Page 63 of Off the Trail

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate, but that one word is good enough for me.

I lick my lips, and he looks like he’s about to step back into the closet with me, but then someone says, “Blaze, Luis has a question about the windows.” It’s Raphael, his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“On my way. Keep up the good work, Shawn,” he says, for Rafi’s benefit, presumably.

I adjust myself one more time, then do as I’ve been told.

Chapter 27

Blaze

After leaving the construction site I seriously consider making a pit stop at home to take the edge off, but I’m running late for an appointment with a guest, so instead I leave the windows down on the drive back to the retreat, hoping the cold air in my face will get my mind off Shawn’s question.

Do I want to fuck him? Do I want to fuck him?

Hell yes, I want to fuck him.

A few days ago when he told me he was booked at the retreat for another two weeks, I decided I’d take that as a sign not to worry about the future and just enjoy this while it lasted. And I’ve enjoyed the hell out of it. I never knew how much I’d look forward to talking to someone at the end of the day, then unwinding with mutual orgasms and sleeping in the sinfully comfortable bed at the retreat.

When I’m finally done with work, I race home and run around tidying the house on fast forward speed while Misty watches me with an eyebrow cocked. “What—I’ve never had a guy over here before,” I tell my dog.

She stares at me as if to say, “He’s been here before, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t doing stuff then,” I argue against her silent comment. “Sheets!” I sprint to my room, grab a fresh set, and make my bed in record time. Then I run to the kitchen and see what I can possibly make for dinner. Shawn’s going to be hungry, working outside in the cold all day. There are ingredients to make a stir-fry-type thing, but then I remember frozen leftover stew and defrost that in the microwave until it’s soft enough to slide into my mom’s big cast iron Dutch oven.

With the stew heating on low, I start a fire in the hearth. It’s getting going nicely when a confident knock sounds on the door.

He’s here.

Satisfied the logs have caught, I put up the safety grate and head to the front door.

Shawn’s wearing his Laurels jacket over a new thermal zip-up. His hair is messy from being under the hard hat, and he’s got a streak of dirt on the side of his neck.

I yank him inside, stick my tongue in his mouth. He kisses me back eagerly, shedding his jacket. He smells strong, like a man who’s been working all day, and tastes a little like sawdust—or maybe my imagination is running away with me.

We move together through the living room, and I wonder why I bothered to tidy up because he’s clearly not tuned into anything besides me. God, that feels good. To have his attention on me, to have his entire world narrow down to me, Blaze Hardy. I still can’t believe I somehow captured the attention of a guy like Shawn.

We can’t stop touching each other, and we don’t bother talking. To hell with the clean sheets in my bedroom. I push him down on the couch, the only light from the fire, kissing nonstop.

“Fuck, need this,” Shawn says when I pull his thermal and base layer off in one motion. “Need you.” He reaches over to unlace his boots, and I watch the curve of his sexy, strong back while I wrestle with my own clothes. Eventually, after too long, we’re both naked and he’s got me against the couch cushions, rutting that pretty cock against my thigh just like earlier at the construction site. My hands grab his firm ass, reposition him so our cocks slide against each other. His mouth finds a sensitive spot on my shoulder, and he bites down lightly.

I feel the electricity from his mouth to my cock. I’m so close to coming and I haven’t gotten anywhere near his ass yet.

“Shawn.”

He licks over the teeth marks he left on my shoulder. “Blaze. You wanna⁠—”

“Yeah.” We switch so he’s the one face up on the couch cushions, and I get up and run to my room for lube and a condom. I know from our conversations we’re both recently screened and negative for any STIs, but I also know the condom might help things go more smoothly, so to speak, for his first time bottoming.

I’m grateful for the heat coming off the fire a few feet away, and for the low light that hides my shaking hands as I squirt some lube on my fingers. “You sure about this?” I ask before I go any further.

“I can’t think about much else,” he says. “But only if you want to.”

I chuckle at both of us and our politeness. Then I touch the inside of his knee to get him to open up for me, press two slick fingers to his rim. I’ve touched him here before, but this time I enter him slowly. Gently, even. I look at his face, the red on his cheeks, his green eyes slanted nearly shut. His mouth curls up into a grin as I crook my finger upward. He laughs, a bit shakily. “Fuck. Do it again.”

It doesn’t take long before he’s asking for more. I put on the condom and add more lube. “Like this, or do you want to turn around?”

He looks at me, gaze unfocused. “Like this.” I push into him, expecting resistance, feeling only the slick, welcoming tug of his body. It feels good—it always feels good to push inside something hot and wet—but the way Shawn licks his lips and grabs my hips with his big hands, urging me forward, all of that is even better. Everything’s better when it’s him. I thrust a few times, letting us both get used to it. His cock’s only semihard, but then he splays open fully, one foot resting on the floor, and he pushes up to meet my thrust, and it’s so fucking good I can’t stop. I snap into him; he howls out what sounds like a yes. One of his hands leaves me to strip his cock, and then he says, “go harder,” so I do, and then he comes, head thrown back, neck glistening in the firelight, come coating his treasure trail.