Gay Cowboy Contemporary BDSM
To Purchase at Digi Books Cafe
To Purchase at Amazon Kindle
To Purchase at All Romance eBooks
To Purchase at Rainbow eBooks
To Purchase at 1Place for Romance eBooks
To Purchase at 1erotic eBook
To Purchase at BookStrand
To Purchase at Trapezium Books
Only the climax of sex rivals the climax of bull riding. But Rand Mata isn’t interested in buckle bunnies. He’d rather rope and tie up a cowboy. Rand won’t be satisfied with anyone less than a sub, one that likes to fight back before he gives in.
Fallon O’Shea has a soft voice and a beautiful face. He wants a wild cowboy to rein him in—a rough rider. But Rand isn’t sure Fallon knows what he’s asking for. Rand wants to dominate Fallon, wants to give him more than an eight second ride, but sometimes wanting can be dangerous.
Damn, Rand was primed and his cock was bucking against the fly of his jeans. Bull riding and sex. Sex and bull riding. He couldn’t enjoy one without the other. For months all he’d wanted was his hand. Fallon wasn’t the typical rough cowboy Rand went for. He was clean-cut, fit…and pretty. His skin was smooth and his lips had looked so damn soft.
But where the fuck was he? Rand hadn’t mistaken the invitation. They weren’t having drinks. They were going to fuck. No expectations, just rough and wild sex.
Rand wandered about for ten minutes. But he couldn’t stay. Once he finished his go rounds, he bailed. He wasn’t about to jinx a championship buckle or risk a run of bad luck for a one-night stand. Shit. Once again his fist would have to do.
His anticipation of riding Tornado had rivaled his anticipation of fucking Fallon. For as amazing as his short go had been, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed with the night.
Rand loaded his gear into the bed of his old Ford truck and headed south on the highway to the motel where he and a few other riders were staying. The V in the vacancy flickered in the neon sign. A few trucks littered the parking lot and horse trailers were lined up at the truckstop next door. Rand stopped off for a six pack then drove to the motel, parked, grabbed his rigging bag and headed into his room. His last night in Oklahoma and he was having a drink alone then going to bed alone.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Rand jerked open the fly of his jeans and fisted his cock. The shaft was hot, hard and pulsing beneath his fingertips. He yanked his jeans past his hips, leaned against the door and widened his thighs. “Ah, fuck.” He closed his eyes and squeezed his dick at the base. Warmth pooled in his balls. He cupped them in his palm as he thrust into the tightness of his fisted fingers. Slippery cream seeped from the slit. He squeezed harder, milking the shaft until pearly cream trickled from his cock head.
Fuck, he loved the sensation of his dick hardening and pre-cum coating the head. But nothing compared to the salty sweet scent of cum. Rand gathered his spunk on his thumb, then sucked the taste from his finger. He wanted Fallon on his knees, that tempting tongue licking his bottom lip as he opened for Rand’s cock.
Rand pumped harder, wanted to feel the burn of friction on his cock, wanted to shoot his load so that he could start all over again. By morning he’d rub his dick raw with images of Fallon and lost opportunity.
Bending over, he tugged off one boot then the other. Then he tossed his hat onto the bed. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he stripped off his socks and jeans. He shrugged out of his shirt and dropped it to the floor.
Rand stood before the mirror. His long thick cock jutted out from a thatch of black hair. The months of riding had bruised and beaten his body. Maybe he was more twisted than most. His gut tightened and his dick twitched when he looked at the dark purple and blue patterns over his ribs and hips. He stroked his cock harder…faster. He stared at his body, the hard lines and ripped muscles. His ass clenched as he thrust into his fist. Without lubrication, his strokes were rough and aggressive. The heated friction burned into his taut flesh, scorching a path from root to tip.
His thighs burned as he bent his knees and fought the urge to let go. A little more. Oh god. Faster. Pressure tightened his chest. The muscles in his arms bunched and a shiver crawled along his spine. Almost there, yet holding on because it felt so fucking good.