Patrick’s best friend, Josh, offered to take Patrick home to spend the summer. With a job in a restaurant and free room and board with Josh’s father on the ranch, it seemed like a pleasant alternative to the city.
Patrick had been warned that there probably wouldn’t be a lot of hot young men around for the picking, but Josh never prepared him for Dakota.
Dakota was all Patrick could have wanted in a man and more. A big strong, cowboy with a smooth charm that would have melted butter, the heat between them was electric, and when the big Wyoming sky grew dark there would be no use denying the secret desires Patrick harboured for his best friend’s father.
But is passion enough when Dakota’s dark past is still very much a source of bitterness for Josh, and a young man’s best friend, falls hopelessly in love with his father?
Patrick ran his gaze over all that dark hair, his shoulders, his ass in those jeans. "Dakota," he managed, "why do you deprive yourself of love?"
"Love?" He turned around and looked at him, his mouth open. "Love? Love now?"
"I want to touch you, is that wrong?" Patrick swallowed. His mouth was dry. He was shaking badly.
"Yes," he said, closing his eyes, "it's wrong."
"You want to touch me, too. I know it."
"It doesn't matter what I want," he groaned. "Please, Patrick, stop torturing me." He walked off down the hallway.
Patrick stood there alone for a moment. Is that what this is? Torture? Yes, Goddamn it. Well, Dak had found the right word. But who is torturing who?
Slowly, Patrick walked through the house. He found Dak sitting on the sofa, his head resting in his hand. The television hadn't been turned on.
"I don't want to go to the movies and I don't think you do either?"
He didn't answer.
"Is it my age?"
"Among other things," he said, but he didn't look at him.
"I'm not a boy."
Dak looked over at him. "I know that, believe me."
Patrick pulled off his t-shirt.
Dak's eyes widened a little. "Patrick," he said, starting to get up off the sofa.
Patrick walked over and placed a hand on Dak's chest and Dak eased back down to the sofa. "I know exactly what I'm getting into, exactly what I want." He undid the belt on his jeans. "If you don't want me," Patrick paused, met his gaze, "tell me now. No lies, the truth." Patrick was weakening, finding it hard to speak. He reached out his hand and touched Dak's face, running his thumb along his cheekbone, across his lips.
Dak's eyes were filled with desire and that need in his eyes was fuelling Patrick's lust. He put one knee between Dak's legs and rested the other on the outside of his leg.
Dak placed his hands on either side of Patrick's ribs suddenly. He pulled him closer, searched his face, a question, needing one last confirmation.
Patrick reached out and stroked his hair, he lowered his head, touched his lips softly against his. It was electric, hypnotic, his mouth soft and yielding as Dak let his head go back against the sofa, his mouth opening, surrendering to Patrick's passionate assault. Dak moaned softly as Patrick tasted his lips, slid his tongue seductively around his and then began to undo his shirt.
Dak widened his thighs and Patrick could feel his erection brush against his knee. Patrick whimpered against his mouth, trying to keep from ripping the buttons off of his shirt. He opened it, tore his mouth away, his gaze moving over his naked flesh. He kissed his throat, trailed his lips down to one nipple and twirled his tongue around it. He didn't want to miss an inch of his body. His cock was pushing uncomfortably against his own jeans now. He couldn't wait any longer to unzip his pants. He went to his knees in front of him.
Dak glanced down at him, then grunted when Patrick undid the snap on his jeans and pulled down the zipper. Dak's head went back again. He pushed his hips forward, inviting him to take down the briefs that were already stained with his juices.
The top of his erection was pushing out of those shorts and it was the sexiest thing Patrick had ever seen. With his shirt open, his chest bare, his jeans undone and the head of his cock exposed, Patrick felt his cock pump. He jumped to his feet and took down his pants, his underwear, kicked off his shoes.
Dak was looking at him, his gaze caressing Patrick's sex, his balls. "You're beautiful," he whispered. "Patrick." His eyes pleaded now.
Patrick went back to his knees. Dak lifted his hips and Patrick stripped off his pants. He left the briefs, carefully taking out his cock. "Spread your legs wider," Patrick urged.
Dak opened his legs.
"Oh God," Patrick groaned, "what a man you are. Look at that cock. How long has it been since someone touched you?"
Dak's head went back against the sofa again. "I don't remember," he whispered.
Patrick pressed his lips against the shaft then licked his tongue up the length of it. "You're a big boy and I love big cocks. I want to suck you…but not like this. Take me upstairs," he said. He pulled Dak off the sofa and led him by the hand up the stairs.
At the top, Dak pulled him in against his body. He ran his hands over Patrick's chest, teasing his nipples, his lips came down on his throat and he fondled Patrick's cock, his balls, squeezed his ass.
"Oh God, Dak, stop it, I'm going to come and there's so much I want to do before--"
"You can come again," he whispered, "and again."
He turned Patrick around in his arms and kissed him deeply. "God help me," he groaned, "I want you. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you now."
Patrick was on fire. Dak's hands and lips were everywhere and when they got to the bedroom, Dak pressed him down to the mattress with his body, his mouth. He kissed him all over, then flipped him and licked him between the ass cheeks until Patrick was almost clinging to the ceiling.
When a creamy finger entered him, Patrick moaned. "Dak," he whimpered, "oh Jesus, I knew it would be like this." He grunted as Dak's finger fucked him intensely.