Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

I shut my eyes tight, trying not to imagine it.

But it only makes me imagine it in more vivid detail.

The more I try to push Hoyt’s cocky face out of my mind, the more he’s there, smirking at me. Wrestling in the sticky muck. The feel of his wet, slippery chest against my face. His toned muscles I kept trying to grab hold of, but they kept slipping out of my grasp from all of the sweat. His hot breaths crashing in my ears …

The feel of his thigh when it came up between my legs. The way it so expertly nudged, kneaded, and massaged my cock right through the denim, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like Hoyt was aiming there. Intending to tease me. To tell me he knows about me. To drive me fucking insane.

Does he know …?

I can’t stand another second of my cruel imagination. I fling myself off the bed, grab a box of tissues, snatch my lube out of the drawer, then sit in my chair by the window. I pull the string with more force than intended, sending the curtains down to cover the shameful act in which I’m about to engage. I pull down my pants to my knees along with my underwear. I’m rock hard, throbbing and as ready as I’ve ever been. I squirt lube onto my palm, then gently wrap my dick with my slippery, cold fingers.

The lube doesn’t stay cold for long.

I give myself ten excruciatingly slow, warm-up strokes. Then I increase the pace. My other hand still grips the box of tissues as I speed up, and that grip tightens the faster I go. The box caves in, succumbing to my curling fingers.

I close my eyes and lean my head back.

Hoyt is grappling me all over again. Turning me over and over in the mud. Except this time, in my mind, it never ends. We keep rolling around in that filth, our hands clinging to one another’s bodies, grabbing hold of whatever we can reach.

Each other’s arms.

Each other’s asses.

Each other’s dicks.

I pounce on him, lay him back, and straddle his chest. His eyes are hungry with need as he stares up at me, helpless, as I’ve got his wrists pinned to the mud above his head again.

That’s when he lost all the fight in him, when I had the boy pinned, just like that. He just stared up at me in wonder, heavily breathing, and gave up struggling. Why did he stop fighting back?

Did he like it …?

I jerk even faster. I jerk so fast, I don’t even know what it is I’m masturbating to anymore. Is it his helplessness? Is it the almost sweet way he looked up at me when I had him pinned? Or the anger in his eyes as we wrestled? Or is it how much of his perfectly-toned body I became unintentionally familiar with while we grappled each other?

I’m gonna spill over the edge. I can feel it. It’s coming.

There’s a knock at my door. “Hello? … Harrison?”

And the doorknob turns.

Chapter 6

Hoyt

I step inside and glance to the left. I see a tidy desk with a pair of boots neatly sitting in front of it. Past the desk, a nook with a kitchenette next to it, perfectly clean, not a single dirty dish left out. Alright, this guy’s a neat freak, kinda like me. “Hello?” I call out for the tenth time. He wasn’t in the back with his woodwork, so unless the guy’s checking on animals in the dark for some reason, he should be in here. But he’s not on the bed in front of me—the bed with perfectly clean, unstained sheets and not even a pillow out of place. I close the door behind me and glance to the right.

And there’s Harrison, standing next to an arm chair, wearing just a pair of jeans—unbuttoned—showing his big muscled, tatted torso. He’s wearing a stunned, gawping expression.

He’s out of breath. He’s staring at me.

Did I mention his jeans are unbuttoned?

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to just barge in, but I knocked tons of times, you didn’t answer, and—”

“So you just came in anyway?” he finishes for me, annoyed.

The look on his face suggests even he isn’t someone I can talk to. He hates me, just like everyone else. “Alright. I … thought we could … maybe talk about today, but …” I sigh. “Never mind. Sorry for bothering you.” I open the door to see myself out.

He’s there in a flash, shutting it.

I look up at him, surprised.

“Well, you’re here,” he says. “You went and let yourself in. So now that you got my attention, what do you wanna talk about?”

He’s so close to me suddenly. I can literally feel heat coming off of him. He smells clean, yet I’m picking up a strangely enticing, musky aroma I can’t quite pin. It’s like sex, sweat, and spice, with a hint of heat.