Journey to Lobster Cove

by Carol Lynne

  Without a word, Joseph stepped back before pushing Cullen’s torso toward the small table just inside the door.

  Cullen licked his lips as he spread his legs. He shoved his ass out as far as he could and waited. After a long day of packing and getting the shelter ready for their trip, he knew Joseph wouldn’t bother with niceties. Sure enough, it only took a moment before he felt Joseph’s lubed finger circle his puckered opening twice before plunging inside. He knew they’d explore each other more after they’d both had a shower, but for now, Joseph’s rough treatment was what Cullen had been hoping for.

  “Lean over so I can feel your shirt slide against me,” Cullen ordered. It was hard for him to give up control, so they were both used to him topping from the bottom.

  Joseph fit his cockhead against Cullen’s hole before draping his body over Cullen’s back. “You sure this table will hold us?”

  “Nope.” Cullen hissed when Joseph’s length pressed inside. Damn he loved the burn. It hadn’t always been that way, but he’d learned quickly how different sex was with Joseph. Trust was new to him, but he’d decided it made all the difference.

  “You feel good.” Joseph withdrew before shoving back inside.

  Cullen gripped the edges of the table before readjusting himself until his cock was pressed between his stomach and the smooth, cool surface. He loved the friction against his dick each time Joseph thrust his hips.

  Cullen moaned. The brush of the soft flannel against his back was a stark contrast to the brutal fucking Joseph was doling out. He rested his forehead against the tabletop and inhaled the lemon polish Joseph preferred. He wondered what his cum would do to the spotless surface because he was about to blow.

  Joseph kissed Cullen’s shoulder. “Sorry, but this is killing my back.” He lifted off Cullen without breaking rhythm.

  The new position drove Joseph’s cock even deeper, prompting a long drawn out groan from Cullen. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

  Joseph grunted and gripped Cullen’s hips with his large hands. “Yeah.”

  Cullen swiveled his hips as the first strand of cum shot between his stomach and the table. The thick fluid felt warm against his skin as his body began to slip and slide against the wood surface.

  “Cullen!” Joseph’s body jerked as he buried himself to the hilt.

  Cullen grunted when Joseph collapsed on top of him without warning. “Now my back’ll be killing me.”

  Joseph took the hint and stood the moment he regained his breath. “Couch,” he grumbled. He pulled his jeans up before grabbing Cullen’s hand. “I’d say bed, but I need a few more minutes before I can make it that far.”

  Cullen dropped onto the sofa and curled himself around Joseph. He smoothed his hand down the front of Joseph’s shirt. “Lumberjack-sex rocks.”

  Joseph chuckled. “What is it with you and lumberjacks anyway?”

  Cullen had known Joseph would eventually get around to asking the question. “It’s stupid.”

  “Maybe so, but I’d still like to know.” Joseph pulled a throw blanket over and readjusted Cullen to sit on it.

  Cullen grinned. Even after a fantastic orgasm, Joseph was thinking about preserving the furniture. “When I was a kid, my mom used to shut me in the pantry if I misbehaved. It wasn’t really like a time out or anything because I had to stay in there until my dad got home to deal with me.” He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to get lost in that side of his life again. “Anyway, Mom had this weird thing for paper towels. I swear it was a compulsion or something because there were times when we barely had food in the house, but the pantry was always well stocked with roles of Brawny. They sat on the floor under the shelves all lined up neatly. Mom didn’t let me turn on the light because she said it was best I had nothing to distract me as I said my prayers. Lucky for me, the pantry door didn’t go all the way to the floor, so the light from the kitchen shined a beam onto the roles of Brawny.”

  Cullen shrugged. He wondered what Joseph thought of him as he finished his story. “Instead of praying, I’d sit in the dark and stare at those damn lumberjacks. I came up with all kinds of stories to pass the time. The prominent theme was that one of those hunky Brawny men would rescue me from the hell I was living at the time.”

  Cullen stopped and kissed Joseph’s chest, patting the flannel. “I told you it was stupid.”

  “Not stupid at all.” Joseph rubbed his cheek against the top of Cullen’s head. “When I was a kid, I had a crush on Tarzan. My dad used to watch those old black and white Tarzan shows on the weekends.” He chuckled. “I didn’t really know what being gay was at the time, but I used to lay on the floor, hoping that I’d get a peek of what was under that loin cloth.”

  “Does this mean I need to buy a small piece of leather?” Cullen asked.

  “Not at all. From now until the day I die, you’re the only fantasy I’ll ever need.”

  Cullen snuggled closer. “Good answer, but I’m still gonna want you to wear that flannel shirt from time to time.”

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  Buck Wild: Cowboy Pride

  Carol Lynne

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Terrance Walker, better known as Dub, glanced up from his breakfast plate as his younger brother, Trent, shuffled into the kitchen. “You look like hell.”

  Trent grinned and gathered the front of his hair into a ponytail. “Long night, but it was worth it. You should try it once in a while.”

  Dub sopped up the egg yolk with the corner of his toast. Trent was a whore who’d bed anything with two legs, be it man or woman. It wasn’t the fucking that bothered Dub, but Trent’s drinking was becoming a problem. “You need to lay off the booze.”

  “Why? I’m up and ready for work, aren’t I?” Trent shot back.

  “Your usual?” Gracie, their sixty-two-year-old housekeeper, asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart.” Trent flashed Gracie the smile that had gotten him out of trouble his entire life. Few people around Buckhead County had been able to resist that damn smile over the years.

  Gracie set a large cup of strong black coffee in front of Trent along with a small plate of buttered toast. She went back to the counter and started fixing her famous hangover cure, a staple in the Walker house.

  Trent sipped at his coffee. “Damn, that’s good.”

  Gracie cleared her throat.

  “Sorry.” Trent winked at Dub. “Mrs Jefferson gave me a basket of apples last night. I thought maybe you could make Dub one of those crisps he likes so much.”

  Dub inwardly groaned. Sandy Jefferson was the wife of their nearest neighbor and one of Trent’s favorite fuck buddies when her husband was out of town. Dub had told his brother on more than one occasion he was playing with fire. Brian Jefferson was twice the size of Trent, which was saying something. All the Walker men were tall with well-muscled upper bodies. “I take it Brian went to that cattle auction after all.”

  Trent polished off his toast and reached for the brownish-red liquid Gracie passed to him in a large glass. “Yeah, but only overnight. He’ll be back sometime this morning.” He tipped the glass and drained the entire thing in one long gulp.

  Dub watched his brother for another moment before getting to his feet. After years of trying to push morals on Trent, Dub had eventually given up. Although they both had their father’s build, they had unfortunately received their mother’s looks and in Trent’s case, her values, which wasn’t saying much for either of them. It was Trent’s light brown eyes combined with his Mexican coloring that lured lovers in.

  That said, Dub needed Trent to concentrate on the ranch. “We’ve got those new students in this morning, don’t forget.”

  “I won’t.” Trent smacked his lips. “Perfect as always, Miss Gracie.”

  Gracie took Trent’s empty glass. “You’d best behave or Mr Jefferson will ask me to slip some arsenic in it next time.”

  “What Brian doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besi
des, Sandy’s way too much woman for a man like Brian to handle. I’m doing him a favor.” Trent stood and kissed Gracie on the cheek. “See ya at lunch. I’ll put those apples on the porch.” He grabbed his baseball hat off the peg beside the door. “Later, bro.”

  Dub carried his plate to the sink. “Fine breakfast.” He kissed Gracie on the cheek, something he’d done every morning for over twenty years.

  “He’ll grow up someday,” she said, nodding toward the closing door.

  “He’s twenty-four. At what point is that miracle going to happen?” Dub lifted his battered brown Stetson from the table and settled it low on his forehead. He knew Gracie had always babied Trent, just as his father had, but enough was enough. In the beginning, even Dub had blamed Trent’s bad behavior on their mother, Marcella, walking out on them when Trent was barely seven, but that was a long time ago. The decisions Trent made were reckless, and Dub had no doubt the lifestyle would catch up to him eventually.

  “No matter what kind of trouble he finds at night, Trent always puts in a full day’s work.”

  Dub glanced at Gracie. Some things, he reckoned, would never change. “I won’t be in for lunch.”

  “I figured as much,” Gracie replied, knowing Dub always ate with the new students on the first day of roughstock training.

  Dub left the house and headed toward the indoor arena. He had tried to make the ranch his father had left him solvent, but times had been hard. When his best friend from the rodeo circuit, two-time world champion Hank Strong, had suggested they open a training school for people who wanted to compete in roughstock rodeo events, Dub had seen a way of holding onto the farm while still being a part of something he’d loved. Bareback riding, saddle bronc riding and bull riding were, in Dub’s opinion, the hardest events in any rodeo. Most of the riders they trained went on to compete in the gay rodeos scattered around the country, but a few went on to ride in the professional circuits.

  They’d been lucky enough to talk David ‘Easy’ Laurel into coming onboard to do most of the teaching. Easy had gotten his name from his easygoing temperament, so he seemed like the perfect choice to mold the men into rodeo champions. Dub stepped into the arena and stood in the back while Hank lined out the program for the new students. It was easy to tell by their size which men were there for bull riding and which preferred the broncs. Bull riders tended to be short and lean while the bronc riders were usually taller, some up to six-one or two.

  “As you’ve already agreed, you’ll put in at least forty hours work on the ranch in exchange for your room and board. Meals are served in the cookhouse. Familiarize yourself with the hours because Tim won’t put up with latecomers. You’ll train at night as a group, and we’ll put up a schedule of individualized training during the day.” Hank held up a clipboard. “It’s up to you to check this every morning. Miss two training sessions and you’re out, no excuses. This’ll be updated and hung on that nail over there by the door every morning by five.”

  “Some pretty good-looking candidates,” Easy said, sidling up next to Dub.

  Dub glanced at his friend. Easy looked more like a surfer than a rodeo rider, but Easy’s shaggy blond hair seemed to work for the guy. More than half the students who came through the Rocking W fell in love with him. Thankfully, for Dub, Easy never got attached. He was used to his friend’s particular tastes and could pick out which one Easy would go for next.

  Dub scanned the gathering of five men. “What the hell’s Hutch doing back here?”

  William Hutchinson had gone through training nearly three years earlier. At the age of twenty-six, Hutch should know if he hadn’t made his mark on the circuit by then, it wasn’t likely to happen. Dub almost felt bad for taking the man’s money. Hutch was a good kid, but Dub didn’t feel he had the heart for competition.

  “He called and begged to come back. Said he needed a refresher course. We had an open spot, so I agreed.” Easy stuck his hands in his back pockets.

  Dub bumped Easy with his shoulder. “More than likely, you’re what he wants a refresher on.”

  “That was a long time ago.” Easy chuckled. “Although I wouldn’t mind teaching him a few new tricks that I’ve picked up since he left.”

  “Hard to believe an old dog like you could learn anything new,” Dub joked, feeling better than he had earlier.

  “I’m only thirty-five. You’re the one knocking on forty’s door.”

  “I’m only a year older than you,” Dub argued.

  Easy adjusted his cock in his jeans. “That little one there on the left looks pretty sweet, too.”

  Dub spotted the one Easy referred to almost immediately. The problem with bull riders was that they averaged around five-foot-eight and usually weighed less than one-hundred and fifty pounds. For men who were attracted to the smaller body frames, it was hard to be around the riders without wanting them. The one Easy pointed out was maybe five-seven with short black hair and a closely cropped black beard.

  “He’s young,” Dub noted.

  Easy sighed. “Aren’t they all?”

  True. Dub had sampled more than his share of students, but he tried to keep his dick in his jeans on the ranch, preferring to sow his wild oats elsewhere. An image of a tall, sexy bronc rider came to mind, and Dub quickly pushed away the thought. No good would ever come of dreaming about Justice Bryan. “Yeah,” he agreed.

  “See anything you like?” Easy asked.

  Dub had never had a problem with Hank or Easy fucking the students or them fucking each other. The adrenaline produced while riding a bronc or a bull needed an outlet, and unless he wanted fights breaking out all over the ranch, it was better to allow the men to release their aggression in other ways. “Not this time. Just be careful,” he warned.

  “Always am, and you know me, it never gets them special treatment.” Easy licked his lips. “At least in the arena.”

  Rolling his eyes, Dub decided to leave Hank and Easy to the new students while he checked on Shane, one of the full-time ranch hands and the man who most occupied his thoughts and dreams. “See ya at lunch.”

  “Sure thing,” Easy replied without taking his attention off the assembled group of men.

  Dub left the arena and headed to the barn. The closer he got to Shane, the harder his dick became. Shane was a dream, the fantasy of every man who stepped foot on the ranch. He was also the biggest slut next to Trent. Just thinking about Shane made him groan in frustration. More than just his looks, it was Shane’s good heart and fun disposition that people were drawn to, and if Dub thought it was possible, he’d have staked his claim on the younger man years ago.

  Shaking off the impossible dream, he neared the barn. If he were lucky, Shane had already saddled Gravy for him, but he doubted it. Defying Gravity, or Gravy, as Dub called him, was a bay gelding that stood nearly seventeen hands tall and Shane barely topped five-foot-six-inches in height. Although Shane had saddled Gravy before, Dub knew it hadn’t been an easy job for him. Stepping into the barn, he was brought up short. Shane was bent over with his cute little ass in the air.

  Dub nearly groaned as he tried to keep his cock in check. “Morning,” he greeted.

  Shane glanced up from the hoof he’d been cleaning. “Morning, boss.” He released Blackjack’s leg and stood. “You want me to saddle Gravy?”

  “Nah, I’ll take care of it.” Dub leaned against his horse’s stall. There were only a handful of workhorses that were lucky enough to get a stall, and Gravy was one of them. “What’s on your plate today?”

  “Bobby Baynard’s coming by. He’s looking to sell his saddle. I told him I might be interested in a new one,” Shane replied. “After that, I promised Colt I’d fix the well pump out in the east pasture.”

  Dub hated the thought of Bobby stepping foot on the Rocking W. There were only a handful of people that Dub didn’t like, and Bobby was at the top of the list. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed a new saddle? We could’ve worked something out.”

  Before Shane could answer, a
spider the size of a quarter landed on the bill of his ball cap. Shane swatted at the spider, knocking it and his hat off at the same time. He ran his fingers through his soft brown curls as he shook his head. “I fucking hate spiders.”

  Chuckling, Dub reached down and retrieved the hat. He pounded it against his thigh several times to knock off the dust before moving closer to resettle it on Shane’s head. “Spider free.”

  Shane smiled up at Dub. “Thanks.”

  Dub stared at Shane’s plump lips. Fuck, the man was gorgeous. He took a deep breath. How many years could he go on being tempted by the man in front of him? Shane was Trent’s best friend, and, if Dub wasn’t mistaken, his brother’s occasional fuck-buddy. That was two strikes against them from the get-go. The fact that Shane lifted his ass for anyone who looked interested was another.

  Shane continued to meet Dub’s gaze. He moved closer, putting his body into direct contact with Dub’s. “Is there anything else?”

  Dub wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist and hauled the kid even closer to capture Shane’s mouth in a deep kiss.

  Shane opened immediately and moaned as Dub continued to thrust his tongue in and out of Shane’s mouth. It was one of the hottest kisses Dub had ever experienced. He lifted Shane off his feet before slamming the kid against the stall. Sweet Jesus. It wasn’t until he felt Shane’s hand on his belt that Dub snapped back to reality and lowered Shane to the floor. He took a step back and ran a hand over his face. What the hell had he been thinking? Without a word, he strode to the tack room.