Neither of them spoke, but the heat in the car rose by the second, growing even warmer, with energy frizzling between them. Dawson sighed when Sinclair pulled into the drive and up in front of the house. He got out, grateful for the cool night air, but also anxious to head inside.
Georgia hurried out, did her business, and then ran and jumped for attention, which Dawson gave her, leading the way inside. Once he closed the door, Sinclair pressed him against it, kissing him hard enough that he thumped against the wood, the panels digging into his back, and yet he didn’t care at all.
“I didn’t expect…,” Dawson whispered.
“What? That I wouldn’t know what I wanted?” Sinclair reached up and flipped off Dawson’s hat, then bunched his fingers in the front of his shirt to pull Dawson downward into a kiss he felt to the tips of his toes. There was no doubt at all that Sinclair knew what he was doing. Not too wet or dry, his lips were perfect, and they demonstrated that Sinclair was willing to take what he wanted. There was no demurring or hesitancy in him.
“No, that you’d be so forward and….” He swallowed hard.
“Is that bad? Am I supposed to wait for you to make the first move?” Sinclair stepped back.
Dawson smiled. “Good God, no. If you waited for me, we’d probably be old men before anything happened.” And Dawson wanted something to happen so badly, he could taste it. He pulled Sinclair close once again. “I’ve just never met anyone like you. I don’t think there are people like you around here. I mean, other gay men pretty much have to keep quiet. Ky had a hard time finding people when he needed them. Some guys didn’t want to work for him. But I suppose those are the kind of people he didn’t need there anyway. I don’t stand for hate talk here on the ranch, and some of the men know why. But I guess I’ve had to hide more than most.”
Sinclair grinned. “Well, you don’t have to hide from me. Not anything.” He tugged at the buttons on Dawson’s shirt and slipped it off him before slowly running his warm hands over his shoulders and down his chest. Dawson’s skin tingled under his hands, and Dawson put his on top of Sinclair’s.
Georgia barked, and Dawson smiled down at her. “Are you angry because you aren’t the one getting the attention?” he asked as he lifted her up between them. Sinclair petted her, and Dawson stroked her as well before setting her down on her doggie bed in the corner. She pranced in a circle and then lay down, blinking her big eyes.
Dawson wasn’t quite sure what he should do now. With Georgia’s interruption, he couldn’t tell if the mood had been killed or not. He hated not knowing what should come next.
Sinclair must have realized he was just standing there because he turned and cupped his hands on his cheeks to draw him closer once again. “Come on, big boy, before someone else decides to interrupt.” He kissed him and then took Dawson by the hand.
Dawson led him to his bedroom and closed the door behind them. Why he’d done that when it was his house and no one else was going to come in was beyond him. Maybe he needed to make sure Georgia stayed out… or it was probably the fact that he wanted Sinclair all to himself. “Where do we start?” Dawson whispered, which had to be the most unromantic and unsexy thing ever said by man. Okay, there had to be worse things, but Sinclair didn’t remark on it. He simply put his arms around Dawson’s neck, held on, jumped, and wrapped his legs around Dawson’s hips. Dawson returned his kiss, supporting Sinclair’s weight, and found his hands filled with tight, shaking ass cheeks, and damned if they didn’t feel fine in his hands.
He carried a hot Sinclair to his bed and laid him on the mattress, leaning over him, taking his lips in a searing kiss that he felt soul deep. Sinclair hugged him tightly, not letting go, even when Dawson pulled away to desperately suck air into his lungs. He needed to be closer, and his shaking fingers worked at Sinclair’s shirt buttons. Somehow he managed to get the stubborn things open and the fabric parted.
Dawson stopped completely at the lurid scar that began at Sinclair’s left shoulder and continued toward his arm. “What the hell happened to you?” He peered deep into Sinclair’s eyes. He had expected that Sinclair had led an easy life. His parents had money and they seemed to have had a good marriage without the fighting, trauma, and divorce that had plagued his own childhood. This was the last thing he’s been expecting. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore,” Sinclair whispered, and Dawson gently traced his finger over the pink scar. The skin had healed, and Sinclair shivered at the touch.
“What happened?” Dawson was well aware of scars on the inside, but this… there was something nasty behind it.
“An asshole with a knife took it upon himself to show that people at the Houston Pride celebration deserved to be taught a lesson. I got this.” He put his hand on top of Dawson’s.
“What happened to him?”
Sinclair gripped Dawson’s hand more tightly. “There were a lot of people around, some with kids, and he was just looking for people to hurt. I could see it in his eyes, and when he came for me, I didn’t get out of the way fast enough. He cut me, and I kicked him in the knee. He went to prison, and I understand he still doesn’t walk right… and never will.”
Dawson blinked a few times. “You did that, after he cut you?”
“I didn’t feel it at first, and I know I’m small, but I can take care of myself.” Sinclair smiled and pulled Dawson’s hand away. “If you want to touch me, I have other places I’d much rather feel your hands.” He placed it on his own chest, and Dawson’s hand tingled at the touch. He drew lower, their chests touching, skin tingling with each nerve that fired. It was like they were drawn together by force, and he had no idea why. The thought of pulling away never entered his mind.
They fumbled and even laughed as each shimmied to one side and then the other. Boots clomped to the floor, followed by fancy shoes, and then Dawson somehow managed to get his jeans off and then Sinclair’s painted-on version of denim until there was nothing between them. Sinclair seemed to turn into a wild man under him, all energy and action. Hands and lips blazed trails that drove Dawson out of his mind, and when Sinclair flipped them on the bed, looking down into his eyes, Dawson expected his control instincts to kick in, but they didn’t. Instead, he lost himself in Sinclair’s eyes, swimming in their deep blue flecked with green that seemed to sparkle.
Sinclair might have wanted to talk, but Dawson simply kissed him as passion rose quickly, his hips flexing out of desperation for more.
“How long has it been?” Sinclair asked.
Dawson held him tighter. “Quite a while.” And he could sure as hell feel it. He’d put parts of himself on hold, and now that they pushed to be let out, and it was like letting a team of mustangs loose. He hugged Sinclair close, kissing hard, his hands roving down his back and then over the curve of his perfect, smooth ass. All that perfection sliding under his hands only ramped up his own desire.
“So,” Sinclair began, his eyes shining, “you haven’t had anyone do this is a while?” He grinned and slid downward, sucking a trail along his chest and belly before sliding the most amazing pair of lips in the western hemisphere down around his cock.