The Man Who Loved Cole Flores (Dig Two Graves 1)

But two days on, Ned was starting to regret the rashness of his decisions at the lake. Instead of hurting Cole’s pride, he should have appealed to his own convictions and kept Cole as a friend or even… an ally of sorts. Ned was no stranger to hard work, but the fact that no one made sure he got the good jobs around camp was putting a strain on his days. While that he could live with, it was becoming clear as day that he wasn’t nearly as compatible with most of the gang members as he’d been with Cole.

He no longer had anyone to chat with and needed to remain wary of everything he said. Only a day in, he was starting to miss Cole’s smiles, his jibes and the easy camaraderie that made every minute in his company a pleasure.

Being around him might have been uncomfortable so soon after that painful argument, but despite their silent animosity Ned still regretted being stuck at the back of their caravan, with Zeb of all people. The toothless boxer’s attitude toward him had changed since Ned saved Tom’s life, but that didn’t make the old outlaw any more pleasant to be around.

Suspicious by nature and with an affinity for chewing tobacco when on the road, Zeb spent most of his time complaining about past grievances and the laziness of some of the younger gang members. Between that and asking Ned probing questions, he also confessed to another argument with Bertha, who expressed her anger by putting barely any meat on Zeb’s plate that morning. It would have been funny if Zeb wasn’t so serious about that supposed slight. But, as he said, it was nothing a nice bundle of flowers couldn’t handle.

If only Ned’s private life could be so uncomplicated. Was there a type of bouquet that could express apologies-for-speaking-so-harshly-after-you-swallowed-my-spunk'?

He had barely seen Cole since morning, when his former friend hadn’t even bothered to look Ned’s way, too busy talking to Craw, a young gang member who’d proved himself in the train robbery by gathering the most loot. He’d been called Crawfish before because of his flushed face, but the change in status was now reflected in his moniker.

Ned couldn’t help but wonder whether Cole had given up on him and taken a shine to new prey he could perhaps corrupt with more ease, and the anger it stirred in him was as fiery as it was unreasonable. He did not want Cole’s dirty touch on him. He just wanted his friend back.

But he wasn’t a fool. Or blind to his own actions.

During a brief afternoon stop, Ned found himself gravitating to the spot by the shore where Cole watered his horse. Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t help but notice Cole’s tall figure, with long, strong legs and narrow hips. He stared at his throat, which had bobbed with such greed as Ned came in Cole’s mouth. And the lips that branded lust into his flesh like a hot iron. It was a mark nobody else could see, but they both knew of its existence.

Despite Ned’s continuous efforts, there wasn’t a minute in the day when his mind didn’t stray to memories of Cole’s lust-filled eyes, his flesh darkened with arousal, so damn handsome when naked, with his mouth filled by Ned’s cock.

It was such a dirty, dirty thing. Ned had heard of some whores performing such services, but even the girls working above the Beaver Springs saloon had been offended by the very suggestion—and they were not respectable women themselves. Was it something men did to one another to satisfy queer cravings?

He didn’t want to do such lewd things again, but thoughts of Cole’s lips tracing the underside of his shaft had him washing more thoroughly every time he had the chance. Just that morning, he’d woken with a stiff prick, and when he’d taken it in hand, all he could see on the back of his eyelids was Cole leaning over him with a smirk. His mind recalled the warm, slick sensation enveloping his cock that afternoon and the way Cole had struggled to fit the length in despite being so very hungry for it. And when Ned had unloaded into his hand, he imagined the warm cream sticking to Cole’s chin, staining those plump lips, gathering on his agile tongue—

“Good job.”

“Huh?” Ned turned his face to Zeb. Stuck behind a wagon at the very end of the train, he had nowhere to run.

But Zeb was smiling under his generous moustache this time. “I’ve been wrong about you, O’Leary. First, the train job, and then you saved Tom’s hide. It won’t be forgotten.”

It had taken him a lot of time to say this, considering they’d been stuck together for a whole day, but while guilt ate Ned up over both those things, it was a relief to know the gang members were getting less wary of him. His revenge would come as a stab in the back—a deed so cold it might as well be done with an icicle. As long as he managed to weave himself into the fabric of the gang, he would remain a valuable asset to the Pinkertons, or even lawmen, if the Craigs lost patience and gave up on him. There could always be another trap, set with more skill and insider knowledge.