Marisa’s high-pitched voice reached them from upstairs. “Dolly! Come on, hurry up!” Metal tags jingled. One of the shepherds let out a deep woof from the base of the steps, followed by more thuds on the stair.

  Brandon slotted a glance at Angel. He knew this routine inside and out. If they didn’t nip it in the bud, the kids would be up for another hour.

  “Go to bed!” They yelled it together, then shared a grin.

  “Aww!” Marisa’s whine was loud and clear, punctuated by another woof.

  Angel dropped down onto Brandon’s chest, rubbing a cheek along his shoulder. “Those kids. I swear.” He began moving his hips again.

  Now the angle was so good. “I know…right?” Brandon got the words out between gasps. Angel was driving, shafting him over and over. His balls snugged
up; his belly tightened. He needed pressure on his dick to come. “Need. Gotta.” He managed to sneak a hand between their hips and began jerking himself off.

  “Sí. Yes. Now.” Angel panted hot breath in his ear. “Mi amor.”

  The last two words were whispered, but still Brandon heard them. His understanding of Spanish had increased from nothing to fair since he’d lived with Angel, but even he didn’t have to be a linguist to translate that phrase. My love. He blinked for a long second, heat blossoming in his chest as he met Angel’s fixed stare. “Sí. Yes.” He froze, groaning low, then came, semen spurting over his hand. Wetness spread between them as his ass clamped around Angel’s dick.

  Angel propped himself on his hands again, then sped up. Now he was really hammering Brandon. “God! So tight! You’re like a fist around me.” He grunted as he started to orgasm, punching deep.

  Brandon loved watching Angel come. While the frequent sulky pout usually got him going, Angel absorbed in pleasure was a site to behold. The dusky skin flushed, the dark-brown eyes mesmerized; when Angel’s white teeth caught that plump bottom lip, Brandon was a goner. It made him happy somewhere inside to see Angel in such a natural state, no artifice, no moods, nothing but the man and the moment.

  Brandon sighed in pleasure as Angel slid out, then grimaced at the wetness in his ass. He’d have to get out of bed to clean up, but right then, he wanted to bask. He felt this way only with Angel, and the last three years had taught him to savor the afterglow.

  Angel punched his pillow and flopped down, busying himself pulling up the blanket and down comforter.

  Brandon turned his head, smiling slightly at the look of complete satisfaction on his lover’s face. God, the man is just beautiful. “Feeling better, sugar?” Brandon certainly was.

  “Uh-huh.” Angel snuggled under the covers until only the top half of his face was visible.

  “It’s not that cold in here.” Their thermostat was programmed to lower the temperature after ten, but Brandon didn’t think it was that late yet. “Wanna come closer, snuggle? I’ll warm you up.” He rolled to face Angel. “Ugh.” He was a little…squishy. He reversed his position to check if they’d left anything on the nightstand. “Sweet.” The nice, neat pile of hand towels was within reach.

  Brandon tidied himself, then pitched the terrycloth to the basket they kept in the corner. He settled back under the down with a deep exhalation. He’d been so caught up in the excitement and craziness of the SPX offer for the last month, and he was just realizing that he hadn’t relaxed, really just let it all go, probably since he’d first gotten the call from CeCe.

  “Feels good right now. You know?” Brandon folded his arms beneath his head, looking up at the old-fashioned white glass ceiling fixture. “I’ve been worrying about the whole TV show thing, wondering how to bring it up, what you’d say… Hell, what I’d say, for that matter.” His lips twisted. “Sure would be a big change. Not that I’m saying I’d want to do it. I don’t know that I would. I’m not sure that I would, matter of fact. But just to be asked? Well, that feels pretty damned good.” He turned his head on the pillow. “Don’t you think…”

  Angel was snoring softly.

  Great. Just great. I finally tell him what I’m thinking, and the doofus is asleep.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Six

  Fridays at the winery were hectic, even in the off-season. There was still plenty of work to be done in the fields, watching the temperatures, safeguarding the vines, and gearing up for spring. Everywhere else, the Ridgecrest team was working full tilt, gearing up for Valentine’s Day and the special Tour of the Caves they were hosting. It was one of Angel’s brain waves designed to boost online interest and sales and bring visitors to the vineyard. He’d been advertising all over the West Coast, hoping to bring weekenders to the Rogue River wine region. To his delight, he’d been able to get the other wineries in the area to join in the idea—even Riley Rogue, where his mother worked.

  That was still a bit of a sore spot. More than two years since Maria had taken a job there in the accounting department, and he still liked to rumble about the fact that she was working for the competition.

  Mothers.

  “Hey, Angel.” Cliff Danielson, the co-owner of Ridgecrest, walked into Angel’s office. “I’ve been looking at these numbers.” He waved a sheaf of papers. “Damned if you weren’t right to push this whole tour thing.”

  “You mean the tour thing that you hated when I first suggested it?” Angel gave a slight smirk. He kicked back and crossed an ankle over one knee. Cliff and Angel had butted heads when they’d first met, and Angel still liked to needle his boss occasionally.

  “Yup.” Cliff nodded, dropping into one of Angel’s visitor chairs. They were so cushy and comfortable, and Angel had noticed that Cliff loved to spend time in them.

  The upholstered club chairs sat in front of the 1950s desk Angel had found in an old part of a warehouse that Ridgecrest used in Grants Pass. He’d immediately been captivated by the mid-century modern styling and the substantial look of the maple wood, and had been absolutely thrilled when he’d looked it up on Google and found it to be a classic from Charles Eames.

  Now Angel had to wonder if the fact that the desk appealed to him had more to do with how much he’d changed since coming to Oregon than it had to do with the fact that the desk was a designer original. When he’d lived in LA, he wouldn’t have been caught dead with anything older than he was.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  Cliff’s question brought Angel back to the present with a jerk. “Huh?”

  “You looked funny all of a sudden.”

  “And you mean that in the nicest way, right?” Angel snorted. “Nah. I was just thinking about how things have been different since I…I mean, since we came to Cave Junction.”

  Different. That was an understatement.

  Cliff nodded. “True enough. Who’d have thought the scrappy little fucker I met at the Dairy Queen a few years back would now be heading up this big ol’ marketing thingy we got going on?”

  Cliff could sound so much like a country bumpkin when he wanted to, but Angel had learned very quickly that the facade hid a steel-trap mind and wit.

  “I thought you were going to stop calling me that now that we’re going national. Sort of.” At least they were trying to go national.

  “Hah. You’ll always be that to me, son.” Cliff had a smirk of his own now, and the older man carried it off well. Despite the overalls he insisted on wearing to work virtually every day—Angel swore that the eccentric owner had seven sets hanging in his closet—and the “aw shucks” mannerisms he liked to spout, Clifford Danielson was a very smart cookie. The rumpled dark hair, the flannel shirts he unfailingly paired with the denim, the tan work boots, all combined to mislead the unwary into thinking Cliff was not too savvy. But a closer look at the piercing green eyes let the observant person know Cliff was a man to take seriously. “Besides. You haven’t changed that much. You’re still the tough little former gangster from East LA. Ain’tcha?”

  Rolling his eyes, Angel propped his feet on the desk, just to annoy Cliff. The boss might talk like a slowpoke, but he did not tolerate slackers. And feet on the desk equaled slacker. “You better stop spreading that rumor. You know damned well I was not in a gang.” It had been close a few times, though. “Anyway, you came in to congratulate me on the campaign, I take it?” No point in not blowing his own horn. It had taken Angel most of the first year in his job to get a true understanding of what was required, and he was finally feeling like he could make a real difference for Ridgecrest.

  Chuckling, Cliff stopped glaring at Angel’s shoes and nodded. “I have to say, son, the response so far has been better than I thought. Pretty impressive, actually.”

  Angel smiled in satisfaction. “I’m pretty impressed too. When you and Lizzie gave me the go-ahead, I have to admit I was nervous. But now? We’ve got almost sixty reservations for Valentine’s dinner in the caves, and we
’ve got more e-mails to return. I’m hoping we might top out at a hundred, which is unbelievable.” Angel and his assistant were working with an event planner from Portland to serve a four-course dinner in the atmospheric wine storage caves that were on the west side of the main part of the vineyard. The high-ceilinged caves, cut into the side of the hill, were being readied for tourists. The public was not normally allowed in there, but they were easily accessible from the regular winetasting area. “This business of having people get to see the inner workings of the winery might just start to make a difference in sales.” Angel lowered his feet to the floor and leaned his elbows on the desk. “I know I like it when I can see the back room of an operation. When I would have dinner in LA, I’d always want a table in the kitchen if I could, especially if it was a famous chef cooking. You can pick up some amazing tips and techniques by watching the experts, you know.”

  “I do know.” Cliff got to his feet. “This is what I saw in you that first day. You got a fire in your belly, kid, and you’re gonna keep going until you get what you want, how you want it.” He headed for the door, but stopped just short of it, then looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t care what the boys in the bottling room say, you got game.” Arching one brow, he shrugged and walked out whistling.

  “The boys in the bottling room?” Angel’s voice was faint as he tried to figure out what he could have done to run afoul of the nutty crew over in Building B. Scowling, he jumped to his feet. There was absolutely no way those idiots had any kind of problem with him. No way.

  Angel dashed into the hallway, then skidded to a stop at the sight of Cliff ten feet away, leaning against the corridor wall.

  “You crazy bastard.” Angel’s voice was almost admiring. Almost. “You nearly had me on that one.”

  Cliff burst out laughing. “Nearly? Hell, boy, I had you lock, stock, and barrel.” He slapped his thigh with the hand still holding the papers. “Hah. Lizzie owes me another twenty. She swore I couldn’t get you again.”