Taste Test: Buck Wild Read online

  Nope.

  It was those eyes. Those, gee-I'm-going-to-turn-your-world-upside-down-and-make-you-love-it, eyes that laughed at him over the ugliest pair of truck stop sunglasses known to man.

  Yep.

  Deeply fucked.

  "Hey, baby.” One corner of that mouth quirked up in a smirk that JD felt right in his balls—sort of a cross between a line drive and a hot tongue. Made his fucking toes curl. “Whatcha doin'?"

  "Working. What are you doing in town?” Why aren't you following the circus or the rodeo or the freak show or whatever it is you do when you're not driving me crazy?

  The shrug was deceptively casual and that toothpick twirled, distracting him. “Working. Came to cash a check and saw your pretty face and reckoned I'd say howdy."

  He reached up, fingers scraping over his crew-cut, wishing he had his hat on. “Hey."

  There was a chunk of mud caught in the heel of Cory's boot, just waiting to mess up his desk.

  "You still living with that Yankee?"

  "This isn't the place for personal discussions, Haines.” And no, no he wasn't. How was he supposed to after Cory drove in, twisted him up and left him bruised and bloodied and more satisfied than he'd been in the two years since the last time? Angelo had screamed and cried and ranted and then stormed out.

  Took the couch and the dog.

  JD'd really liked that dog.

  "No? Take me to lunch, then."

  "I'm busy.” Go away, man.

  "You're not that busy.” He wanted to knock that shit-eating grin right off Cory's face. He figured Cory knew it because those boots went down and that hat brim came right close. Cory smelled like sunshine and tobacco and the barest hint of soap and the man needed a motherfucking shave. The air between them almost crackled with the sudden tension, the straightforward, no-bullshit want. “Try it, baby. I dare you."

  Oh, son of a bitch.

  "I'm at work. This is a bank, not a bar. You don't brawl in a bank” He'd moved up, damn it. Up. Cory looked him up and down, from the tie to the Dockers, one dark eyebrow arching.

  "I know. What happened to you? I been gone too long.” Well, he wasn't too sure about that.

  "I grew up."

  "Damn shame. It don't suit you none."

  "Not everyone can be a professional drifter, Haines."

  "Oh, I ain't a pro at that.” Butter wouldn't melt in that mouth, Cory settling back, thighs spread wide. There was a hole, right there in the crotch. Just a little one. Just enough to make him...

  "Do you want to open an account, sir?” He leaned forward and grabbed one of the brochures from his desk, pushed it in Cory's face as a shadow passed by the opening of his cubicle. Mr. Johnston was right there, staring, hovering, frowning down like one of them English guys on PBS trying to convince folks that that high-brow shit was better than watching bass fishing.

  Man, that glare was enough to have his balls trying to crawl right up into his body, yelping like a pair of hurt puppies.

  "I don't bank here, baby. Maybe when I close on the land.” That bastard was laughing at him.

  "Huh?” Land? What?

  A key slid across the top of his desk, the little plastic key chain clacking. “Seven o'clock, Jimmy."

  "Don't call me Jimmy.” His hand covered the key so no one saw it. “I've got plans tonight.” There was a Chamber of Commerce meeting downtown and there were two for one Bud Lites at the Ranchhouse and...

  "I'll call you what I want to, Jimmy, and cancel them. I'll be waiting on you.” With that, Cory stood and he was looking right at a firm bulge and a big assed silver buckle with a bucking bronc and the word ‘champion’ on it. “I got what you need. You just come and get it."

  Then JD got the rear view, all the way out the door, and God knew he wasn't the only one looking or admiring or just staring like they'd forgotten to blink.

  Goddamn.

  Janie's fake lizard green eyes blinked at him from over the top of his cubicle. “Who the hell was that?"

  "Old friend.” Sort of.

  "Is he looking for a girlfriend?"

  "I haven't seen him in two years, honey. I wouldn't know.” Far as JD'd ever seen, Cory only swung one way and hell, the man liked it good and rough, liked the way a man's ass looked, liked the way a mustache felt on his prick. Still ... there was never any telling.

  The keys jingled in his fingers and JD caught himself blushing. Well, maybe there was some telling.

  The key fob said Sleepytime Inn and 203 and he slipped it in his pocket. The plastic edges poked and rubbed him through the crappy material of his slacks, sort of dug into his thigh even as old Mrs. Sloane came by with that evil fucking poodle in her purse, needing to open a savings account for her new great grandbaby.

  Lord help him.

  He was deeply, deeply fucked.

  Good thing he had time to run home and put on his jeans, shave his little ‘stache off, and grab some liquid fortitude before driving down FM 1570 to that little neon sign where his past was waiting on him.

  * * * *

  He didn't doubt a bit that Jimmy would come on, no sir. Wasn't a time he hadn't looked into those bright, needy eyes and called that his Jimmy hadn't hopped to. Some men might think it a sign of weakness. Cory knew better, yessir.

  It took balls of tempered steel to keep pulling back from the thing they had, to keep walking away like the fires they set together weren't pure sun.

  Finally, Cory'd done just what Jimmy needed him to. He'd had three good seasons in a row—enough to buy him some land, some stock. He'd come home. He'd got a job with Doc Potter helping with the Ag school's livestock. He was fixin’ to settle.

  Now he just needed the man.

  He'd been hunting Jimmy Don's ass since he was a teenager. First time he'd got it was that first summer Jimmy'd come home from UT, strutting around like a fighting cock, all citified with baggy jeans and a tight-tight shirt. Cory'd pounced him in Will Aiken's barn, whooped that tight little ass and then they'd fucked like the world was going to end.

  Did it every night for two and a half months, too.

  Cory lit another Marlboro, blowing the smoke out the screen, boot tapping the sill. It didn't much fucking matter what all they did—bull riding, college, fucking Yankees, broncs breaking your legs—it always came back to this goddamn town and that ass and his hand. His cock. His tongue.

  He was addicted to that ride and this time he intended to have it, full-time and permanent. They'd sowed oats enough to feed a third-world country. Time to bring it home.

  He popped the top off his second longneck when the key jingle-jangled in the lock. Oh. Time to play.

  Wasn't no use in standing, he'd let Jimmy pretend to be the big dog a few minutes while he admired. Tiny and taut, that man was the best kind of pocket cowboy—broader on the top than on the bottom, belly like a washboard and a sharp little chin.

  "Haines. I ain't staying.” The door shut behind Jimmy; the key landed on the bed.

  "Hey, baby. Come here.” They could do that whole talking thing later, when Jimmy's brains were melted and Cory could see his own palm prints on that tight ass.

  "You're not listening to me."

  "Sure I am.” He just wasn't doing what Jimmy wanted. “I hear you, baby. Now. Come here."

  He snagged one wrist as soon as he could reach, spinning a little on the window sill so he could draw Jimmy into the cradle of his thighs. Yeah. Warm. “You been working out."

  "You make it sound dirty."

  "Nah. ‘course, now that I got you, you won't need BowFlex. I'll work your ass to the ground."

  "Fuck you, Haines. I'm not..."

  "Yes, you are.” He grabbed the back of Jimmy's head and pulled hard. They'd either fight or fuck now; he didn't much care which came first. He was happy with both.

  Jimmy growled, leaned and bit him but hard, grabbing onto his bottom lip like a pit bull puppy and tugging. Damn, that stung. Made him fucking hard, too, knowing Jimmy needed it as bad as he did.

>   Cory tugged them close together, two hard bodies slapping together as the kiss went white-hot and toothy, the copper-penny tinge of blood shared between them. Hell, yes. He'd sell his fucking soul for this—maybe he had. Hell, he'd quit rodeoing, hadn't he?

  His distraction damn near cost him, as Jimmy got one hand pushed between them, fingers hunting for his balls and he pulled back, shaking his head. “Oh, no. I know your tricks, baby."

  "Do you?"

  "Yep. Just like I know how that fucking Yankee couldn't stand it, knowing how I marked your ass, knowing how I was under your skin like he couldn't be."

  "He was a good man, Haines."

  "He was a pussy and he wasn't fucking me.” And there was the goddamn truth, wasn't it? Jimmy was made to be his, and if the stupid motherfucker couldn't cotton to it, well, Cory'd just make it one hundred percent motherfucking clear.

  "I..."

  "Shut up, baby. This thinking shit's a waste of time."

  Grabbing Jimmy's arm, he smacked them together again, his mouth crashing down like a ton of bricks so that his baby would shut up and hear him. Jesus fuck, that man kissed like he drove—fast and furious, straight ahead and fuck the s-curves.

  He had a fucking list of what he needed, but Cory reckoned it was time to start with what Jimmy needed. Time to flex a little muscle and make that taut little muscled body fly. It didn't take but a second to get that buckle open, get those tight jeans shoved down to the middle of Jimmy's thighs and get his hands on that ass.

  Oh, fuck him, that ass.

  Folks'd written love songs and fought wars over things less perfect.

  Cory pulled back out of the kiss, staring into Jimmy's eyes. “You know what I'm fixin’ to do, baby."

  "I'm not into that shit anymore."

  "Don't matter. You need it and I need to give it to you.” He grinned, rubbed his thumb good and hard against the split in Jimmy's lip, knowing it had to sting like a bitch. “So we're gonna do it and then I'm going to fuck you good and hard and watch you come for me. Then we'll order a pizza and drink my beers and do it again."

  "Fuck you.” Shit, that boy had some teeth on him.

  "No, baby. You weren't listening. It's gonna be fuck you."

  He flipped Jimmy around and tugged that fine fucking body over his legs, pulling hard enough that Jimmy was off-balance and rocking over his thighs, that fine ass right there, pale as milk and fine as frog hair. “I dream about this, baby. I swear to God."

  Then his hand came down, the palm landing with a pop that vibrated all the way up his arm. Oh. Oh, fuck yeah.

  Just like that.

  Jimmy's head came up, a low, deep cry tearing right on out. That's right, baby. You don't have to be a bad-assed bank guy now. You just gotta be mine.

  He hit again and again, watching that lily-white skin go pink for him. Jimmy's cock leaked all over his leg, wetting his jeans, the smell of it making him groan, making him breathe deep to get more of it.

  When his hand started stinging, he slowed down, fingers rubbing the hot skin, writing his name, over and over. Cory. Cory. Cory. His.

  "Haines. Cory. You beautiful bastard. Don't stop."

  He moaned, fingers sliding in the crack, tapping that tiny little hole. “I ain't gonna stop, baby. I ain't never stopping again. We had enough of this start-and-stop shit, you and me."

  Jimmy lifted his head, stared right up. “What does that mean?"

  "It means I waited plenty.” He brought his hand down again, loving how it made his baby gasp. “It means I came home for you and I intend to keep you now, baby."

  "Oh."

  "You fucking know it.” He nodded and grinned, palm cracking against ass, sounding like a promise. Like a motherfucking prayer.

  * * * *

  JD rolled over, moaning as the sheet brushed over his sore ass, the tingle making his nipples ache, making his cock hard as a rock, making him push down into the piece of shit motel mattress.

  Goddamn.

  "Mmm.” Cory Haine's square, tanned hand followed the path of the sheet, fingers jostling the plug that the evil son of a bitch had put in last night after round two, whispering into his ear as it stretched him—telling him that it was to keep Cory inside him, keep him full and happy. Making him all sorts of promises. Making him come so hard his teeth rattled.

  Jesus.

  "Haines, I..."

  "Yeah. It's early, baby.” He got a soft, almost sweet kiss that still made his bruised lips ache and tingle. Those thick, black eyelashes were as long as a girl's, he'd swear to God. “You've got a couple hours before work. I'll have to leave in half-hour or so. Help with feeding."

  He looked over, stared into those dark eyes, lost, just caught up and shit. Fuck, he'd loved that bastard for so goddamn long, not that it mattered. It was like loving a blue norther—they blew you, turned you inside out, and left you shivering. “You're working as a hand?"

  "Just for a bit. Trey Wilson—you might know him, he used to ride the circuit—he's into husbandry and shit. Said he'd show me the ropes, help me get started if I'd play foreman for a few months. His woman's having a baby and she's not doing too good."

  That sounded almost grown up. “When do you head back out?"

  "I don't. I told you. I'm tired of waiting for you to get gypsy feet and decide I'm worth following. I know you want me, so here I am."

  "Just like that?” Arrogant, bullheaded bastard. “You think you can just ride into town and tell me that we're a ... a ... a fucking ‘we'?"

  That hand slid down, fingers tracing the strip of skin behind his balls. “Yeah, baby. I think, if I can give up running, you can give up pouting and we can make each other crazy for a few dozen years."

  "You're out of your mind.” Asshole. Beautiful motherfucking asshole.

  "That ain't new, baby.” Strong hands grabbed him, jerked him around until they were eye-to-eye, those near-black eyes staring him down. “Tell me you don't want me no more, Jimmy, and I'm gone. Swear to God, you'll never have to see me again."

  "I. Don't call me Jimmy.” Fucker. Prick. Fuckwad. How dare the stupid jackass do this to him?

  "You ain't JD to me, baby. I'm sorry, but in my heart, you're Jimmy and that's what it has to be.” Cory rested their foreheads together, just staring into him. “Now, I mean it. You don't want no more to do with me? You say so. Now."

  "And if I don't say so?” Jesus, he was such a girl.

  "Then I'll love on you for a good long time, baby. I'll make your ass happy, keep you young. Keep you well-fucked and laughing and on your toes."

  Well, shit. That was ... that was one hell of a fucking offer. “And what'll I give you?"

  "Shit, baby, if you don't know you give me what I need by now, there ain't no amount of words that'll cotton you to it."

  Their lips came together, this kiss less wild and more slow and steady, long, deep enough to steal his fucking good sense. Cory's hand slid down, traced his ribs, dragged down his belly so that each and every little bruise and hickey throbbed.

  When Cory pulled back, those eyes were just shining. “I gotta go work, baby. You gonna be here tonight?"

  "Nope.” He saw disbelief, then hurt, then a raw, agonized goddamn fury in Cory's face and he fucking savored each and every one before he smiled and pushed right in close. “I expect you and your piece-of-shit pickup at the house for supper at seven."

  Seven sharp.

  "And bring your shit with you.” He reached out for the little bitty bag full of Cory's paraphernalia, jostled it so that all that fun, spanky stuff jangled. God, the things they could do. “All of it."

  He got himself a wicked, happy grin, that big hand swatting his ass. “I'll be there. Leave me a key?"

  Oh, pushy, pushy asshole. “I'll leave it on the nightstand."

  "Yeah. Okay. Don't work too hard today, Mr. Bankerman.” Those fingers nudged his plug again, making him gasp.

  No. No, working wasn't going to be the first thing on his mind, not with that beautiful motherfucker comi
ng to his little house, to his double bed, to his life.

  Revenge was.

  Acting Out

  By Julia Talbot

  The four-wheeler roared, leaving the ground when it crested the hill, and Colby whooped, rising up off the seat so his legs could absorb the shock when he landed. He touched down like a fifty pound sack of cement, the big machine whomping the ground hard and bouncing.

  Grinning like the fool he was, Colby gunned it up another hill, tearing off, throttle wide open. He could get better air than that. He knew he could.

  Cutting across the dirt track that ran through his property, Colby made a wide arc, deciding to burn a u-turn and try to gain a little more speed. Then he gunned it and headed back up the hill, the ATV taking off at the zenith and just flying.

  He glanced down the hill, which was also bisected by the road up to his place, trying to gauge his landing, and a surprised curse burst from him. Yanking the handlebars, Colby tried to turn in mid-air, twisting his body to add more weight to the motion.

  Whoever had parked that big dualie right there was so fired.

  The ATV started to turn on him, the sideways motion telling him the landing was gonna suck, so he just let go, kicking off to the side and back, just like he would with a bull, hoping the machine wouldn't land where he'd bounce off of it.

  It landed without him, thankfully, crashing to the ground and sliding along, gouging long tracks in the dirt.

  Even as Colby fell, preparing his body to tuck and roll, he could see that damned four-wheeler moving at a high rate of speed, way too fast for anything but the inevitable to happen.

  The sound of the ATV hitting the truck was the last thing he heard before he hit the ground with a tremendous thud, and the world went black.

  * * * *

  "Jesus fuck!” Sean Landry didn't know what to do first; check his truck or make sure that no good Colby Dannis wasn't dead. He decided the truck could wait, so after turning off the ATV, which was buzzing like a chain saw, he trotted over to lean over Colby's prostrate body.