Page 51 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

I pulled on my hooded sweatshirt and snagged a hay bale for Jake and me, one facing the line of trees and the dark blue sky, which was turning even darker with each minute.

The bonfire was going full out by the time Jake joined me. I caught the sweat on his skin and the dust along his jaw. He and Malcolm had taken off on some urgent task after dinner, and apparently he’d not stopped to wash up after.

“Mountain lion,” he said, bent forward as he attempted to slap the dust from his jeans. “We didn’t find it.”

“Did you take Buddy or Snowball?” I asked, a tad proud to be able to ask such a question.

“Buddy,” he said. “He’s more nimble for a trek like that in the foothills than Snowball.”

I nodded, feeling sage and horse-aware, and then moved close so we were melded together at the hip and Jake’s hand could spread across my thigh, like he’d claimed me for the night. Would that it could be for longer than that.

Friday was approaching all too quickly. My deadline to ask for more PTO. I pushed that thought to the side, and together we turned to enjoy the fire, to enjoy the warmth that reached us, though my back was chilled and I’m sure Jake’s was as well.

Someone was telling a ghost story on the other side of the fire. The kids were laughing, like they were trying to prove they weren’t scared, and rather disrupting the mood, until someone leaned over to speak to them. The laughter went quiet after that, but they didn’t look cowed. A few giggles persisted, and that was fine. They were kids, after all.

When night had truly fallen, a darkness that was so rich and thick it pressed against the fire like it wanted to put out the remaining light, Lucas came out with a jug of what he said was hot cider. Paper cups were passed around.

But I didn’t want sweet, hot cider. I wanted something else, sweet and hot. And when I looked at Jake, I could see that he felt the same.

“Okay,” I said, drawing his attention to me.

His hand tightened on my thigh. “Let’s go.”

We slipped away quietly. I wanted to imagine nobody watched us go, but they did. Of course they did. Jake’s bunkhouse wasrightthere.

Inside, I expected that we’d draw the curtains closed, strip off our clothes, and get lovingly busy.

Jake paused without turning on the lights. I stopped, standing there, just inside the door.

Maybe he wanted a shower and for me to join him. I was up for that. In a heartbeat, I would be up for that.

“Take off your hoodie,” he said as he doffed his cowboy hat and hung it up in the dark, on a hat peg he’d long since memorized the location of so he could do this without looking.

As he took off his lined jean jacket, in the darkness, I felt his hands on my jeans. On the button. The zipper coming down. When he took my hoodie off, he tossed it aside.

My jeans were halfway off. Jake sat on the bed and pulled me across his lap, and I gasped. His hand came over my mouth, quite gently, and I got it. We weren’t going to close the curtains or turn on the lights. We were going to be very quiet and pretend we weren’t even in that bunkhouse, and eventually everyone outside would forget about us. That was his plan. I licked his fingers and heard him scoff as he took his hand away and touched my cheek.

He pulled my jeans down to my knees. Then he yanked my boxer briefs down as well, and his dusty jeans were scratchy on the fronts of my thighs.

I was half-naked while he was fully dressed, and I sensed he liked the contrast, though I doubt he could have spoken of it aloud. I could barely grasp the idea of it.

My hardening cock was pressed between us, and he adjusted me, shifting my body with some ease so it nestled between his thighs. Balls, too. Tight and hard, drawn close to my body.

I was that close to going off like a rocket, but I told myself to wait, because Jake had a plan. He might have had it all along. He might have been thinking about it while he was out looking for that mountain lion. And I was in. I was all in.

Then he began. He must have put his fingers in his mouth to moisten them. They trailed against the curve of my bottom: a trace of moisture, then coolness.

Where was the lube? Hidden in his pocket somewhere. He wasn’t waiting for lube, though. He pushed a finger into me, roughly, and I wriggled in protest.

Which was when he circled his strong arm around my hips and held me to stillness on his lap as though he was about to deliver a stern spanking, and I gasped out loud.Do it. Do it.

He didn’t spank me. Not even playfully. He shifted so his left hand rested on my lower back, his right on my thighs. “No. Noise.”

That’s all he said. I clamped my mouth shut and made vows to keep it that way, because once he got started, I wasn’t going to want him to stop.

Lazily, again with one finger, he circled my anus. Then pushed in to loosen it. Over and over, in and out, a rhythm my body tried to follow.

“Easy,” he said.