First Rodeo (The Cowboy and the Dom Book 1) Page 23

He tilted his head. “You’d want me here?”

  He hadn’t even let himself think like that, hope for something like that. It would solve a thousand problems for him, but would it solve any for Thomas?

  Thomas’s smile grew. “Yeah, that was maybe the most noncommittal invitation ever, wasn’t it? You know how it is. I was trying to give you a polite out when I should have gone with the nod. Can I try again?”

  “You always get more than one chance with me, honey.” He went to Thomas, touched one arm. Things were better when they got to lay hands on each other.

  “Someday I won’t need a mulligan.” Thomas took his hands. “Move in with me. I want you here. I want you out of that crazy building. I want more time with you. I want your company. I won’t interfere with your job. I won’t ask you to change a thing. But I think it would be good for us both.”

  Oh. Oh, wow. Sometimes Thomas knew just what was in his heart and said what he needed to hear. He squeezed Thomas’s hands. “I’d love to. Yes. Please.”

  Thomas kissed him, laughing against his lips. “I did better that second time.”

  “Little bit, yeah.” He grinned, melting into Thomas’s arms. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Oh, thank you for saying yes. Just don’t expect me to cook for you. I don’t think I’ve used the stove except for making eggs for breakfast since I moved in. I know I’ve never opened the oven.”

  “I’m super good at pouring Lucky Charms. Like a master.” He let himself grin.

  “Excellent. And I have an ice maker, so we’re off to a good start.” Thomas started backing away slowly. “Back to bed? We still have a few hours until daylight.”

  “Mm-hmm. Bed. Together.” He wasn’t sure his feet were touching the floor.

  25

  Thomas’s living room rug was covered in half-open, half-empty boxes. He dug through one of them and pulled out some books that belonged to Sam, added them to a small stack of James’s books from the apartment, and headed for the office.

  “Did you get that shelf cleared? A couple of the books I snagged from James are kind of tall.” He stepped into his—into their—office and found Sam rummaging through one of the bookcases.

  They were both exhausted. Neither of them had slept much after cleaning out and packing up James’s things yesterday. James hadn’t had much, but making the decision about what to keep, what to send home to his family, what to give away…all of that had just been grueling. Thank God for Sam. It would have been hell to do it alone. He was pretty sure Sam felt the same way.

  But that was done now, and today was about looking forward, making Sam feel welcome and at home by tucking his lover’s things in with his own. He’d taken a couple of days off work so they could do this without interrupting Sam’s work schedule and without losing their Sunday. Sunday was…practically sacred at this point.

  “Looks good in here. Oh, hey. Can you grab the top couple of books? I’m losing them.”

  “You got it.” Sam grabbed them and set them on the shelf before reaching for the rest and putting them away. “I put the books Momma sent me away. The duffel isn’t important—I can just shove it in a closet after I make sure she didn’t throw any spare clothes in there. It’s just my gear.”

  “Yeah? You mean your rodeo gear? Will you show it to me? The bedroom has a ton of closet space I’m not using if you want to hang it up or whatever.”

  “I’d love to show it off a little.” Sam winked at him, the look playful, warm. “You’ll like it. It’s lots of rope and leather.”

  “It’s like you know me. Can I tie you up in it?” He was only half joking.

  “The bull rope would chafe like a bitch, but you’ll like the gloves. Come and see. I’ll show you what I used to do.”

  So charming, how Sam wanted to let him in, share with him. He followed close behind, as touched as he was curious, wondering if there would ever be a day that Sam didn’t teach him something new.

  The duffel was in the bedroom, and he settled on the bed. Sam sat at his feet, dragged the duffel over, and began to unpack. There were a few button-ups, a pair of jeans, three or four T-shirts, and a pair of incredibly worn Batman pajama pants on top.

  Batman pajamas. He just had to smile.

  “This here? This is my rigging for the broncs.” It looked like…a weird mixture of saddle and chaps for a little kid, with huge D-rings on the ends.

  A thick rope with a padded handle came out next. “This is my bull rope—nine/seven plait, soft tail. Not used all that much, and left-handed, of course.”

  “Of course.” He laughed because nothing of what his rodeoing lover had just said meant anything to him but that. He slid to the floor next to Sam and leaned back against the bed, picking up some of the rope in his fingers. The smell of animal was familiar from his childhood. “What’s the nine/seven thing about?”

  “You see the main body of the rope? That’s a nine plait. It’s stiffer than, say, a five, but I like the heaviness. The tail end is a seven—more nylon, so it’s softer.” Sam handled the rope easily, the scent of leather stronger as it warmed in his boy’s fingers.

  He tested out the tail in one hand and the rest of the rope in the other. “Ah, I see.” That was much more technical than he’d expected; he’d just assumed—ignorantly—that a rope was a rope. “The softer tail makes it…what? Easier to hold on to?”

  “The tail ends over your wrist. I like a thicker rope around my hand, but not too hard.” Sam pulled out a leather glove and put it on. Then he slid his hand into the handle, wrapped the rope around his fist, slammed his fingers closed with his other hand, and flicked the tail over his wrist like it was nothing.

  He reached out and ran his fingers over the setup, feeling the way the glove fit into the handle. “That’s fascinating. That doesn’t hurt?”

  “It’s set up so you don’t get hurt.” Sam slid out of the rigging with a smile and kept digging. “I got my vest here. I needed this during my initiation fight, didn’t I?”

  “That wasn’t a fight; that was a beating.” He hadn’t meant to snarl, but he clearly had lingering issues, even though it was…well, it wasn’t that long ago was it? It felt like it had been months instead of weeks. He and Sam had come a very long way since that day.

  “It was worth it. I got to stay.”

  He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue the point. If you asked him right now to take a beating for Sam, he’d do it. “Doesn’t make it right,” he muttered and took the vest from Sam. “This is pretty solid.”

  “Saves lives, man. Cody Lambert invented these after Lane Frost died in Cheyenne.” Sam pulled out a bunch of leather straps, set them down, then pulled out a pair of bright blue chaps.

  “Such a dangerous sport.” He watched Sam handle the chaps. “Oh, those are a great color.” Not the black leather he’d prefer on Sam for his own favorite sport, but a great color all the same.

  “Aren’t they? They’re a little beat-up, but comfortable on and easy to see.” He pulled out tape and rosin, spurs and a neck roll. “These are all the weird little pieces and parts. Do you remember the first time I came to the club with you? When we went into that one room with the straps, the smell reminded me of this.”

  “The leather. I was just thinking how your rope smelled like the barn back home. Strange the associations we make.” He picked up the spurs and turned them over in his hands. He hadn’t missed the way that Sam held everything in his hands and the obvious pride he took in each of the pieces. Somehow, he’d thought rodeo was something his lover did for money. Fun, maybe, but still more of a hobby. But there was more to it than that. It was in Sam’s voice, in the way he was so ready to answer questions. “Sam? Tell me honestly—how much do you miss it?”

  Sam’s expression got a little distant, but there didn’t seem to be any sorrow or regret. “Compared to what? I loved riding, but the last two years I rode, I rode hurt. My medical bills were crazy. I wasn’t doing good. I loved the whole rhythm of it, the ritual, knowing that I was do
ing something that cowboys have done for years. The rush, that’s intense. Being a broke-dick cowboy that had four major surgeries in two years? Less fun.”

  “Less fun, still important, though, right? You just strung together something like six sentences in a row. I thought your limit was two.” He cut his eyes over at Sam, giving him a knowing grin.

  “Butthead.” Sam reached over, poking him in the belly. “I talk all the time, but yeah. It was important to me.”

  He caught Sam’s hand in his. “I was joking. It’s not what you said. It’s how you said it. I can tell it means something; that’s all. I like to hear you talk about things like that.” He looked at the gear and Sam and the duffel bag. “We could put some of this stuff up if you want. Display it?”

  “I’d love that.” Sam leaned hard against him, cuddling in without the slightest tension. His Sam needed touch more than anyone he’d ever known. “Especially the rope and the chaps.”

  “Of course. We can put them in the living room or the front entry, whatever you like. Were you really just going to pack it all away in a closet?”

  “Well, sure. That’s where it’s been. I have my silver buckle from my best ride still, so when I dress up, everyone can see.”

  “I remember that buckle from that first night at the Italian place. All I wanted to do was take it off you.” He snorted. “I was a little wound up that night. Sorry.”

  “Everything was hard. Everything.” Sam shook his head. “Shit, I was so fucking scared. Thank God for that little waitress.”

  So, it wasn’t just him. Everything really was hard. That was more comforting to hear than Sam probably realized. “Did she help you get home? I know I wasn’t any good to you. I had to have Clint talk me off a ledge.”

  “She helped me find groceries and get back. I found the liquor store on my own.” Sam kept holding his hand, drawing circles on his palm.

  He kissed the top of Sam’s head, smiling at how adorable that was and how little he actually minded that fact. “That feels so long ago to me. I know it was only weeks, but it feels so much longer.”

  He thought about James and how different he’d been around his late lover. His relationship with James had been like a carefully selected whiskey. They were well suited for each other; they had a certain refinement about them; they saw each other in moderation. James had his apartment and Thomas had his place. Orderly. Neat.

  Sam was like whatever was on tap. Never quite sure what it would be day to day, but it didn’t matter as long as it was cold and close by. He just wanted to get drunk on it. Often.

  It wasn’t that foreign to him, really. He just hadn’t indulged that part of himself in a long while. “I know this will sound strange, but part of me feels like I’ve known you forever.”

  “Do you think that’s because James and I were brothers?”

  He gave that question the thought it deserved. When he first met Sam, he saw a lot of similarities. But he was looking for them. He wanted to make that connection because he wanted to feel close to James. He wanted to hold on to the lover he’d lost.

  Now?

  “I think that’s what drew me to you at first, sure. But now, I think the answer is no. I think it’s because a much younger version of me would have been so infatuated with you. I think you would have been magic to him. Like a gift. As you are to me now.”

  Sam’s cheeks were burning, bright red and hot, expression so touched. “Thank you. God, you make me feel ten feet tall.”

  He needed a kiss. Nothing crazy, just a taste. He tipped Sam’s face up and found those sweet lips. Sam breathed into him, one hand warm and solid on his chest.

  “How are you today, babe? After yesterday. Other than not anything close to ten feet tall?” That was a tough question, actually. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d answer it himself.

  “Yesterday was hard. I miss him, and…there’s something about that building that’s…ruined for me.” Sam shook his head and smiled. “But that’s not what you asked. Today I woke up with you. I don’t think that will ever be less than amazing.”

  “You’re right. It is amazing to know I get to wake up to you every morning. Even if you’re still sound asleep.” Sam was right about that building too. He never had gotten over the sight of James’s blood in the sidewalk. And Sam getting mugged and those damn razor blade pranks? The building had a very bad vibe now. “What’s left in your boxes?”

  “A few more books, my chargers, the rest of my clothes. I didn’t bring much.” Sam shrugged, chuckled. “I didn’t come here to stay. Everyone back home that’s still talking to me thinks I’m crazy for coming here and moving in with you.”

  He knew he should say something, and soon, before Sam thought he was upset about being outed to half of East Texas, but his lover had once again managed to surprise him, and as usual, he was so proud of Sam it left him a little breathless.

  Instead Thomas did the next best thing and caught Sam’s eyes. Whether he understood or not, at least he would know he hadn’t done anything wrong. The rest was coming, as soon as Thomas found words.

  Sam winked at him, squeezed his fingers. There wasn’t any tension, no stress. Sam had done what he’d done, no apologies.

  “You are crazy. Just not for the reasons they think. Did you seriously…I mean, obviously you did. But…wow.” He took a deep breath because his mind was racing almost as much as it had been the other day with Clint. Just for better reasons.

  “I’m really happy you did that. I’m sorry that you lost some people in the process. Are your parents okay?” That had to be a big one, right? Because Sam had said his mom was counting on him to give her grandchildren. He was called a lot of things, but “Dad” was not a name he wanted.

  “They will be. They’re way more upset with my staying here. Bowie was cool.” Sam met his eyes, head on. “I won’t lie about us. I am not ashamed of you. People don’t like it, fuck ’em.”

  “It’s almost a shame you’re not giving your mom grandkids. The world needs more of that attitude right there.” He leaned in for a kiss. “You can leave out the bit about the flogger. That would be okay.”

  “Yeah, that’s a bit of a challenge to explain.” Sam gave it up for him, kissing him gently. “I’m still explaining it to me.”

  That made him laugh. “How are you taking it?”

  “I’m a determined student. Maybe not the easiest to teach, but I try hard.”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say you are exactly as easy to teach as I am to have as a teacher. We’ll be fine. Forgiving, and fine.”

  “Works for me.” Sam inhaled deeply, held the breath, then let it go.

  What a perfect opening. He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but it seemed like Sam had a way of picking up what was on his mind. He’d thought about his goal, considered his phrasing, all of that days ago. He’d just been waiting for the right moment.

  “You know, while we’re on the subject. Have you thought about anything you’d like to try? Are you curious about anything specific? Do you have any ideas? I want to be sure I’m incorporating things that interest you as well.”

  Sam was quiet for a few seconds as his boy’s thoughts spun. “I still have a thousand questions. Maybe two thousand. Researching online just makes more questions.”

  “Well, this is a really good time to ask, because you can’t get in trouble.” He smiled. “I’m kidding. A thousand questions have to stem from something. What have you been researching?”

  “I googled. There’s a lot of…there’s some stuff…” Sam stroked his fingers, petting him. “So, there’s one and a half billion sites.”

  “At least. Which one did you decide to click?” This was good. In fact, this could prove to be gold. He could have gotten a lot of “I don’t know,” but he was fairly sure Sam was actually trying to give him an answer. “I promise I have clicked on them all; there’s nothing taboo in this conversation.”

  “I started with the Wiki. Then the Urban Dictionary and Huffington Post, just
for a general overview. I’ve watched some videos on Bing, read a few things. There’s no answers anywhere, though, just more questions. It’s this vast subculture that has all these layers within.”

  After that response, he certainly had no doubt about what Sam was meant to do for a living. The man knew his way around internet research for sure. And, like all internet research, looking up “BDSM” produced a bottomless pit of link surfing. But there was one thing Sam hadn’t mentioned, or perhaps wasn’t ready to admit he had gone after.

  “I believe we have already discussed how limitless the combinations of wants, needs, and desires are in the lifestyle. Unless you get a bit more specific in your thinking, you won’t even find suggestions. You’ve read a great deal, it seems. Did you click on images?”

  “I did. They were very sexual—some were erotic, some were porn. So I know that…okay, this is awkward, and I swear I don’t want details, but you said you and James had separate rituals and rules for things. Is that how it works for you?”

  “We did. I’m hesitant to be too specific, because I want us to create our own rituals and rules, and if I’ve learned anything from working with you, it’s that what works for me is something I am having to reevaluate.”

  He knew what Sam was asking, or the gist anyway. But the question was, unintentionally, loaded with land mines.

  “James and I had very specific boundaries and practices that changed whether we were at the club, here in my apartment, at his apartment, out in public, and so on. With regard to intimacy as lovers, that was reserved for the bedroom. If we wanted to set goals, push boundaries, work on headspace, that sort of thing, we did that at the club. And if we wanted to meet somewhere in the middle, that’s what my playroom was for. And each location had a set of rules as well.”

  “Did you have a manual?” The words popped out of Sam’s mouth, and his eyes went wide. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  “No.” He laughed, probably more delighted than Sam was ready for. “But talk to Clint sometime. He asked me the same question. It was like a signal. I’d say meet me in the playroom, and we both understood what was expected. He’d pull me into the bedroom. That was clear as well. I understand that it sounds outrageously restrictive, but James found peace in understanding the boundaries. It made him feel safe.”