by Sierra Dafoe
What would you do, he asked himself suddenly, if Alan simply refused to let you go?
That thought did shock him. And it wouldn’t happen, anyway. He understood the choice Alan was making—hell, it was the same one he himself would have made, had their situations been reversed. What surprised him was the realization that part of him—a deep, silent part he’d never acknowledged—wanted Alan to do exactly that.
Moaning, Kyle sucked harder, his jaw stretched wide around Alan’s huge shaft. He curled his other hand around Alan’s sac, marveling at its tightness. He loved Alan’s balls, the weight of them, the crisp black hairs that furred them lightly. They were so distended with come they overflowed his palm, and he rubbed them, feeling Alan’s hips jerk even faster, bruising his lips, searing his throat. Alan’s fingers tightened in his hair, and he thought wildly, Yes, Alan! Take me. Fuck my mouth. Claim me, use me, I don’t care—just don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go.
But what of Cassie? What if she really had come back for him? His own erection was a steely ache against his belly, his balls pulsing with a heavy, leaden lust, and his mind whirled, remembering her softness beneath him, the way she’d clung to him, crying…
With a hoarse, agonized groan, he plunged his head forward again, feeling Alan stiffen in that tight moment of ecstasy just before climax. Then Alan’s fingers clenched into fists, and his cock jabbed deep into Kyle’s mouth, hammering between his lips. Alan groaned, and Kyle felt a white-hot burst of triumph as Alan slammed his hips forward, his cock jerking and spitting.
Wave after wave of hot, salty liquid flooded Kyle’s mouth, and he swallowed ravenously, his lips and tongue working Alan’s shaft until at last Alan slumped against him, spent and panting.
After a long moment, Alan slid himself from Kyle’s mouth, and Kyle heard the soft clink of Alan’s belt buckle as he fastened his pants. Then he felt Alan’s work-hardened palm cup his cheek briefly.
“Make her happy, Ky,” Alan murmured. He moved away, leaving Kyle kneeling there. For a moment, Kyle saw him outlined in the doorway, a hard, dark shape against the dark night outside.
Then he was gone.
Chapter Four
For Cassie, walking back into the house that Kyle Watson shared with Alan Caine had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done in her life.
But I’m not going to run this time, damn it. Straightening her shoulders, she made herself stare around slowly, letting the reality of it sink in.
It was a handsome old farmhouse. The entry was lined with pegs, from which hung an assortment of coats. Cassie touched them as she walked past, their soft mingled scents of leather and sweat both soothing and painful.
This was where they lived now. Without her.
She stopped at the entrance of the living room and peered in. The large leather couch was worn, the arms scuffed—she could see Kyle in her mind’s eye, his feet kicked up over one arm as he sprawled before the television.
And where would Alan be? She made herself go in, wander the room. Here, she decided, resting her hand on the back of a comfortable armchair. She glanced at the shelves of books behind it—books with the edges curled, scraps of paper stuck here and there as page markers. Alan had always practically devoured his books, consuming them with the same restless curiosity which had made the slow, plodding pace of public school classes such a misery for him.
Yes, he’d sit here, the floor lamp behind the chair casting a soft amber glow. She glanced down at the table beside the chair, and saw a book left open, its pages spread carelessly as if set down only moments before. The glasses surprised her, though—when had Alan started wearing reading glasses?
She flicked on the lamp, then off again, and stepped back, forcing herself to see them both in here together, Kyle watching TV with his feet propped up, Alan sitting here, turning pages slowly, maybe with the sound of the winter wind gusting outside. A small, quiet, peaceful scene.
And it didn’t include her.
Turning away, she went into the kitchen. It was surprisingly modern, with stainless steel appliances and a wide marble counter so clean it shone. Kyle, she thought, smiling. She could still remember the way he’d buffed and vacuumed his first truck religiously, shit pile that it was. Oh, Alan wasn’t a slob, exactly, but there’d always been a clutter of things in his glove box—tools, mismatched work gloves, worn-out batteries—and a layer of dust and coffee rings on the dash.
She opened a drawer at random, glanced down at the forks and spoons in their separate slots, surprised at how painless it was to imagine Alan rattling through them, setting the table while Kyle stirred a pot of something—stew, maybe—at the stove, passing words back and forth, about the horses or the weather or the work to be done. Little things. Little, easy, everyday things.
Good. That was good. They should be happy. She wanted them to be happy.
Even so, she paused at the bottom of the steps, staring up as she’d done earlier. Then, taking a deep breath, Cassie gripped the rail in one hand and started up.
The first door at the top was closed. She made herself open it, and let out a relieved sigh, realizing only then that she’d been holding her breath. Inside was a single bed, its covers turned down neatly. But there was nothing on the walls, no pictures, no knick-knacks on the shelf over the bed. Guest room, she thought, and closed the door.
Did they even have guests? she wondered as she padded down the hallway. This wasn’t Chicago, where she’d occasionally seen two men holding hands in public. It definitely wasn’t San Francisco, where you might even see them kissing on the streets. But she’d heard nothing strange in Bea’s voice when she’d talked to Kyle, no judgment, no questions. They were careful, then. That was good. And it wasn’t exactly an unheard-of thing for men to live alone together—not out here, where running a ranch was still a grueling fifteen-hour-a-day profession. Folks might wonder, but that was all—unless they had some reason to do more than wonder.
But if the good folks of Preacher’s Bend had ever seen this room, Cassie thought as she opened the next door, they wouldn’t have to wonder. They’d know.
The closet stood open, and even from the doorway Cassie could see that the tangle of boots on the floor were of two different sizes. She recognized the battered black Laredos Alan had worn in high school, resoling them again and again as the leather had worn thin. A newer pair, their sides decorated with fancy stitching, stood stiffly at attention, the tops stuffed with cardboard inserts to hold their shape. Next to them were a scuffed pair of work boots, a size and a half larger, their frayed laces trailing on the floor like snakes.
She walked in slowly, her gaze fixed on the wide king-sized bed that dominated the room. The sheets were rumpled, the pillows still dented. She could picture them so easily, lying in it together, their arms looped loosely around each other as they slept. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pressed her face into one of the pillows, inhaling the faint, musky scent of their bodies.
She could handle this. She could. She wasn’t some naive twenty-one-year old anymore, some frightened virgin shocked at the idea of two men together—in fact, her virginity was something she’d rid herself of almost as quickly as she’d fled Preacher’s Bend.
And if she could go back, could she really change anything? Even knowing as she now did that Kyle had wanted her, could she have chosen between them?
Closing her eyes, Cassie saw Alan vault from the black mustang and stride toward her, his chest heaving, his whole body taut with a tension that had made her cunt throb in reaction. No amount of self-control could have quenched that instantaneous response.
For the first time, Cassie realized that if Alan Caine had ever so much as stretched out his hand for her, she would have gone to him as unthinkingly as a bird flying south.
And that would have broken Kyle’s heart—which would have broken her heart even worse than seeing the two of them together. Really, it was so much better that he never had. So much better that things had ended the way they had.
She stood briskly, automatically smoothing the pillows. For a moment she let herself wonder what it would feel like to crawl into that massive bed, to curl up in the space between where they slept, let herself imagine them there beside her…
No more of that, she told herself sternly. Straightening, she walked out of the room without a single look back and went into the bathroom. She stood by the window, unbuttoning her blouse, congratulating herself on how well she was managing all this, how mature her responses were.
And about time, too.
She shucked her rumpled jeans then looked out the window, admiring the sunset as she unsnapped her bra. The sky, faded to a soft, dusky purple, was streaked here and there by bands of crimson. Far in the distance the mountains, their tips still touched with the last fading rays of daylight, reared against the horizon.
Then a flicker of movement caught her eye, and she glanced down at the stable, seeing Kyle and Alan framed perfectly in the open door. Their long bodies were pressed together, their hands moving over each other avidly. Their mouths were locked together in a kiss so hard, so demanding, it made her nipples ache just watching. A sharp, jagged pain splintered through her chest, and her eyes suddenly swam with tears.
Oh God. Oh God, just don’t look!
But she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Alan slid his mouth downward, licking and nibbling at the smooth, exposed skin of Kyle’s neck, and Kyle dropped his head back, his face flushed with arousal, his hips working against Alan’s. Cassie moaned, a welter of memories pounding through her: the feel of Kyle’s strong, hard body over her, in her; the sight of his mouth, closed around Alan’s cock; the way Alan had gasped as he dug his hands in Kyle’s hair…
Stop it! Stop watching!
She couldn’t.
Then Kyle looked up, scanning the front of the house, and Cassie ducked behind the edge of the window. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath came in short, gasping sobs—but she had to know, she had to. Gritting her teeth, she peered out the window—and saw Kyle take Alan’s hand and lead him back into the stable.
Cassie’s knees gave way beneath her, and she slumped to the cold tile floor, shaking, unable to control the sobs that ripped from her throat.
Oh yeah, Cassie. You’re handling this. You’re handling it just fine.
This was wrong, damn it. It was all completely wrong.
Kyle sat on the floor of the stable, surrounded by small, peaceful noises—the clop of a horse hoof, the swish of a tail. But inside him a silent battle was raging.
He could remember believing with all the innocence of childhood that it was truly that simple, once. Cassie would choose Alan, or she would choose him, and the other (brokenhearted, of course) would nobly cede the field without a murmur. He could even remember his boyhood fantasies in which he was the loser, watching lone and self-sufficient as Alan and Cassie walked off together hand in hand while he, silently virtuous, turned his pale horse and rode off into the sunset, with an ache in his heart, maybe, but with the knowledge that he’d done the right thing. He’d be the lone cowboy, eternally riding his range, thinking from time to time around the campfire of the girl he’d left behind.
They weren’t as good as the fantasies in which he’d been the one to win her, but they were still good dreams…and wasn’t that exactly what Alan had just done? Walked off into the darkness to give him his chance at a life with Cassie?
Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted?
Kyle squeezed his throbbing temples, trying to reason it through. He couldn’t. His head pounded. His groin still ached with unrelieved pressure. And all he could see was Alan walking out of the stable, his back stiff with an agony Kyle knew he would never, ever let show.
It wasn’t fair, damn it! He wanted Cassie, Kyle admitted to himself—wanted her as badly as he had all the days of his life. But the thought of Alan, grim and silent, standing cold and alone in the Idaho night…
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. Shaking his head, Kyle pushed himself to his feet.
Just then, outside, he heard the muted slam of the truck door closing and the roar of the engine as Alan turned it over.
Oh, shit.
“Alan!” Yanking his belt closed, Kyle ran for the door.
A grudging sliver of moon hung like a sickle high in the east, casting more shadows than it dispelled. Headlights swung across the darkened dooryard, illuminating the faded rust-colored sides of the stables. The corral fences stood out sharply for a moment like skeletons, then disappeared again.
“Alan!” Kyle shouted again, sprinting across the dirt, waving his arms, angling toward the truck as it pulled away from the house and started down the drive toward him. “Alan, wait!”
It was going too fast. He wouldn’t be able to catch it. He could see Alan behind the wheel, his cold gaze fixed straight ahead. Did Alan not see him? Or did he not want to see him?
Kyle didn’t know—and he didn’t care, either. Putting on a burst of speed, he dashed in front of the truck, hearing the squeal of brakes, followed by Alan’s furious cursing. He clung to the door handle as Alan unrolled the window, already yelling at him.
“What the fuck, Ky? You almost got yourself killed!”
Alan’s face was as pale as the moonlight, and filled with fury. Kyle ignored it. Something had occurred to him as he ran, something that had blazed across his mind like a comet, bright and searing. “Okay,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. “Okay, so maybe she did take that ring off for me. Maybe so. But Alan…” Kyle stared up at him, panting. “Alan, who did she put it back on for?”
“I don’t know what in hell you’re talking about—”
“Don’t you? If she didn’t want me to know, why did she want to make sure you saw it?”
A startled light came into Alan’s eyes, and Kyle nodded slowly. He was still amazed it had been he who’d seen it first, not Alan.
Maybe because he didn’t want to, he thought suddenly. Which made sense. Alan had always been like that—very guarded, very self-contained. It was his way, somehow—the same way he’d never cried after Cassie had left. The same way he’d never talk about his dreams, his desires…
Remembering his boyhood fantasies, Kyle had to admit that Alan made a much more convincing lone ranger. It was a role, he realized in a flash of insight, Alan had been practicing for all his life. Softly he asked, “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
Alan’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he slammed the gearshift into park. “Go ahead.” His gaze searched the darkness ahead, his face stony. And if I ever needed proof how stubborn Alan Caine can be, Kyle thought wryly, looking at that hard, chiseled profile, here it is.
“Because you scare her, Alan. You scare the bejesus out of her.”
The startled look came back into Alan’s eyes. Only this time it was different. This time there was a hunger beneath it, a hunger Kyle recognized as clearly as if he were looking into a mirror. And there was something else there, too.
Something that looked to Kyle an awful lot like hope.
It was amazing, the change it made in Alan’s stern face. Suddenly, for the first time in years, the grimness was gone, and you could see what an incredibly handsome man Alan Caine really was. The thin moonlight fell across the planes and angles of his face, making him look…
Like a knight, Kyle thought, staring at him. He swallowed, feeling his cock pulse, his half-faded erection springing back to life. Like one of those knights carved out of marble. Oh, Cassie, if you could see him right now…
If she saw Alan now, with that look on his face, Kyle had a sneaking suspicion he’d be forgotten altogether. At least for a while. And that was all right—he could live with that. He could live with it because he knew, no matter what burned between those two—and it was both brighter and more complex than what lay between Cassie and himself, he admitted—there would always be room in their hearts for him.
“Sure, she loves me,” Kyle murmured. “I always knew tha
t. We were always easy around each other. But you—you’re a hard man to love, Al.” Alan snorted at that, and Kyle grinned. “Don’t even waste your breath denying it. But I’ll tell you this. I don’t think it was me who broke her heart that night at Big Blue’s.”
Kyle saw his words hit home. Alan swallowed twice, then looked down at his hands, still clenched on the steering wheel.
“Come on, partner. We’ve wasted enough time already.” Kyle opened the truck door. Alan glanced at him, startled. He uncurled his fingers and slid his long, angular frame from behind the wheel. He stood looking up at the house, and the naked longing in his gaze was a wonder to see. Grinning, Kyle turned away, taking two jaunty strides toward the house before Alan grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
“Wait? Christ, we’ve waited three years already!”
“Yes, and I’m not waiting another three,” Alan muttered absently, staring at the house. “Where’s the lights?”
“What?”
“Why aren’t any of the lights on?”
They stared at each other, and Kyle was reminded forcibly of that day at the creek, the way they’d crouched in the water, their groins on fire, their gazes dark with shared understanding. He swallowed, thinking of how they’d stood in the doorway of the stable, kissing—just as stupidly, as carelessly, as they’d necked in the pool hall parking lot the night they’d driven Cassie away.
“No. No, she’s in there. She wouldn’t have…wouldn’t have…”
Alan’s eyes were like two black pits, deep and haunted. Then they were running, both of them, pounding up the porch steps and into the dark house.
“Cass? Cassie!”
Cursing himself, Alan sprinted up the staircase, taking the steps three at a time. Christ, Al! Just what in hell were you thinking?
He hadn’t been—that was the problem. He’d seen the flush on Cassie’s cheeks, the guilty way Kyle’s gaze had slid away…and he’d known. Known as clearly as if he’d watched it all happen.
