Rough Cut

Lions and Tigers and Snares-2

“No, I’ll be okay.”

Ricardo stalked over. “Get moving, girls. Quit pussying around.”

Kendall glared at him. “He’s sick.”

“I don’t care. These animals need to be in place and cleaned by tomorrow afternoon. This is taking too long. Get moving again.”

Randy wiped a shaky hand over his face. “I can work.”

“No, you won’t. Go home and get into the doctor in the morning. Call me if you need help getting there.” Kendall looked at him with concern.

“I’ll get Melissa to take me. Thanks, Kendall.”

Ricardo threw a lit cigarette butt onto the floor and lit another. Kendall pointedly walked over to stamp out the glowing ember. They looked at each other. Some long-standing animosity coiled up between them as easy to see as the cigarette smoke in the air.

“You’re not sending him home. We need to get this work done,” Ricardo snapped.

“I am sending him home. He’s my employee and my responsibility. You don’t have a say in how I run my people.”

“Watch yourself. You’re not the only game in town. Remember our deal.”

Kendall glanced over at me, his mouth tight and set. He swung back to Ricardo. “Shut the f**k up.”

Ricardo smiled and shrugged. “You’ve got more to lose than I do, Mr. Smartass.”

“Get out.”

Ricardo flashed yellow teeth again. “Have them ready for inspection by two o’clock. We’ll be out then to show the stock.”

Kendall’s shoulders tightened when he heard “stock”. I knew then he was like me; he didn’t think of these creatures as stock, and it angered him to see them treated like nothing more than a box of soap or a can of soda.

We watched Randy and Ricardo drive away then went back to work.

The rain started to taper off when we had three cats left. By the time we got them settled, we were covered in mud and sweat. Bits of cat fur stuck to us. Cats often shed when stressed, and we both had puffs of leopard and jaguar hair on our arms and faces. Kendall hadn’t said much after the scene with Ricardo, and I could see he was both tired and worried by the set of his shoulders and the pinch of his eyebrows.

“They all seem pretty healthy,” I said. “Nothing to deal with right away.”

“Yeah,” Kendall said. He wiped his face with a towel, handed it to me. “But healthy to what end? What a waste.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Kendall turned his gaze away.

“What is it?” This was the time to push, when he was tired and vulnerable and might reveal something he normally wouldn’t.

“Not something you need to worry about.”

“But you need to worry about it?”

He looked at me then. He wanted to tell me; I could read it in his face. He leaned against the wall, arms folded. I mirrored him, a technique I’d learned in an interrogation seminar. Mimic the suspect’s body language—he might change his attitude. And talk.

I pushed a little more. “Kendall, what’s wrong? It seems like something’s not quite right about these cats.” I leaned a little towards him. Did he lean back? I couldn’t tell, but I was close enough to see the pulse beat in his throat and smell him—sweat and rain and cat all mixed together.

He was silent. Around us, the rain pattered gently on the barn’s metal roof. A cat sighed. I heard the jaguar behind us licking itself clean; the rough rasp of its tongue bristling against its damp fur. The mud on my arms itched.

I pressed my upper arm against his solid bicep, almost a nudge.

He wiped his face with one hand, his voice tired. “I’m just as caged as these cats are.”

I held my breath. Let the silence make him want to talk.

I pressed his arm again. He didn’t lean away. Encouraging.

“Kendall?” I chanced it, put a hand on his dirty forearm and held his gaze. “Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t.”

“Maybe I can.”

“I don’t think so. But thanks, anyway. You’re a good kid.” He looked down at my hand then up. Our gazes locked and the moment caught fire.

“I’m not just a kid.”

He grinned and stepped away. “All you college kids say that. Come on. I need a shower, and a smoke, and I bet you do, too.”

We showered at his house—in separate bathrooms, to my disappointment. That vibe was between us, the near-certainty that we were going to hit the bed, but there was just enough ambiguity in the air to make me nervous. Maybe I’d misread him; maybe he was just one of those guys who made a lot of eye contact and was a toucher.

I slipped on the clean shorts Kendall had left for me in the bathroom. Music came from the living room, something with saxophones and quiet drums, a slinky sound. The smell of pot wafted through the house, strong stuff. When I came around the corner, Kendall was sprawled on the sofa, a towel wrapped around his waist.

Oh, this looks promising.

His skin had minor tan marks. His skin was dark already and there was just a hint of browner skin on his arms and lower legs. With his dark eyebrows and brown eyes, he sure wasn’t the All-American golden boy I saw every morning in the mirror. Italian, maybe? Hispanic? Either way, caramel-colored skin like his begged to be suckled, licked—appreciated.

Get some intel. I heard Russo’s voice in my head, telling me to do my job, but my d**k had other considerations. Get some ass was what it told me.

Kendall waved the joint at me, holding his breath.

“I probably shouldn’t. Grass just makes me horny,” I said.

“Then you should definitely have some.” His grin was wide. He lay back against the leather sofa and spread his legs apart, enough for the towel to reveal one meaty upper thigh.

I swallowed and stepped past the coffee table. The joint’s ember glowed in the dim room and it felt like Kendall’s eyes glowed the same way. What was he thinking?

I took a hit, coughed a little then held it down. The smoke filled my lungs, and in a few seconds a quiet buzz of ease moved through my skull. I closed my eyes and took another toke, letting its soft haze fill me. The sofa cushions squeaked and shifted down as Kendall moved closer. I felt him near me, felt the warmth of his skin. “Take another hit,” he said, his voice soft now.

I did. I held his gaze this time, while the smoke curled into me. Kendall eased closer. “Give me some,” and he opened his mouth, and I breathed some back into him. He took it in and stayed close, his lips against mine, just breathing each other for a few seconds.

I kissed him first, a real kiss, our lips brushing, then pressing against each other. His full lips were pillow-y, softer than anyone I’d ever kissed

My c**k lifted and poked out of the flimsy shorts I wore. Kendall’s hands were all over me: my chest, my belly, my legs, and finally on my c**k, stroking me. I gasped and tightened one hand around his beefy neck. “God, I want to f**k you. Please tell me you’ve got supplies,” I whispered.

“Right here.” He leaned over and pulled over a box from the coffee table. Inside condoms and lube, thankfully.

He pressed me back into the sofa and straddled my lap. I tore the towel off and was thrilled to see his hard c**k right in front of me. Its tip glistened, and thick purple veins ran its length. And he was big, two fistfuls of man.

He put one hand behind my head and guided himself into my mouth. I stretched around him, working the tip until he thrust in with a groan. He was demanding; not that I wasn’t willing, but there a quiet thrill in knowing that he was probably strong enough to keep me pinned down. I opened my throat and let him all the way inside.

He grunted and started to pump.

I could see his belly tighten with each thrust, feel his thighs tense as he worked over me. His hands moved down to my shoulders. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his lips wet with my spit. I used one palm beneath his balls, gentle squeezes in time with his thrusts and he moaned. “Oh, Byron, just like that.”

I put one finger to his mouth and he latched onto it. His tongue worked on me, a sensual suckling that made my c**k bob against my belly. When I pulled my finger away, he opened his eyes and looked down at me. I held his gaze, moved my hands over to the box, and squeezed some lube on my fingers.

I worked my slick finger behind his balls, our eyes locked together. He went still for a few seconds, his thick c**k filling my mouth, the smell of him covering me. I didn’t wait; I slipped my wet finger into him and he shuddered. His groan filled the room.

I found that little bump inside him and rubbed it with my finger. His grip tightened on my shoulder, so hard that it hurt, but I didn’t mind. He suddenly started moving again, a frenzy of motion over me and in me, and I thrust back into him with two fingers now, and he cried out, an inarticulate groan of passion. And then the taste of him, coming in my mouth, filling me with salty fluid.

I held him; I was in control now. I milked him dry, sucked every drop of semen out of his beautiful c**k. It went soft as I held it, limp and heavy. There was a slick plop of sound as I let him go. My hands clenched against his butt, and I kissed his c**k again and again.

Kendall’s eyes were soft as he looked down at me.

He sagged onto my lap, heavy and thick-bodied. We sat still for a few minutes, rocking together against the cool leather. His belly lay against my c**k, the tickle of his pubic hair on me made me smile.

After a while, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I sat up, struggling against his weight. He had a light film of sweet sweat on his face, and I wiped it away with my thumbs. “Condom?”

He held up a zebra-striped package and grinned. “Jungle Love brand. What do you think?”

“Too cute. I think you should dress me up and let me get busy.”

Kendall smiled as he got me prepped. The condom was slick with lube and cool, while his fingers were warm. When I was ready, I pressed us sideways. His thick thighs wrapped over my waist. I kissed him a few more times, wanting to thrust into him, wanting to ride him like a demon. Something made me hold back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His face was tight with yearning.

I’m a liar and a bastard for what I’m doing to you.

“Nothing,” I answered. “Just savoring the moment.”

“Stop savoring and start fucking.”

I pushed his knees back and positioned my c**k against him. I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I closed mine and slipped inside him. Past that band of muscle and then—oh, God yes, he’s tight on me, oh God, so good—and my brain clicked off. The smell of his skin against mine, the squeak of the sofa springs as I pumped, the feel of his body pressed to me, his arms tight and strong. We stopped kissing; we were just mouthing each other, with soft cries of encouragement and passion. I felt myself climbing, higher, higher as I pumped harder and harder.

“Come in me, Byron. Give it to me,” Kendall’s husky voice in my ear. It was enough to send me over.