The Cowboy Poet Read Online Free Page B

and warm as it licked upward toward his ear. Clint reached beneath Tyler, finding and gripping his cock, which was throbbing despite his predicament.
Tyler tried to jerk away. You let me up, goddamn you! he cried breathlessly, twisting beneath the strong man on top of him. I don‘t do this. I told you, I ain‘t nobody‘s boy. Damn it, let me up.
You sure? Clint‘s voice was a low purr in Tyler‘s ear. He kissed a line down Tyler‘s neck with soft but insistent lips. As he stroked his cock with one hand, the other found Tyler‘s right nipple, which he pulled and rolled between strong fingers.
Oh, god, Tyler gasped, aware he was seconds away from orgasm. He tried to hold on to the outrage at what Clint had done, trussing him up like some kind of stubborn colt, but it burned away before the liquid fire roiling in his veins. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might lift him clear off the bed.
He wanted to deny how good it felt. Damn…, he managed. Don‘t…, he struggled to catch his breath, his cock near to bursting. Clint… he gasped, trying to draw on the last remnants of his righteous anger to give weight to his words. But the lust boiling in his gut, coupled with the steady, perfect grip of Clint‘s strong hand on his cock and the insistent fingers teasing his nipple were too much to fight.
Please… he gasped, no longer certain what he was pleading for or against, …please…yes…please…
Ah, fuck, he groaned at last, giving up all pretense of resistance as his body went rigid and streams of hot ejaculate were expertly milked from his cock. Despite the ropes, because of the ropes… Damn it to hell, he didn‘t know, he didn‘t want to know, but oh, oh, oh it felt so fucking good…
~*~
Clint untied the rope and tossed it aside, half-expecting Tyler to leap up, still pretending outrage. But Tyler didn‘t try to get away. Instead he snuggled back against Clint, letting a long contented sigh escape his lips. Clint wrapped his arms around him, reaching to stroke and soothe the nipple he‘d been pulling and twisting a moment before. He‘d taken a gamble with the rope, he knew it, but apparently it had paid off. If nothing else, Tyler was still there, in his arms. Though he wasn‘t yet absolutely certain, Clint was pretty sure there was more here than mere sexual masochism.
He had sensed Tyler‘s potential for submission at the poetry reading, but he‘d felt it even stronger when they‘d come back to the room. He‘d seen it in the way Tyler‘s eyes had dilated and the sweat had appeared on his upper lip when Clint had sprawled on the chair, silently daring Tyler to kneel before him. He‘d felt it in the hungry, almost desperate way Tyler had worshipped his cock and balls, and then bowed his head, raining kisses over the tops of Clint‘s feet.
He felt himself responding in kind, moved by Tyler‘s exuberant attentions. It went beyond simple flattery that the boy seemed to want so very much what he was offering. There was a potential connection here—the chance to reach for something he hadn‘t realized he‘d given up on, until faced with its possibility. Still, this colt was skittish and would require some gentling. As much as he wanted him, Clint knew better than to move too fast, not with the likes of Tyler Sutton.
For reasons Clint had yet to tease out of him, Tyler was in denial about his true and most basic impulses. While Clint had no doubt that in Tyler he had found a submissive, he‘d learned all too well over the years that just because a body knew a thing, that didn‘t mean it was easy to act on it. Tyler was as resistant as a calf being pulled unwilling into the rodeo ring.
For a moment he regretted his rough treatment with the rope. Hopefully it hadn‘t been too much, too fast. You okay, Ty? he whispered softly, drawing Tyler closer against him.
Yeah, Tyler murmured, pressing back against Clint‘s erection so that it took every ounce of control not to take him then and there.