The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

“I want you,” Ned whispered, his body so warm it could have protected Cole from the icy air outside.

Cole hated himself for it, but the truth was that he wanted Ned too, and now that they fell into one another’s arms, the familiar touch fed his need until he found himself unable to say no. This wasn’t just a convenient moment between strangers, not mutual relief, nor pleasure shared with a friend. It had been years since their parting, but Ned’s body felt like a long-lost home.

Each move, each slide of hands against flesh was both familiar and new, as if the unhealthy addiction that made him forego reason seven years ago was back with a vengeance, and he welcomed it with open arms. How ironic was it that he expected Ned to never touch liquor again but couldn’t control a vice that might prove way more dangerous?

He rubbed his face against Ned’s cheek, then down his chest, leaving kisses that had Ned stirring toward him and moaning at the gentlest touch. It was like when he’d stopped playing the harmonica for a long time. He’d picked up the instrument on a whim a year later to find out he hadn’t lost any of his skill.

But as heat grew between them, Cole lost the ability to think about the past and future, thoroughly focused on the present. He wanted to gorge on Ned and drown in passion the way he did in his dreams but never allowed himself to when awake.

The formative night he’d shared with Ned at the saloon in Three Stones came back to life the moment Ned’s eyes met his. Shackled to the wall, he still was so very willing, and bloomed with a dark flush that ate up every freckle on his body. He might have matured and changed but was every bit as handsome as when Cole had taken him for the first time.

He was really there. Not an attractive stranger Cole might reimagine as his past lover in a moment of weakness that would leave him dissatisfied once pleasure was over.

Ned.

The real Ned. And no reason nor threat could pry Cole off him.

He rested his elbows on either side of Ned’s head to open the box of pomade, and once the lid dropped to the blanket, he dug his fingers in, scooping up the expensive grease. He’d have used it all if it got his dick inside Ned faster.

Cupping the warm, clean-shaven cheek with one hand, Cole moved the other to his cock, moaning when his fingers spread the cream over his overly sensitive flesh. Whatever was left would lubricate Ned’s hole, and when he dove the digits between Ned’s buttocks, they both trembled as if lightning had hit them at the same time.

The skin around the opening was so delicate that for a moment he feared his poker might hurt Ned, but lust prodded the back of his skull, and he let his fingers lick the wrinkled flesh and push in just a little.

The rough man who’d terrorized the area for years had the strength of an ox and dense hair on his chest, trembled in Cole’s arms. Still innocent, still secretly fragile. Cole rolled his tongue over the flushed cheek and pushed between Ned’s spread thighs as soon as they lifted to accommodate him with more ease.

Ned’s eyes shut when Cole dug one finger into the tight heat of his ass, but his prick remained hard and prodded Cole’s bared stomach, pulsing with anticipation. He’d be so easy to hurt. Like an animal showing its belly in surrender. If Cole wished to torment him, this would have been the perfect moment. He could have punched him where he was most vulnerable and watch him squirm. But Cole couldn’t bear using this moment against Ned. Not now. Not ever, regardless of the pain and resentment he harbored.

So he slid his fingers into the short red hair and rested his forehead against Ned’s, watching him from up close as the warm body accepted his digits, opening up first to one, then two fingers.

Their breaths were a hot cloud between open mouths, but as Ned leaned in, licking Cole’s lips, there was no fighting instinct. Cole kissed him again, and moments later, his prick pushed at the snug hole.

Cole’s toes curled when the smooth muscles squeezed around the head of his cock, but despite the whimper Ned uttered, he didn’t try to push him away and sucked on Cole’s tongue, as if he couldn’t get enough of its touch. He was breathtakingly beautiful with brows gathering into a frown and sweat glazing his flushed skin. Even as pleasure washed over Cole, he kept his eyes open, enchanted by the bright red hue of the long scar left by Zeb’s spur a long time ago.

Cole’s prick itched to be buried all the way in Ned, but he went slow, inching his way into the warm flesh, and the skin on his back tingled when his balls rested against Ned’s muscular ass at last. Relief was so close Cole could taste it, but then Ned’s eyes opened and captured him in a sea of green.