First Rodeo (The Cowboy and the Dom Book 1)

by Jodi Payne

  “For us. Yes, Sir.” He saw that he’d said the right thing in the way Sam’s expression softened, in the way the remaining stiffness in Sam’s shoulders eased. “That’s more than fair. More than.”

  He inhaled deeply, smiling a little at the perfect blend of leather, sweat, and Sam in the air. When he let it out, he tried to shake off the feeling that he’d failed and reclaim a little of the triumph he’d been feeling earlier. It wasn’t quite the same, but it was there.

  “Would you like me to answer your question?”

  “I care about you, a lot, so yes. Yes, Sir.”

  “All right. Well, to be honest it’s slightly less intense than it was when you asked, but the answer is the same. Electric. Powerful. Confident. Strong. Capable. Something they call a top’s high. And so intensely proud of you. So proud it was a little hard to breathe. That last thing hasn’t changed one bit.”

  “Oh…I’m so glad. It would suck so hard if you weren’t in it too. You made my mouth dry.”

  “Oh no, I was in it. I was absolutely in it. What would be the point otherwise?” He hooked a finger under Sam’s chin. “Tell me what exactly made you use your safe word. What that moment was.”

  Sam closed his eyes. “It was like a spring getting tighter and tighter, and when it let go, I needed to move or scream or something.”

  “Which you rightly understood to be adrenaline. Probably because I was pushing you. And you liked the flogger?”

  Now Sam opened his eyes, blushing almost purple. “I did.”

  He cupped his boy’s cheek, just to feel that lovely heat. “Excellent. I thought so, and I did too. I’ll keep that one in our toy box.” He winked at Sam. “Can you remember, and you might not, the difference between that intense moment and the second time I put my hands on you? Do you recall that feeling?”

  “You mean the time with the weird feather or the second time you held me?”

  So the feather had made an impression as well. He filed that away for the future. “Just today, sweetheart. After the second round with the flogger when my fingers were too hot for your skin. Do you remember your state of mind? How that felt?”

  “Oh! Yes, Sir. That was…” Sam’s lips pursed as he thought. “Nice is wrong. Warm. Like floating. Does that make sense?”

  He nodded, more for himself than for the boy. “Yes. Perfect sense, boy, and that’s exactly what I was hoping you would say. That feeling, that space is really the goal. That space is where you should find you feel the safest, the most cared for. There’s a place and reason for a whole range of things of course, but that space is important. Eventually we’ll find a way to get you there and keep you there for…as long as I like. As long as you need.”

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Yes. We’re…” He laughed and shook his head. “We’re actually speaking freely now, I promise.”

  “Cool.” Sam grinned at him. “You got the best laugh, I swear to God. So when you asked me if that was enough, should I have said yes? I mean, if that’s the point, to be floating?”

  “That is an excellent question, boy. Very honestly, there was no right answer to my question. I was asking to see what you’d do. I’m getting to know you. I’m learning your needs. I knew what headspace you were in—it was beautiful. I was looking for boundaries. ‘I don’t know’ was…an interesting answer.”

  Interesting, because he’d thought perhaps the boy would want something more intense.

  “But true, huh? I didn’t know.” Sam was right there, communicating, and it was heady. “So next time…since you know now and I do too, if you ask, I just make the decision and that’s cool.”

  “Absolutely. And I will likely ask a more specific question, like, do you need more, or do you want more? And eventually you’ll have two safe words as well. One for a pause and one for full stop. We have a lot to explore, my boy.”

  “I can think of worse things than to have to explore together.”

  “Hm. Yes. A wise man reminded me that the excitement is in that journey. I’m looking forward to it. But for now we need to discuss completing our scene. Once I know you’re steady and back in a good frame of mind, that day’s work is done. So would you prefer, as some subs do, to have a few minutes alone to get dressed and prepare for the chaos that is that bar on most nights, or would you prefer I stay and wait for you? For today, I mean. It can change each time or we can have a routine, whatever you prefer. It’s your time now.”

  “I have one day that I get to be with you. I can be alone anytime.”

  “Isn’t that funny? I feel exactly the same way.” He looped an arm around his boy and kissed him just because he could. Of course, the boy might not want to get dressed. That sweater was going to rub in all the wrong ways.

  24

  God, Sam could get used to watching Thomas sleep. All the worries just dropped away, leaving Thomas quiet, at peace.

  Lord have mercy, he was smitten.

  Today had exhausted him. One thing about Thomas’s world was the swings from high to low. The highs were amazing, the lows were devastating, and the middles were the only places to breathe.

  He’d never thought that he would…hell, he would do a lot for Thomas. Damn near anything. But he’d never reckoned he would like it. How was that reasonable? Did that say nasty things about him? Did that mean he was screwed up?

  He’d read James’s journal, and James wrote all about what he and Thomas had done like it was a means to an end. Sam was way more fascinated by the getting there, by the climbing to the top of the hill. Once you got up, you had to crash.

  He’d learned a lot about that.

  He’d been so buzzed, then so hurt that he wanted to punch Thomas in the nose. Hard. Jesus. So mad.

  Thank God he hadn’t, because Thomas was trying to figure this whole thing out, just like he was. Maybe more, because he hadn’t done it before. Hell, it was like adding a new person to a Spades game. Everyone knew how game play went—not because it had to, but because that was the routine. Play your aces first, bid an extra point for a missing suit. All that. Now Sam was playing, and he didn’t know the house habits.

  He was figuring it—maybe not the house habits, but Thomas’s.

  The other thing he’d figured was not to let on when he was turned-on. Christ.

  He’d put on that sweater and it made him shiver. From that point on, Thomas was trying to kill him. By the time they’d come back to the apartment, he’d been rock-hard and ready to…well, do what he did. Jump Thomas’s bones.

  Not that Thomas seemed to mind one little bit. No, sir.

  His stomach grumbled at him, and he wondered if Thomas kept anything in his kitchen. He hadn’t ever seen the man cook.

  Surely Thomas wouldn’t complain if he discovered a snack. He was empty as a worm.

  He slipped from the bed and went hunting.

  The office was clean, neat, sleek and shit. Sam approved. The door to the guest room was half-opened, and he peeked in.

  Oh.

  Oh, dear. That was not a guest room.

  There were way less leather, penis-shaped things, and cuffs in a guest room. Usually bedskirts and shit you didn’t want to throw away but you didn’t want to put out where people could see it, sure. Paddles? No.

  Okay.

  Okay, whoa.

  Springing wood while standing naked in your lover’s dark hallway was right up there on his weird-shit-o-meter.

  Snacks.

  He needed a snack.

  Maybe he’d get himself a peanut butter sandwich and come back and eat it on that swing. Looked like fun.

  “Hungry?” Thomas’s voice was so deep and quiet, he thought maybe he was making it up. Except that would mean he was also making up the warm hands on his ass.

  “Starving.” He pressed back into the touch, leaning good and hard, his body and soul craving Thomas.

  Thomas wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him away from the…room, then quietly closed the door. “Sorry about that. Peanut b
utter and jelly?”

  “Sure, thanks. The door was open. I wouldn’t have opened it.” He wasn’t an asshole. Curious, sure, but not an asshole.

  Thomas led him down the hall. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant I’m sorry you walked into all of that. I hope it didn’t freak you out. I usually keep the door locked, but that’s where I keep my floggers.”

  Freaked out? Totally. Hell, the immediate hard-on was way more concerning than the room. The immediate hard-on that had been totally reinforced by Thomas’s hands. He chuckled at his own goofiness. “No. Not freaked. I’m sorry if I woke you. My schedule is topsy-turvy.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on sleeping much on Sunday nights. I just got cold.” Thomas put a jar of peanut butter on the counter, nuzzled his neck, and grinned at him. “But I’m getting warmer. You look downright hot.”

  God, this was the most wonderful thing on earth—the touches, the casual nakedness, the ease. It was delicious, erotic, and he was a little stupid with joy. “I feel like a million bucks.”

  “Mhm. Yes, you do. Strawberry or grape, stud?”

  “Grape, please.” He pulled out the bread and started hunting a butter knife. Thomas put the jelly on the counter; then those cold hands landed on his back, surprising a moan out of him.

  “You’re like a cat.” Thomas slid those cool fingers up to his shoulders and dug them into the muscles there. “You love to be touched, don’t you? I mean, most people do, but you…” Thomas’s thumbs slid up the tendons at the back of his neck and into his hairline.

  “I…” His eyes crossed, and he licked his lips, trying to remind his hands how to move.

  Thomas chuckled and whispered in his ear, “You’re hungry. You wanted a snack.”

  “Right. Hungry. You keep distracting me.” He was loving it.

  “I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t get between a man and his peanut butter.” Thomas pulled out a spoon and scooped out a spoonful. “You need any help?”

  “You want a sandwich?” He spread peanut butter on one slice of bread, watching Thomas lick the spoon clean.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” Thomas wiggled sandy eyebrows at him, then stuck the spoon into the jar and scooped out another spoonful. “Did you grow up on PB and J? Or did you have some other go-to afterschool snack?”

  “Lots of peanut butter, pimento cheese. Oh. Tortilla roll-ups. We used to fight over those.” He made his sandwich and had it mostly eaten before he put the jelly back in the fridge.

  “You know how I know you grew up with brothers? You just ate that sandwich in four bites.” Thomas tossed the spoon into the sink and crowded him into the closing fridge door. “I remember doing that. You had to move fast in my house if you wanted to eat. Did you actually chew?”

  “Possibly.” He arched as his still-warm back hit the cold fridge. God, that made him dizzy.

  “Ooh. You like that, like that cold wall at the club today? You should have seen your eyes pop.” Thomas raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh, Sam.” Thomas shifted him and pulled open the freezer. “You give me wonderful, evil ideas.”

  “What are you up to?” He stepped in closer, rubbing into Thomas’s side, humming as he snuggled his cock against Thomas’s thigh.

  “Ice.” Thomas closed the freezer. “Whoo. Cold.” Thomas tossed an ice cube from one hand to the other and back, then reached out, grinning, and rolled one of Sam’s nipples between frozen fingers.

  “Oh, fuck.” His breath caught in his chest, pecs jumping, his nipple going rock hard. He flailed a half second, hand landing on Thomas’s arm.

  “Yeah? Good? Hang on, lover.” Thomas followed that with a warm tongue, and the ice cube itself, drawing a slow circle. The melting ice dripped on his belly, the droplet freezing, making his belly go tight as fuck.

  He tried to breathe, but all his body wanted to do was feel and arch and rub.

  “Mmm.” The ice moved to the other side of his chest, and again, Thomas went after his frozen skin with a hot mouth.

  Goose bumps popped up all over his body. Jesus. The ice cube slid down his side, along his back, and around toward his nipple. He heard himself crying out, the sound seeming to come from a distance.

  He kept trying to reel it in, but when Thomas would bite or slide that bit of ice or lick, he would be lost.

  “Fuck, Sam. You’re…I could watch you like this forever and still want more.” Thomas’s hand went flat, the ice cube caught between it and his abs, and slowly, slowly slid lower, until those fingers curled around the base of his cock, the heat melting what was left.

  His hips moved like they had a mind of their own, humping into Thomas’s fingers. Thomas stayed with him, moving with him, denying him the friction he needed.

  “Thomas…”

  “What, Sam?” Thomas teased. “What do you need? You’re looking good to me just like this. You’re fucking beautiful.”

  “You’re driving me crazy.” In the best way. God, he was having fun.

  “Good.” Suddenly he was off his feet, and Thomas sat him bare-assed on the cold marble kitchen counter. Fingers that had finally warmed up again slid over his knees and up his thighs. He spread at Thomas’s touch, the motion instinctual, his breath coming in hard little pants.

  “Look at you. You just want, don’t you?” Thomas started licking and biting, moving up the soft skin inside his thigh. “Mmm.” Thomas pushed one thigh wider and dove in, but that mouth didn’t touch his cock, didn’t touch his balls. No, Thomas latched on hard to the inside of his leg, way up close to where it met his ass, biting and sucking up a bruise.

  Sam stared down, the combination of the sight of Thomas’s head right there between his thighs and the sting and tug that he couldn’t see fixin’ to drive him mad.

  Thomas finally let go and licked at the spot before pulling back to get a look. “I love that spot. I’m the only one to ever see it. Except maybe your tattoo artist. Maybe.” He leaned up, grinning. “It was my turn to leave a mark.”

  He reached down and touched the spot, finding it hot and slick. He pressed down, loving that sweet tingle, the tiny ache.

  “Like that? Looks hot.” Thomas pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him deep, feeding him an insistent tongue as fingers fisted around him and started to stroke.

  They had a rhythm—Thomas’s tongue, Thomas’s hand, Thomas’s need meeting his head on and devouring him.

  His whole world narrowed to this. Thomas’s breathing through the kiss, his own, that firm hand moving, doing everything right. He was flying, like this could go on forever, when Thomas pulled away with a gasp and a grunt.

  “Fuck. Fuck, I need…”

  Thomas used both his hands to drag him closer, right to the edge of the counter where Thomas lined up their cocks, squeezed them together and got back to business, nodding through a long moan.

  He reached down, adding his hand to Thomas’s, adding his strength. He worked the tip of Thomas’s cock with his thumb on every upstroke.

  “Yes. Fuck, yes.” Thomas looked up at him, eyes on his and also not, a little hazy, unfocused. “Give it up for me, babe. Come on.”

  Sam moaned, caught Thomas’s lips in another kiss, his balls drawing up tight as he shot, his seed coating Thomas’s cock, their hands. It wasn’t half a minute later that Thomas exploded, groaning into his mouth, hips jerking against Sam’s wrist.

  Their kiss grew savage for a minute as they tried to kiss through panting, ragged breaths and jolting aftershocks. They clashed tongues and teeth and bit at lips and chins until they were breathing deep enough to find each other’s eyes again.

  Sam blinked, so caught in that gaze that he never thought he’d climb out again.

  Thomas swallowed hard and stared back at him. “That was…you’re…I don’t even want to think about how lost I would be if you hadn’t gotten in my face on the sidewalk.”

  “Yes.” He rubbed noses with his lover. “Sunday is the best day ever.”

  “Sundays are
everything. I want more, though. I want to be respectful of your job, of you. I know you have a plan, I’m supportive, but it’s…Sundays aren’t enough.”

  He nodded. He understood. He wanted…more. He wanted a life that wasn’t at the bar. “I need to get out from under the apartment. I can’t afford it, you know?”

  Sam wasn’t asking for money, but he was going to need help—advice, for sure, some way to figure out how to do this. Hell, help cleaning up.

  “Well, you could—uh.” Thomas searched his face, took a breath, and looked away, reached for a couple of paper towels and ran them under the faucet for a second. “Little sticky.” Sam got a wink but an uncertain smile.

  He hopped down, feet slapping on the floor. “Yeah, life’s that way. Little sticky. I’m going to need your help in figuring some of this out. Maybe a lot of it. There’s a lot of moving parts.” Heh. Moving parts. He was funny.

  “I didn’t realize the rent on that place was so steep. James must have had a better salary than I thought.”

  “He had to have had another job. Had to.” There was no way. James hadn’t been living like a pauper. High on the hog? No, but not church-mouse poor like him. Sam had seen the bank statements.

  Thomas looked at him, brow furrowed. “I don’t know when he’d—well, I suppose it’s possible but…huh.”

  “Hey, what do I know? He might have been super investment guy.” Could have been a sugar daddy, drug running, took in his neighbors’ laundry and spent hours washing it in the tub. Sam didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. James sure as shit hadn’t wanted him to know. He bet Bowie knew. Eh, like Bowie would have had the slightest interest.

  “You should…ditch the apartment and move in here.” Thomas looked at him, watched him.