Seashores of Old Mexico Read online

  Hoo yeah.

  “Here?” Kid was a quick fucking study in this too. Shit, yeah.

  “Uh-huh. And see what happens when I touch you here?” He let his fingers slide back over Clint’s balls, right to that tiny strip of skin….

  “Oh goddamn.” Clint’s belly went washboard-tight, fingers gripping his cock tight.

  “Uh-huh. Man, that just makes you wanna blow, don’t it?” The first time someone did that to him, he’d come buckets. Jack pressed harder on that spot, waiting for the fireworks. He got them too, Clint jerking as that pretty cock shot everywhere, spunk spraying his wrist, his belly.

  “Oh, that’s it, honey. That’s it.” Jack watched the kid, just loving that he’d done that, that his touch had made Clint crazy.

  Those big eyes rolled a little, then landed on him, the dazed look fading into a melted little smile. “Your turn.”

  “Uh-huh. What do you want to do to me, honey?” He wanted to see what Clint would come up with.

  That hand was already moving, calluses rubbing him, but Jack’s eyes damn near bugged out of his head when the kid slid down to his knees, took the tip of Jack’s cock into those kiss-swollen lips.

  “Oh Jesus fuck.” He tried hard not to thrust too much, tried to be good, but God almighty, that soft, wet mouth was setting him on fire.

  One of those hands stayed around the base of his cock, the other cupped his balls as that mouth went to town over the tip, just making his toes curl up. Jack took it and took it, wanting to see and feel more. Just in case. Lord knew, the kid might have second thoughts and not ever do it again. So he just stroked that wet hair and rocked his hips and let it all go. Those eyes flashed up at him, the look admiring and horny and enough to make him feel something like ten feet tall.

  That look, and the little thing the kid did with his tongue, had him groaning, had him tensing up. He shot hard, harder than he could remember doing in a good while, really feeling it in his balls.

  The kid managed okay, leaning back against the tile to let the water clean his face, clean that smile.

  “Mmm. I tell you what, that’s a good shower.” Jack grinned, petting the kid’s cheeks. “You have a good time?”

  “You know it.” That smile got wider, brightening Clint’s whole face up.

  “Good. Let’s dry off and have a beer and think about doing it again, huh?” Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow would suit him just fine.

  “I could handle that.” He helped Clint up, and they headed out, both of them loose-limbed and lazy now, grinning like fools.

  He hoped the kid would hang about for a bit. He surely did. It was a good situation all around.

  Yes, sir, it was.

  Chapter Three

  MAN, THE water felt damn fine, sliding over his skin as the sun beat down. The Drunken Pelican was closed on Mondays, and he was loving having a day off to just be a bum.

  A wet, horny, tanned, happy bum.

  Go him.

  A huge splash almost had him drowning, going under and spluttering when he came back up. Jack grinned over at him when he finally righted himself.

  “Good day for a swim, huh?”

  “Yup.” He shot a handful of water over, enjoying the way the droplets looked on Jack’s skin. He was still all mismatched and farmer tanned, but Jack was pretty all over. Hooting, Jack swept an armful of water at him, just bouncing in the waves. Smiling was a damned good look for that man. He snorted and then leapt, tackling Jack and knocking the man back into the water.

  A wet gurgle sounded as Jack went under, but the man popped back up strong, shaking water off like a dog. “Now, honey, don’t start, ’cause I’ll finish.”

  “Promises, promises. Bring it on.” He did love wrestling.

  Jack came at him, muscles shifting under the skin of Jack’s chest and arms. Yeah. Those long arms wrapped around him, holding him while Jack took him down. Jesus, the man was strong. He twisted, using his lower center of gravity to turn them both over, stumbling along the surf. Woofing, Jack struggled, wrestling him back and forth. And Jack was grinning like nothing going, laughing when he got the upper hand.

  He was breathing hard in no time, the water making his muscles work damn hard. “Lord. I’m gonna be buff before long.”

  “You’re not shabby now.” Jack copped a quick feel, almost unbalancing him, then laughing up a storm. That sound. It was belly deep and so full of mischief.

  Clint found himself grinning like a newborn fool, shaking his head. “Well, I guess I can handle not shabby.”

  He flexed a little, laughing as a wave splashed up, nearly knocking him over.

  “There you go.” The sun glinted off that smile, just like some ridiculous tourist poster, and suddenly he was fiercely glad he’d landed right where he had.

  They settled in the water, butts in the sand, legs floating up. Man, all they needed now was a cold beer.

  “We shoulda brought the cooler,” Jack said, just like he’d heard. “Don’t wanna move, though.”

  “I’ll play fetch and carry in a bit, if you want.” Right now he was settled.

  “Sure. No rush, though.” Jack’s hand covered his, real casual like, not squeezing or nothing. Just holding on.

  Now, that was.

  Well.

  Yeah.

  It was what it was, and Clint thought he approved.

  “Man, that sun feels good.” His own fingers traced Jack’s, just a little.

  “Yup. We’ll get you unpasty any day.” That grin told him that he wasn’t a bit pasty. Just not as dark as Jack.

  He blushed and shook his head. He’d taken no end of shit about his farmer tan and the way his belly’d burned and the rest just got darker.

  “You’re looking good, actually.” He got a long once-over, all over. “Real good.”

  His cock sorta went sproing, body stretching out like that touch was a real touch. Goddamn.

  Jack stretched, looking long and lean and brown, and damned good himself. That man had a belly to die for. Not quite a six-pack, but flat and long, and that little glory trail just went down and down.

  Clint caught himself staring.

  Looking.

  Drooling.

  “So what do you think, Clint?”

  Uh-oh. He had a feeling he’d missed something.

  “What?” His cheeks were gonna set a fire. Jesus.

  “I was thinking about running down to town and going to the market. Maybe going to supper. Wanna go?”

  “Surely.” He hadn’t gone much exploring. Hell, he wasn’t even exactly sure where the fuck he was.

  “Hot damn. We ought to get on and get dressed, then, or we’ll miss the good shit at the market.” Water sluiced off that fine skin when Jack got up, holding a hand down to him.

  “Right behind you.” He let Jack help him up, one hand covering his way-too-interested cock.

  “We could take a quick shower before we go.” One of Jack’s hands wandered right across his crotch when they turned back toward the house.

  “Goddamn!” He stopped, stared a second. He wasn’t used to being touched like that, like it was… easy. “Grabby bastard.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re gonna wave it around at me, I’m gonna grab it. Just wait until I get your ass inside.”

  Lord.

  “I didn’t wave it….” Fuck, he loved what walking in the sand did to Jack’s ass.

  “Okay, so maybe I was looking.” That ass disappeared into the house about two steps ahead of him.

  “Yeah. I’m all about looking. Fine son of a bitch,” he muttered, grinning as he hurried to catch that ass.

  The shower was already going, and damned if Jack didn’t reach out and snag him to pull him in when he got there. His body smacked right up against Jack’s.

  “I…. Hey.” Oh hell yes. That man felt. Yeah. So hot. So hard.

  “Hey. You rubbing all up on me on the beach has got me het up, honey.”

  He could tell. Not just because of the hard cock against his hip, bu
t the way Jack kissed him told him all about hunger. Yeah. Yeah, he could handle het up. Clint tugged Jack closer, meeting that heat, that hunger head-on. He hadn’t been the only one rubbing. A deep, rough sound was fed right into his mouth, Jack pushing against him, loving on him. Those lean hands were everywhere, stroking through the rushing water to get to his skin. He got himself a double handful of ass, squeezing good and hard, grinning into Jack’s mouth as the man moaned for him.

  “Yeah.” Man, that was a happy sound. Jack rocked, bracing on widespread legs, hips really starting to push. “Damn, Clint.”

  “Yeah. So fine.” Fuck, that felt good, made him proud that he was doing his part. Jack made him feel fucking amazing.

  “Yeah. Come on, honey.” Jack grabbed his swinging cock and stroked, the water easing the way, making him slick.

  “Mm-hmm.” He stepped closer, his hand joining Jack’s, drawing them both together.

  “Oh yeah.” Someone liked that. Jack’s cheeks went hot, his eyes rolling a little, and boom. They got a lot faster all of a sudden.

  Oh hell yes. He was. Yeah. Good. Damn.

  Jack kissed him again, so hard their teeth clacked together. Then that fine cock jerked against his, in his hand, coating his fingers and wrist with come. Jack. Hell, yes. He went up on his toes, humping quick, electricity sliding down his spine. Jack’s thumb pressed against his slit, nice and hard, before letting go, that hand squeezing right down on him. He bit out Jack’s name, spunk just shooting from him, leaving him gasping and tingling all over.

  “There we go. Yeah.” Grinning, Jack leaned on him a little, letting the water wash them clean. “That took the edge right off.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled, stealing another kiss. “Now we can go play.” He was looking forward to that, to going and doing.

  “You bet. They have this one stall that does this hot pepper shrimp.” Patting Clint’s butt, Jack reached for some towels while he shut off the water.

  “Oh damn. That sounds fine.” He got himself a double handful of ass. “I might get me another shirt too.”

  Going up on tiptoe, Jack hooted. “Woo! Got a fine touch, honey. Come on and let’s get dressed.”

  It didn’t take them long to put on jeans and shirts, and they were headed out in Jack’s creaky old truck in no time, windows rolled down. They sang along with the old tape in the player. He knew all the old George songs by heart, which sorta made Jack grin.

  “Good to know I’m not too out of date, huh?” Those lean fingers tapped on the steering wheel with a staccato beat.

  “No, man. King George is… George.” What was good was just good.

  “You know it.” The little road along the coast went by, pretty as the day was sunny. It was a fine day to be alive.

  “Man, I haven’t felt so good in a long time.” At least it felt that way. Felt like forever.

  “Yeah? It’s amazing what some nookie and a day off will do.” They finally pulled into a bright, whitewashed little town that looked like a picture postcard.

  “Shit. After the last few months, I figure I’m in high cotton.” He’d been hurting bad and more than scared. Hell, he still was scared, if he let himself think on it.

  “Yeah. I was that way once.” Those bright brown eyes cut to him after Jack put the truck in park. “Things blow over down here.”

  “Yeah? I hope so.” He surely did.

  “Yup. It’s the way down here. Mañana land and all that. Live for now.” Jack always seemed to be patting his leg or hand or something.

  “You know it. I… I can’t never go back, and it’s fine here.” He’d stay so long as he was welcome.

  “Then that’s that.” Jack hopped out of the truck, tucking his hands in his pockets and wandering down the little hill into the center of town. Whistling.

  He followed along, admiring Jack’s fine little ass. “Wait up, now. I’m coming.”

  THEY DID the market, they did some stupid tourist stuff, and then they ended up at this little cantina that served amazing margaritas and damned fine mariscos. Jack couldn’t remember having such a good time. Not in years. And he’d had his share of good times. Shit, he lived in Mexico.

  It was the kid. He was just relaxing, whatever troubles he’d had fading, and it was a good look for him. So good that Jack found himself staring. Over and over. Tanned and muscled, just a little flushed from the booze and the attention, Clint looked fine. Then that straw hat brim lifted and those bright eyes smiled over at him. “’M I growing a second head?”

  “Nope. You’re just too hot, kid. Makes me want.” There. How was that for honest?

  The flush went dark-dark, Clint just staring at him. “You’re something else, Jack. I swear. You’d make a dead man hard.”

  “You think?” Tickled, he just laughed. “I like how you look at me.”

  “I’d like to watch you once, you know?” That mouth snapped shut, Clint’s eyes going wide.

  “Yeah?” Well, now. “Watch me do what, honey?”

  “You know.” One hand waved, making that familiar motion.

  “Oh yeah. I’ve done a lot of that.” That thought made him hot as Phoenix in July. “I could do it.”

  “Yeah? I think it would be….” Clint shifted, scooting in the chair some. “Damn.”

  “Uh-huh.” Damn. The kid really liked the idea of that, and it made Jack want it too. Made him want it bad.

  “What….” The kid’s voice went rumbly and harsh. “What all do you like?”

  Jack grinned. “I like it slow and easy, and I like it rough and fast. Depends on my mood.” Lord, he was wanting now. Hard as a rock. Clint groaned, licked his lips, one hand dropping to his lap to hide the bulge there.

  “We could go on. Get dessert at home.” That would be damned fine. Jack figured he could make it through the drive. Maybe.

  “I could get behind that. If I can walk, that is.”

  “You’ll make it, honey. I promise.” If he could do it, so could Clint. They’d get off. Just not yet.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Clint stood, thumping himself a little as he did. Now that was just a cruel thing to do to a pretty cock.

  “That’s just sad, honey.” He grinned, pushing money on the table and hitching his own jeans to get his cock arranged.

  “It worked.” Clint handed him a few bills to cover half and then headed out, giving him a look at that butt in old Wranglers.

  Maybe he ought to thump himself. Damn. They made the truck, though, the parking lot all but empty besides his truck. So he chanced a kiss. Clint gasped, lips parting, meeting him in a short, deep, hungry taste. They kissed so hard their teeth clacked together. So hard their lips bruised right up. This was no slow, easy exploration. This was pure fire. One hand cupped his cock, just squeezing enough to let him know that Clint needed. Now. Jack spread his legs a little, giving himself more room. His hand traced a line down Clint’s cheek before he slipped it behind the kid’s head to hold him closer. More.

  “We’re gonna get killed.” Clint’s hand started rubbing, fingertips brushing his balls.

  “It’s dark.” They weren’t moving yet. No one would see. “Don’t stop.”

  “’Kay.” The words were breathed right into his lips, Clint just going to town, jacking his cock.

  Jesus. Oh God Almighty. Jack groped for Clint’s crotch, digging at the kid’s jeans. He needed to touch too. Clint groaned, tongue pushing between his lips as they both bucked. Rubbed. Fuck, the guy made him feel like a kid again.

  The last time he’d done any making out in the car, he had been a teenager. It was rougher on the body at nearly forty, that was for sure. Clint’s fingers worked his jeans open, got hold of his cock, and started rubbing. Shit, yes. His own hand finally found flesh and, boom. The heat ratcheted up a thousand fold. Just like that. Jack moaned, licking at Clint’s neck, tasting salt and sun.

  “Soon. Soon, Jack.” Clint’s throat was working, their skin slapping together.

  “Now.” He had to. His balls were gonna explode.
Jack squeezed Clint’s cock when he came, demanding everything the kid had to give.

  They both swayed together, Clint’s cock pulsing in his hand, giving it up for him. Clint moaned, lips brushing against his temple. “God. Goddamn.”

  “Yeah. I tell you what, honey. That about knocked my socks right off.” He glanced about, making sure no one was watching them.

  “Uh-huh. In the truck?” Yeah, yeah, it was time to head home.

  “You know it, honey. Let’s go.” Sounded so damned good, thinking of the kid being at home with him. He was getting used to it.

  “Yeah. I’m ready to go home.” Sounded like he wasn’t the only one. Not at all.

  Chapter Four

  THE NIGHTMARES started in late October.

  He was sitting there in the bar in Dallas, listening to the music blare and kinda watching this pretty little cowboy with a mouth made for sin when the big guy knocked into him, spilling his beer over him, over the bar, all over the son of a bitch beside him.

  The first little spat had been in the bar—nothing serious, just a few nasty words and a couple of blows. Then the guy had asked him to step outside, and, goddamn, a man couldn’t turn that down, even when the big guy that had knocked him so hard to begin with had followed them out.

  Had pulled that little Saturday night special.

  Had laughed at him as he stared, the streetlight glinting off the diamond in the guy’s front tooth.

  Clint saw the guy falling, heard the sirens and then a deep, throaty laugh that was echoed by the big guy’s homeboys. “I bet them cops are gonna love your ass in the jail. Murderers go to Huntsville, you know?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  The gun slapped across his cheekbone, hard enough that it sent him spinning, knocked him right into that guy. The bleeding guy. The dying guy.

  Jesus.

  “You shouldn’t oughta have done it, kid. Killing a man in cold blood? That’s a bad rap.”

  A bad rap.

  He dreamed about cages, about judges and handcuffs and that man. That gigantic motherfucker with the glinting tooth, grinning at him. Ready to kill him without even fucking thinking about it.