Two Good Men [Hell's Delight: Unbridled 3] (Siren Pubishing Everlasting Classic ManLove)

by Karen Mercury

  “Now, why would we—” I started, but King shushed me.

  “Now, now, Dodge. Where would we be without Levi? We’d be relying on Captain Marick, that cockbite who’s dumber than a senator. He hasn’t even agreed those two died by cyanide.”

  “Well, he does,” said Levi, “but he thinks they swallowed it on purpose. That would have a completely different effect on their tissues. He doesn’t want to admit murder is involved.”

  “See?” said King. “He’s a great pathologist or forensic scientist or whatever you call it. I say we head on over to the Calaveras and spew some poison up a vent.”

  I nodded. “Kill some rats.”

  King cringed. “Levi, you think this was intentional murder? Doil Payne acted like he’d just been doing his job and didn’t know anyone was up in that room.”

  “Acted like it, yes,” I said. “What if his boss forced him to say that? Mike Seville was the acting mayor, after all. The guy he replaced had all sorts of reasons to resent him.”

  “Or,” said Levi, “the guy who has now moved up to acting mayor.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  Everyone shrugged. King said, “Alex Coldiron would know. He’s the reporter we ran into.”

  So, feeling renewed with a couple new suspects in mind, we took off for the Calaveras Hotel. Steinbeck insisted on driving his Hummer, so King and I piled into his truck, predictably a 1960s era Chevy pickup. A “classic,” as most would call it.

  But as we drove through the winding, balmy foothill road, I saw that King wasn’t going to refer to what had happened at the stables. Not once but twice he’d taken me aside, maybe not hidden as well as we’d thought, and forced me to perform sexual acts. Well, you know what I mean. He didn’t “force” me per se. I was more than willing to be guided by his forceful commands.

  What in the name of a drunken pikeman? Just his electric touch, that hard and fast spanking, had been enough to send me to the edge of orgasm. When he’d gathered those drops of semen that had spurted from my slit and used it to grease up my asshole, well. Dominant, powerful, assertive men were my bag. And King was striking me, making the skin on my ass flame with shame and arousal. When he fondled my ball sac I just about went through the roof, like a cat on a stove. In my mind, I begged him to touch my dick. I couldn’t beg aloud. He’d be way more liable to not give me what I begged for.

  I imagined he read my mind, because within two, three strokes of my erection, I shot my messy wad all over the fucking place.

  I knew it was unusual for an Alpha like him to allow this to happen. I knew it was a one-off. There was joy in giving another man an orgasm, and I wanted to do it again for King. Now.

  King pushed the END button on the conversation he’d been having with Alex Coldiron. “Richmond Herman is the one who’d stand to gain a new position by this. He moved into acting mayor just like Seville was before him.”

  I said, “What’re the odds there are this many murderous mayors in this town?”

  King shrugged. “Doesn’t even have to be Richmond Herman. Could be a guy who wants him in office.”

  That was true. Were we barking up the wrong tree? Was this a losing venture? For the first time since meeting Kingsize Taylor, I felt bereft. I felt we’d never get to the bottom of this. We had two dead bodies and that was about it.

  To my delighted surprise, King picked right up on that. He put a hand on my thigh. “Listen, Dodge-ball. You’ve already known the joy in creating an orgasm for a man.”

  “Yours, yes. That’s it.” As far as King knew, I had not eagerly sucked on that halfback. And the running back. And whoever else was slapping their dick impatiently against my face. As far as he knew, I’d been forced.

  “Right. Mine.” I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “You take pride in your skills. You give me what makes me come hard. I give you a place to worship—my crotch.” Now his hand moved to his own crotch, bulging, filling his hand. Eagerly, I turned toward him on the bench seat, wanting to know what he was driving at. Boldly, I cupped his hand in mine and squeezed.

  “I do worship your crotch, King,” I said sincerely. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than suck on your member.”

  With an abrupt jerk of the steering wheel, King pulled off the road. Only, not too far off. It was just one of those turnouts where people could look at the still-snowy Sierras, a place for watching the “submarine races.” There was no one there now, luckily. King appeared to have some plans.

  “Get your pants down to your knees.” I quickly obliged. “Now, get on your hands and knees looking out that window.” I complied.

  He fumbled with some contraption. “Part of you worshiping me is allowing me to worship you. There’s more to being an Alpha than just expecting shit. I live a perfect life because then it makes you proud to serve me. I work my ass off to become a real Alpha. I inspire before I require.”

  Ah. There it was. Just as I’d seen on that guy in the Bottoms Up, King was fitting me with a cock cage. My dick was stiff as a board just because I was naked in public, gooseflesh pebbling my areolas, my bare ass in my lover’s face.

  Just as I’d hoped, he pressed his lips to my ass as he arranged the cock cage around my erection. “To be Alpha,” he murmured, and licked my hole, “is way more than being arrogant. It means leadership, wisdom, teaching boundaries. An Alpha needs self-discipline as well as the discipline of his beta.”

  He barely touched my prick as he encased it, and it was leaping for release. But I knew the drill. I was here to service him. I jumped a foot when he slipped his tongue inside my hole. I’d never dreamed of being rimmed like this. Of course those football guys would have vomited before showing me respect such as this. King made his tongue a hard finger and fucked me with it. The cage was complete so my dick could only twitch and bob in its confines.

  Just as abruptly, he pulled away. Grabbed a handful of my hair and turned me around so I faced him, not the window. Perfect timing as another car of people seeking Lover’s Lane pulled ridiculously closed to us. I call that the “herd instinct,” when there’s a perfectly fine spot farther away, but without thinking, like a mindless sheep, people pull in right next to you.

  Fine. My long prick in its cage would give them a nice show. My wet little asshole, slick with King’s saliva. If they wanted to look, let them. It even gave me a thrill.

  “Being an Alpha is disciplining you,” said King as he reclined on the seat and urged my face to his crotch. He’d already let out his big dick, and it throbbed against his hip, fat, veined, the channel alongside the rimmed underside pulsating with anticipation.

  “I live to be disciplined,” I asserted, and mouthed the throbbing underside.

  “Ah.” I could tell he’d already tossed his head back against the seat, his throat open and relaxed as I tongued eagerly. “I’ve got to set a strong example.”

  “Mm,” I hummed against his dick. Like a beached whale, I opened and closed my jaw against the slick piece of meat, occasionally flicking my tongue into his slit.

  “Mm,” he observed. “That guy and chick are really into your ass, your cock and balls swinging in that cage.”

  Obligingly, I waggled my bare ass, spread my knees as far apart as they’d go. Muffled words of shock and perhaps delight came from behind at least two panes of glass. Lifting King’s hefty cock, I popped one ball, then the other, into my mouth. I really wanted to rim his puckered hole, to do for him what he’d done for me, to show my respect. But there was no room in the crowded car for me to really tongue-fuck him well.

  So I took my frustration out on that well-hung dick, readying my throat for assault by meat. I squeezed it maybe a bit too hard at the base, urged on by the muffled cries of our audience. When I glanced up at King’s face, he struggled to remain composed. But he watched the couple in the other car, his eyes never wavering, unashamed.

  Ah. What a piece of meat.

  Yes, King was dark. He was evil. He didn’t let go of his tight grip on
my hair, practically yanking my scalp up and out. His other hand joined mine at the base and squeezed so hard I imagined he must’ve been hurting himself. He told me later he often snapped on a much-too-tight cock ring as a form of self-torture, bringing himself to crisis that way.

  I let my lower teeth drag against his glans as I sucked. I had to close my eyes or I’d get dizzy. I wished I could talk to him as I blew him. I wished I could tell him I was his for life. Here, at last, was the Alpha I’d been secretly looking for, deep down. I wanted a virile, chiseled bastard, and it didn’t get much more virile than a bareback bronc rider. I wanted to swallow the seed of a potent motherfucker, a man who’d keep me in line, yet know when to give a little slack.

  I didn’t want those guys like we’d seen at the Bottoms Up, guys wearing collars being led around by a leash, their balls swinging for anyone to see. King was protective of me, to a certain extent. I doubt he’d let people at the Bottoms Up watch him spank my bare bottom, my naked dick, unless I begged him to.

  I must’ve gotten more and more enthusiastic thinking of the Bottoms Up audience watching me be beaten helplessly in my most intimate spots. I felt a spurt of precum against the roof of my mouth. When King let go of my hair and did spank my bare bottom, I squirted, too. And the couple in the car oohed and aahed. Was she sucking him, too, while he watched us, drooling?

  King exploded in my mouth. He pressed his shaking hips against me, fucking my mouth, not letting me grab a breath as I gulped.

  Man, did I gulp. King whacked my ass and even jiggled my poor cock, straining against the confines of the cage.

  “Oh—oh—oh—” I gasped as I pulled away, mouth full of jizz I hadn’t even swallowed yet. Gulp. “Do I have to wear this—”

  “Under your jeans? Yeah. It lets you remember you’re mine, because I’ve got the fucking key.”

  “Fucking key?” I cried in a high voice, sitting back against the bench seat and looking down. Now I could see the guy in the other car, his eyes closed in ecstasy, face pressed against the glass. The woman was somewhere down there, out of sight.

  She was the source of his pleasure, as I was the source of King’s. I knew I’d have to deal with the cage. “No problem.” I smiled at King.

  “Good,” he said, gruffly, shoving his cock back into his pants. “Now let’s find Levi. Hope he hasn’t done anything asinine at the Calaveras.” He started up the truck again.

  “So I’m yours?” I asked casually.

  King grinned at me. I didn’t expect a cowboy to be one for words, and he wasn’t. “You’re mine,” he confirmed, and drove ahead, merging with the road.

  I pushed my luck. “But by the same token, you’re mine then?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose. Don’t think I’ve ever belonged to any guy.”

  “Then I’m special.”

  “Don’t try me.”

  But he was grinning.

  Chapter Ten

  King

  After Levi yelled at us for being fifteen minutes late—we explained we got a sudden craving for corn chips—I elected Dodge to go to room 411 and let the rats loose.

  Yes, I was a squeamish galoot when it came to rats. Seen too many of them scampering around stables, running like dry water over your boot and sometimes up your leg. No, thanks. While Levi fiddled with his Tyvek suit, making sure it was airtight before putting on his mask, we took a little journey up a few floors, Dodge holding the cage of about ten rats. I realized giving him this chore gave him a leg up in our intricate power play, but we weren’t playing. This was business. And I didn’t like rats. I didn’t even like hearing them squeaking in the cage.

  “You ever given a fake leg to a rat?” I asked as we stomped upstairs.

  “No, I don’t think I would,” said Dodge. “A waste. Hamsters, goldfish, not my style. I take my job seriously and I need to spend my time on more important animals.”

  “Like horses.”

  “Yeah. I made a leg for an elephant at a zoo once. A tortoise once. And dogs. I really like dogs.”

  “But you don’t have one.”

  “We were talking about getting one before the divorce. Wondering if Ryan was mature enough to clean up the dog shit, you know. They get so excited and swear they’re going to do all the work, then you get stuck with it.”

  “But if you’re gonna be doing orthotics full-time from home, you’ll have more time around the house than Ryan, who’ll be at school.”

  Dodge paused, as though he’d never thought of that. Finally he said, “Well, that is the goal. When I was a kid, I dreamed of being an artist. Sculpting, mostly. I even lived in my parent’s basement for a while until I realized that dream was full of holes. What are you gonna do when you stop rodeoing?”

  “Yeah, I’m getting too old for it. Most guys can only go bareback a couple years and I’ve been doing it seven. Maybe I’ll help you with orthotics.”

  Dodge just chuckled. I didn’t know what that meant.

  “I’m serious as sepsis! I’ve always had a hankering for surgery-type stuff, like I’m a frustrated doctor or something. I could come with you on a few visits, help you measure.”

  “I don’t have enough clients yet to pay you.”

  “I don’t care! I’m just a student, just learning. I could do it in my spare time.”

  Dodge made a lip fart. “Like you have any spare time? I don’t even know how you help me with these murders.”

  I made a lip fart, too. “Because, Dodge. Murders.”

  He laughed genuinely then, looking at me over his shoulder as we reached the fourth floor. Being with the guy just made me feel alive. He was manly, not a shade of the twunk or even jock or otter. Dodge was indefinable. Maybe because he was such a cock virgin, but it was hard to pigeonhole him. Cute as a possum with his melting chocolate eyes, his juicy lips were made for kissing. His personality was easygoing enough that I could actually picture living with the guy. Whenever I started thinking this way, the kid, Ryan, came up. I needed to seriously think about that kid, maybe get to know him better. I would invite him to my rodeo, but a gay rodeo was pushing it for a kid who’d just lost his mother. It might take years for Dodge to tell his kid he was dating another man. I really needed to put the brakes on this one.

  “Go, go, go!” I practically squealed as I shoved Dodge into the room and pulled the door shut behind him. I danced around like I had to pee, making sure to stay clear of the door.

  Sure was a nice fucking hotel. I remembered when the Surging Monkey Preps would play here, and a bunch of us exhausted, rowdy cowboys would pound beers and manly whiskeys and two-step with buckle bunnies. Back then, before the owners of Hardscrabble Ranch came out as gay, some of us has to pretend to enjoy girls, sometimes even taking it beyond a dance or two, and—

  “Okay, it went pretty well. All the windows are locked, and the rats all ran in different directions. There’s no way for them to get out.”

  Damnation! One of them just leaped over Dodge’s boot!

  I pointed silently at his boot. Dodge knitted his brows mildly, carrying the empty cage. Then I pointed to the hallway the thing had just run down.

  “Dodge!” I finally managed to squeak. “That—that—rat just ran into that communal toilet!”

  I started making tracks in the opposite direction, but Dodge grabbed my sleeve. “God damn it, King. You’re a fucking cowboy. You rope cows. You castrate bulls. You’re gonna hold this fucking cage until we get that rat in there!”

  Gulping hard, I took the damned cage. Dodge flipped on the light switch just as his walkie-talkie crackled. Yup, we were playing with little walkie-talkies to make sure everything was going smoothly.

  Levi said, “Hey, if you guys don’t stop making out, I’m going to get very Italian on you. And I don’t think you want to know what that means.”

  “I wish we were making out!” I squealed. “A rat got loose!”

  “Oh,” said Levi tightly. “Wouldn’t do for opening day to have a rat crawl over the new mayor’s shoe. W
hoever the new mayor might be.”

  “Hold the cage, hold the cage!” bellowed Dodge. “With the door open!” he added.

  Eventually, we got that mofo into the cage. Don’t ask me how. Dodge ran around with one of those toilet brushes, and I used the cage as a shield between me and that evil critter. And yes, it was rearing up on its hind legs and baring its sharp teeth at me.

  Holy motherfuck, as Dodge would say. Once we nabbed it, I shoved the cage into Dodge’s abdomen, and we both leaned against the bathroom wall, exhausted.

  “See?” I panted. “We work well as a team.”

  Dodge’s liquid smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  Then the walkie-talkie clipped to Dodge’s belt crackled. “Are they all in the room? ’Cause I want to shove this rod up this slot.”

  Dodge released the last rat, then told Levi to go ahead. We started slowly slogging downstairs.

  “Did you always want to be a cowboy?”

  “Uh-huh. It was pretty much the only avenue open to me there in Goodnight. My dad was raring to put me to good use.”

  “But did you ever have any other career yearnings of your own?”

  I had to chuckle to myself. “Yeah. Don’t ever fucking tell anyone this. I wanted to be an actor.”

  But Dodge burst out laughing anyway. “An actor?”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I? People kept telling me I looked like that Sons of Anarchy guy, the son of the asshole.”

  “The main guy.”

  “Right. The main blond guy. So I worked out to get jacked like him, acted in high school plays, but after I graduated I had to work night and day on the ranch.”

  “Yeah, acting is like any other creative career. Pretty much doomed for all but the select few. You’d be in off-off-Broadway plays your entire life, eating Top Ramen. That’s how it was with my sculpting. I had a few shows, but so what? Eventually I found a way to work sculpting into something people would actually pay for.”

  “Orthotics. Hey, who’s that asshole downstairs?”

  For there was an asshat yelling at Levi, his mean, nasal voice coming directly from the basement steps. My first question was whether Levi had succeeded in getting the cyanide gas up the vent before the dipstick had shown up.