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

Ned was healthy, no longer attached to drink, and he’d gotten two glorious months with a man who wanted to touch him constantly. Their parting would not be an easy one, but didn’t it make a difference that he’d now have happy memories to replace years of bitterness and resentment?

Cole put down the camera as soon as he was done with it and stepped closer, grabbing Ned’s prick and pressing their foreheads together. “What shall I do with it?”

“Whatever you like,” Ned said and captured his lips for a kiss, arching against him like a cat in heat.

Cole grinned and grabbed the hair at the top of Ned’s head, pulling at it to expose the pale throat. It smelled of salt, and herbs, and Cole, and as he nipped and kissed the stubbly flesh, the cock in his hand twitched, prompting him to tug and push at an agonizingly slow pace.

He could have gotten Ned off faster, but his little moans, the way he wrapped his arms around Cole’s neck and shivered against Cole, were far too delicious to pass on. In moments like these, it felt as though he was still Cole’s Neddie—a bit naive, not eager to fight, and always up for a tumble on a blanket. Whenever they finished, they somehow always ended up holding one another for that bit too long, as if pleasure made forgetting the past easier, but Cole inevitably remembered that their stolen happiness was temporary.

He wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t need to make sure Ned was well enough to take care of himself. The poor bastard wore old buckskin and torn shirts, which were little more than rags, even though there was a whole collection of items stolen from travellers in one of the wardrobes. So Cole got to work and adjusted the clothes to Ned’s size. He’d been unable to make himself touch Lars’s things for the first month following his death, but what was the point of good pants and waistcoats rotting away? Cole had used Lars’s fancy jacket, the one with Indian beadwork, as a pattern for creating a dark leather one for Ned. The peacock style wouldn’t have suited Ned’s calm personality, but he did appreciate some fringing on the sleeves.

In a moment of madness, Cole had chopped off some of his own hair and put it into the garment’s lining. It had been an awfully sentimental gesture, and he’d regretted doing it just a few hours later, but the lock had been already sewn in, and there would be no consequences as long as Ned never found out about its existence. And maybe once they parted, it would bring Cole some comfort that a piece of him stayed behind with Ned. It would be always close to Ned’s warm skin, even if Cole himself was miles away.

But what Cole chose to focus on, to ignore the melancholy overcoming him whenever he saw Ned wearing the jacket or smoking it in a bid to make it more water-resistant, was how good it made him look. Several weeks since they met once more, it was hard to remember how slovenly he’d been when Cole had captured him.

Years away from people had left their mark on Ned, but when he glanced Cole’s way, clean-shaven, smelling of herbs, with clothes accentuating his broad chest and firm thighs, it was easy to pretend that close to no time had passed since they’d been two fools who’d believed love could conquer all.

With Ned’s spunk cooling on his hand and wrist, Cole backed his lover into a corner and waited for the fog in his mind to disperse.

Ned was still panting when he hugged Cole with a smile and kissed his ear. “Never gets boring with you.”

Dog’s whine from the storage room broke the spell. Since that time when Dog had come over to lick Ned’s spunk off the floor, leaving them in stunned disgust they locked him away for their play time. Cole didn’t enjoy being watched by an animal when fucking either, so Ned always obliged with the request to keep his pet out of sight.

They kissed before Ned finally moved away to grab his pants. “You want some coffee?” he asked and opened the door for Dog on the way.

Cole nodded and ignored the mutt when it smelled his knee for reasons known to dogs only. “Yes, with sugar.”

Cole had to keep reminding himself that this couldn’t be allowed to last. Not because they’d both hang for what they did at night, but because Ned wasn’t his. They were two broken men trying to mend each other’s fractures. Ned pretended he hadn’t noticed that eighteen days had passed three times over since they’d made their arrangement, but his denial didn’t change reality.

Once let in, Dog kept whining and barking as he circled them with his whole body rocking, as if the wiggle of his tail couldn’t be contained. But Cole was faster and wouldn’t let the jealous beast have Ned yet. For as long as he stayed in this remote spot in the mountains, he could pretend they were still within the span of those eighteen days they’d agreed on.