Page 49 of Sin Deep
“Yeah? Is he real or an urban cowboy?” Harley didn’t sound terribly worried, more making lazy conversation.
“Oh, very real. He’s Texan, though I couldn’t say where he’s from precisely. And I believe he used to ride uh…horses. Broncs? In the rodeo.”
“Wow. I’m not that kind of guy. That’s…intense shit.”
Winter agreed. Far too intense for him. But he loved to listen to Sam talk. “He had stories. He’ll share them if you ask; he’s a wonderful storyteller.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I bet you love stories too.”
“I do. Of course I do, don’t you? I love hearing people talk, hearing what they have to say, learning things I never imagined. What could I possibly know about the rodeo otherwise?”
“I’ve been to a bunch, but I always liked the carnivals and the food and the concerts. I was less about the animals and all.”
“I remember carnival food. Funnel cake. Corn dogs. Cotton Candy. I imagine that’s the same nearly everywhere you go. What was your favorite?”
“Funnel cake is my favorite. My absolute favorite. Especially with strawberries on top.” Harley made a face very close to an orgasm. “Guh.”
He chuckled and made a mental note to find his boy funnel cake for his birthday if he could. “You and I are in agreement there. Though I don’t remember strawberries being an option. I just remember the sugar. It got everywhere, all over your fingers, your face, on everything you were wearing. If you breathed in too deeply you would inhale it. And the dough was greasy and warm and perfect.”
“Crispy. I love crispy bread. We should learn how to make that. I bet we could, together.”
“Hot oil sounds dangerous, but then again you let me get a makeup pencil close to your eyes, so I suppose you trust me.” He chuckled softly. Trust wasn’t an issue; he was sure of that. “There must be some difference in funnel cake from place to place because I’ve never once had it crispy. It’s always been soft and warm. We’ll make both.”
“Soft? Really? How weird, yet cool. I don’t even know how you’d make it soft.” Harley tilted his head, obviously thinking about that. “Although you could put everything I know about cooking in a thimble and still have room for string.”
“Not to worry, if we try it, we’ll know.” He breathed deep, enjoying the morning air and his boy. He could get used to this. He shouldn’t but he could.
“Mmhmm.” Harley could snuggle with the best of them, the solid body heavy against him.
“Should we wander out this morning? Would you like a nice brunch? Or a walk in the park? It seems to be a lovely day.”
“Sounds good—either of them. I brought jeans and a couple of decent sweatshirts.” Harley kissed his jaw. “I love to do things with you.”
“Mmm. I’m rather fond of doing absolutely nothing with you as well. Like this. You work so hard all week that it must be nice to just sit sometimes.”
“Nicer with you. I have been sleeping through Saturdays though before I met you. This is better.”
“Really? That tired?” Poor pup.
“Tired, but really, no one telling me to get up and do. I was having my little rebellion.”
That was adorable. And wise of Harley to see it for what it was. He touched his lips to his boy’s ear and whispered, “I will never tell you to get out of my bed on a Saturday if that’s where you want to be.”
“Mmm…if we’re in bed of a Saturday, we could think of things that are way more fun than sleeping…”
“Mhm.” He nuzzled under Harley’s ear. Maybe he’d be wicked today and keep the boy buzzing a little, just to enjoy. Harley had waited days for him once without being asked, so some part of Harley must get off on the anticipation. It would be a treat to bring his boy to Clint’s table feeling needy. “Without a doubt.”
Harley tilted his head, offering himself over like a prize sacrifice.
“Suppose I make you a promise, but you have to wait until we get home from the club tonight, petit?” He slid a hand over Harley’s hip.
“A promise?” Harley shifted against him. “What for?”
He drew a firm line down Harley’s half-hard cock with his finger. “For keeping that pretty cock just like this all day.”
Harley’s lips parted, eyes going heavy-lidded, and Winter wanted to see them, painted and a little mussed.
“I will let you come any way you want tonight when we get home. Anything you want. How does that sound, mon petit?”
