Summer Sweat (Spruce Texas)

I can barely grit my teeth. With my dick in his hand, with his lips so close to my own, I have no willpower left in me to resist.

“I’m gonna leave this toolshed,” he says. “That’s me showin’ you some respect—y’know, after grabbing your nuts, but how else were you gonna listen? But I refuse to let you end whatever we’ve got going on out of plain fear. You aren’t a coward, Harrison. You are the kind of man who sticks to his convictions, who gets what he wants … and who doesn’t step on anyone’s hearts to get it. You are exactly the kind of man I wanna be.” His eyes drop to my lips. “And the kind of man I feel safe enough to … do things with.”

To do things with. To do things with …

Does he even realize what those words do to me?

“If you feel the way I do,” he tells me, “even just a little tiny part of you, and you want to see where the hell we can take this … then meet me tonight in the horse barn. After lights out. I will be there whether or not you are. But it’ll be a lot less a waste of time if I’m not alone.”

He brings his lips to mine.

I shut my eyes, anguished by how good his kiss feels.

Abruptly, his lips are gone—as is his hand from my dick. He pulls open the door and shoots me a look. “I sure hope I see your ass later … sir.” Then he sees himself out, leaving me stranded with my tortured thoughts in the semidarkness of the toolshed.

Chapter 15

Hoyt

I lie back on the couch, waiting.

Turtle sings to Emmalea about a chicken named Nugget. And because she enjoys it so damned much and Turtle is surprisingly clever with his improvised tunes, he goes on to sing about a kitty named Barky, waxing poetic about why we don’t have cat farms.

Would they just shut up and go to bed already?

It’s on the cusp of midnight when Emmalea yawns for the first time. Then Turtle puts away his guitar, and Emmalea retires to her bunk. She gives me a sleepy-eyed, “Night, Hoyt, baby,” on her way. Then the lights turn off, and the usual nightly darkness falls over the bunkhouse—broken only by the buzz-saw snoring of Fred.

Once certain everyone is asleep, I slip off the couch and toss on a pair of shoes. I can’t go out the mudroom since that’s where Turtle sleeps, and the last thing I need is for him to wake up and sing me an improvised ditty about sneaking off in the night to do naughty things. So I leave through the front door, then go around the whole house and cross the field towards the horse barn.

It’s the longest damned walk I’ve ever taken across this field.

And in the dead of night, too.

It’s the first time I’ve been here this late, and to be honest, it’s creepy as fuck. The whole barn is dark. Weird noises come out of everywhere. All the horses are out in the paddock either sleeping, being bored, or staring at the stars doing whatever it is horses do at night. My heart pounds as I wait. And I mean pounds. I feel like I can easily pass out if I don’t calm myself down.

So to put myself at ease, I decide to throw together some old blankets and towels on the ground of a nearby stall. It isn’t much. It’s actually a sad excuse for a comfortable spot, but options are limited in the barn, and us doing anything on possibly-urinated-on horse bedding isn’t gonna cut it for me. At least the smell is halfway decent. That, or I’m actually getting used to the animal funk.

Then I sit on my makeshift bed and fidget impatiently as I wait for Harrison. My foot bounces in place. I gnaw on my inner cheek. I keep hearing noises that aren’t anything but the building itself or my imagination running wild.

The minutes inch by like snails.

Very annoying, very slow, very spiteful snails.

What if he doesn’t come? What if I’m out here until two in the damned morning, waiting on something that’ll never happen?

What if I was an idiot to ever think this was a good idea?

I get up and stroll to the back end of the barn where the other wide door leading out to the paddock is left open all night, then watch the horses. One of them gazes over at me, likely wondering what I’m doing here at this time of night. You and me both, girl.

And who am I kidding anyway? Harrison is probably laughing at me from the comfortable confines of his cabin. What a joke, he’s probably thinking of me. He’s just some dumb, dreamy-eyed kid who’s obsessed with me. I’m sure he’s kicking back and jerking off all by himself just thinking about that, amused as all get out.