Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(51)
The door opened, spilling out light and the broad shape of Mack, staring blankly at him with an open beer bottle in his hand. They stood there a long moment, neither of them blinking, and Wes’s heart fell to his feet when Mack didn’t invite him inside.
Chapter Thirteen
“I fell asleep,” Wes said. Probably the lamest thing he’d ever said in his life, but so very true. And it filled the awkward silence hanging between them.
Mack squinted at him, then stepped back, indicating he could enter. “Fresh air and sunshine will do that to you.”
“I’m sorry.” Wes tried to hide his limp but totally failed, because the instant Mack shut the door, his hand was on Wes’s elbow.
“Your ankle?”
“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have gone swimming today.”
“Probably not.” Mack steered him toward one of the upholstered chairs and directed him to sit. “Want a drink?”
“Water, please.”
Mack fetched the bottle, unscrewing the cap for him like before. Wes sipped at the cold liquid, once again grateful for the prop, because this totally wasn’t how he’d imagined this date starting. Maybe sex was a sure thing, but he’d wanted to answer the door with a seductive grin, maybe tease Mack a little, not limp inside on a painful ankle.
“You let Patrice take a look at your ankle?” Mack asked as he sat in the matching chair. The little sitting area was cozy, like Wes imagined a real mountain cabin would be.
“Yes. She suggested I ride into town tomorrow so the doctor can look at it again, but I figured I’d wait and see how it feels in the morning. I’d hate to have to admit I forgot to take the antibiotics until today.”
“Keep a good eye on it. We’ve never known a guest to get a staph infection from that lake, but there’s a first time for everything.”
“Duly noted.”
Wes fiddled with his bottle’s cap for a few seconds, thrown off by Mack’s calm exterior. He didn’t seem annoyed at all by Wes being nearly an hour late, and he also didn’t seem overjoyed that Wes had actually shown. Never one to beat around the damned bush, he blurted out, “So did I totally blow this, or are we still going to fuck?”
Mack surprised him by barking laughter. “You are an easy one to wind up.”
“What?”
“Relax a little, Wes, this isn’t a nuclear arms treaty we’re negotiating here. If you hadn’t shown, I figured no hard feelings, you changed your mind. But damn, you were so high-strung when you got here, I couldn’t help myself.”
If Wes had been standing, it would have been the perfect time to plant his hands on his hips. All he could do to show his irritation was to slam his water down on the table, sloshing his fist with the liquid. “Asshole. I’m taking the tongue stud out.”
Mack growled, and then he was in Wes’s personal space, kneeling in front of him with his big hands on Wes’s thighs. “Don’t you dare.”
“You gonna stop me?”
“Don’t make me tie you up, boss.”
Wes shivered, and not in the fun way. Mack must have noticed something in his expression, because his entire body relaxed. His hands massaged Wes’s thighs in gentle circles.
“Not a fan of being tied up?” Mack asked.
“No.” The older man’s spot-on perception did funny things to Wes’s insides. He wasn’t used to people reading him so easily, not even Sophie. “Back in college, I hooked up with a guy who wanted to tie me to the headboard. We were both high at the time, and the asshole passed out before he could untie me. I was stuck in his bed for six hours, with him drooling on my stomach.”
Something dangerous glinted in Mack’s eyes, and it made Wes’s belly quiver. “Sorry, boss.”
“It’s fine. Everyone has limits, right. Tell me one of yours.”
“Can’t say that I’m into any of the hard-core stuff. My ex liked me to handcuff him to the headboard once in a while, but I hear you on not liking that. A few smacks on my ass, sure, but I’m not much into receiving pain.”
“Got it.” Wes clanked the stud against his teeth. “Good thing I like getting my ass smacked.”
“Good thing.” Mack’s hands slid higher up Wes’s thighs until his fingertips brushed the edges of Wes’s cock. “I seem to remember a demand from earlier. Something about my mouth being somewhere.”
Oh hell yes.
Wes spread his knees wider. “Yes, please, and thank you.”
Mack chuckled. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Preemptive strike. I know what your mouth is capable of.”
“Were you dropped on your head as a child?”
“Possibly,” Wes said, perfectly deadpan. “I was adopted as an infant, you know, so anything is possible.”
Mack’s expression softened. “Sorry. Guess I shouldn’t joke about that stuff.”
“It’s fine, it doesn’t offend me. I was lucky to be adopted by some pretty amazing parents. I may not know my genetic background, but I know I’m loved. Gay or straight, success or failure, my parents love me.”
“It’s great you have that.”
Wes studied Mack’s expression, liking that he could pick up on the subtle emotional tics Mack made. He didn’t normally have these sort of emotional chats before a hookup—although this felt less like a hookup, and more like a real date—but he liked learning things about Mack. “You didn’t have that?”