Part 3: Wrangled
Chapter 21: Horizontal Morning
October 13. I woke with Pax between my legs, chomping at my hard bit. At first, I believed I was dreaming, lost somewhere in a distant corner of my resting mind, a place where it was safe for a young man such as myself to be connected to another man.
I wasn’t dreaming, though. Pax was real. His face was between my thighs, his tangled hair soft against my palms, his broad shoulders nudging my legs as he worked, his cowboy head bouncing vigorously up and down rhythmically. Of course I wasn’t dreaming. Pax had come into my cabin at dawn—perhaps having had every intention of taking advantage of my firm tool—stripped out of his cowboy clothes, and climbed onto the bed with me.
The man murmured softly in pleasure as he kept busy with my knob.
