Sunday, December 20, 2015

On the twentieth day of December my true love gave to me....
Boone's Cowboy - Rescue for Hire 8

Damn. Dark-brown hair, tan skin, and wild dance moves that had his prick wanting in on some of that action. Damn.

Flynn Wakefield leaned back and hooked his arm over the back of the chair. From his small table, he watched the man spread his legs and sway his perfect ass back and forth. The paper-thin, tight jeans left nothing to the imagination. Damn.

The music changed, and couples crowded onto the dance floor. Flynn took a drink of beer before he let the bottle hang between two fingers. His gaze never left the lean muscles exposed by the sweat-dampened, tight, white muscle shirt. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, the pretty baby’s skin shone as he left the dance floor.

A cocky, rolling gait brought the man to Flynn’s table, and Flynn enjoyed every second of it.

“Buy me a beer, cowboy?” Mischief danced in dark, velvety brown eyes topped by dark slashes of thick eyebrows.

Flynn used his thumb to push back his straw cowboy hat. “Park that fine ass in the chair, and I’ll see what I can do,” he ordered.

The man turned the chair next to Flynn around and straddled it before folding his arms along the back. Flynn noticed a tattoo of an anchor decorated the top of the man’s left forearm. Flynn flagged down a waitress and ordered two beers. He waited for her to set the beers down and leave before he addressed the intriguing man sitting next to him.

“So what’s your name?” he asked.

A hungry brown gaze started at the top of Flynn’s head and swept down, taking in his face, neck, chest, and arms. Flynn knew what the fascinating man saw. He was okay-looking with green eyes and short light-brown hair. Flynn kept his beard and mustache trimmed close to his face, and very seldom did he leave his house without his tan straw cowboy hat.

This evening he wore a dark-green V-necked T-shirt that molded heavy muscles he’d gained from hard work. Flynn, too, had a tat, one in the shape of a horseshoe on his upper arm. A string of barbed wire graced the bicep of the other arm.

“Boone, Boone Ryder,” the man answered. “And what’s yours, cowboy?”

“Flynn Wakefield,” Flynn answered.

“I haven’t seen you in here before. Is this your first time?” Boone asked, eyes sparkling.

Flynn chuckled. The cocky shit was asking about more than Flynn being in a gay bar. And Flynn loved every minute of it.

“I usually stop in during my stay here when I’m attending the auctions at the auction house in town. That’s about twice a year,” Flynn answered.

“Oh, what are you bidding on, furniture or old paintings?”

There was a teasing quality in Boone’s tone, and Flynn was tempted to say, yes, it was paintings he was bidding on. But the way he figured it, he had nothing to hide.

“No paintings. I’m bidding on beef cattle,” he answered.

Boone leaned forward a little and smiled, almost knocking Flynn’s socks off with the punch it packed. Flynn hoped this turned out to be a one-night stand, but part of him longed for something more.
Mentally he shook himself. No way would such an exotic man like the one before him want an old farmer like him.

“So you’re a real cowboy? Do you have cows and ride horses with barns and hay and stuff?” Boone’s face was alive with genuine curiosity.

Flynn frowned. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-seven. Why?” Now Boone was frowning.

Damn. There went Flynn’s hopes of a night of fun right out the window. Tangling with someone that young never led to anything but trouble. With a sigh, he took a drink of his beer.

“Hey, you just shut down,” Boone complained. “What’s going on?”

“I’m forty,” Flynn stated.

“So?” Boone challenged.

“Honey, you are one pretty man, and I’d love to take you back to my motel room and let you ride my cock all night. But face it. You’re much too young for me.” Flynn felt disappointed right down to his soul. He liked the man’s spunk, and Flynn’s body craved feeling the younger’s man’s flesh against his.

“Bull. Let’s get a few things straight, cowboy.” Boone’s eyes flashed with fire, and Flynn’s cock filled so fast it was painful. “Number one. I’ve just spent the last eight years of my life defending this country against shit that most people can’t imagine. Number two. Age doesn’t make a man, so get over that notion. And number three. I like my men older. Frankly, after the initial fun, men my age don’t have any idea what to do with me.”
Flynn changed his mind, even if he still had some reservations. Boone was feisty, cocky, and fascinated him. Right there, Flynn decided to take whatever time the man would give him.
“My motel room is two blocks away,” Flynn threw out and waited to see what Boone would do.
Boone stood up. “Great, I’ll follow you.”
Flynn had no arguments and led the way out of the bar.

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