CHAPTER 8: AUGUST

_ THE PAST IS IN THE PAST _

Should I be a little scared at the way he instructed me just now? The only thing it's doing is making my dick leak and body shiver. I always am the one who takes charge of moments like these. Not once have I given it up, whether with a man or a woman – the thrill of being the one in control is unexplainable. There's a first time for everything.

Patrick may be quiet and reserved out in public, but the second we arrived at his place it's like a switch was flipped and I'm with an entirely different person. He's wild and untamed, and ready to raise some hell.

Fuck yeah.

After tonight, I have one day remaining in London then I head to Scotland for a few days before I head back home. Tonight is all I will have with him. It will be enough. It has to be. It's our unspoken rule.

I do as Patrick commands and climb on the bed, my cock jutting out and standing at attention. It's hard and aching, craving his hands, his mouth. His ass. All of him. We only have tonight and I wanna make the most of it. My head hits the pillow then I set my hands behind my head, and drink in my wild stallion.

Patrick is as naked as a jaybird except for my hat on his head. He's fuckin' handsome standing there all proud and sure of himself. We are close in height and have a similar body make-up, although I have about twenty extra pounds of muscle on him and he's as pale as someone can get. He might not fare too well with the brutal Wyoming summer sky.

I have major respect for the man. It takes guts to admit he hasn't been with anyone in two years, but that isn't stopping him – if anything, it's reviving him – and he's ravenous. This cowboy is about to be eaten alive and I've never been happier.

Patrick toys with the bottle of lube, his blue eyes flashing with a familiar hunger I felt – although his has a hint of a darker edge, almost sinister. This go-around is going to be oh-so fuckin' filthy. Good thing this rancher doesn't mind gettin' a little dirty.

He prowls up the bed like a hungry wolf, hovering over me with lust-filled eyes. I slide my hands along his chest up his ribcage where the lion tattoo sits on his left side. It's then I feel the long ribbons of raised skin I missed earlier. I know a scar when I feel it. Yet another hidden mystery about him that adds to his edge. He lowers his hand to my shaft, grips me hard, and strokes it – once.

[Patrick] "I thought about making ye come as quick as ye made me. Then I had the idea to stretch this out – see how many times I get ye to the edge before yer begging fer it." Patrick's dominating tone and that fucking grip of his on my cock sends me straight into the stratosphere.

[August] "You teasing me like that makes me so fuckin' hard." I admit, granting him a jerk of my dick in his hand. "Make me come, Scotsman." His smirk is pure evil and it's like he's seeing into my soul.

[Patrick sinister] "In due time, cowboy." He teases with a shake of his head. "But first, we play." His talented hand leaves my shaft and moves to my ball sack, massaging and rolling them gently, a stark contrast to what he was just doing. Then his thumb begins rubbing circles on my taint and I see stars.

[August] " Fuuuck , that's good." I groan and go for my cock but he's there pinning my wrist against the bed, dark eyes narrowing on me.

[Patrick stern] "Did I say ye could touch yerself?" He commands, pausing his movements then removing his hand from between us. The loss has me groaning.

[August] "You're hot when you're bossy." I lift my hips and grind our dicks together. Patrick's growl is filled with need as his eyes flutter and lips part – a sign I interpret well. Submission . I make my move; shifting my legs around his waist I force him down on me, my dick pressed against his length as I grind us together.

[Patrick breathy] " Mmmm . So ye think ye can take charge, do ya?"

[August] "Hell yes I do." I break his hold on my wrist, wrap an arm around his back then I cup the back of his head and force his lips to mine.

That's the problem with two dominate men; we forever want the control, and this battle with him has to be the hottest damn thing I've ever done.

We are pressed together, chest to chest, cock to cock; I'm on sensation overload and never want it to end. At this point I don't even care if we fuck; doing what we're doing is sexier than anything I've ever experienced. And that is why I do not want tomorrow to come. The sunrise means an end to this. For now, we live in this moment.

[August] "You feel so damn good, Patrick – so damn good ." I feel him tremble at my admission then he's shifting to his side and taking me with him. He locates the lube and coats his hand then seizes our cocks in a tight slick fist and starts pumping. I wrap my hand around his and squeeze making both of us growl in pleasure.

My hips rock in time with his movements, our gazes locked on each other as we increase our rhythm. A scowl creases his brow, a sign he's enjoying this. We are panting and moaning, cursing and grunting, and it's like a wildfire igniting within me, building and building until I'm right there.

[August] "I'm gonna come." I breathe. Patrick grits his teeth, on the edge of losing it.

[Patrick] "Do it. Come fer me – right – now ."

The second he makes his demand we explode, coming wildly in a frantic whirlwind of hunger and heat, and obsession. Our release is everywhere; all over our hands, our chests, and it even lands under my chin. Patrick finds the stray ribbon and licks it off me then his forehead connects with mine and our eyes close as we catch our breath.

[Patrick whisper] "Christ, August."

He falls to his back bringing me with him then he kisses the ever-loving hell outta me. We are sticky from our release and, damn . I wanna do that so many times.

After a few minutes of Patrick's fingers running over my back, I release a sigh, too content to move as I take in his touch.

[Patrick] "Stay the night." Patrick is not asking me – he wants me to stay with him, and all I can think about is how amazing our morning sex will be. I make sure there isn't a scrap of doubt in his eyes before answering him.

[August] "There's no other place I'd rather be." He sighs.

[Patrick] "Smooth talker."

[August] " Always. " I grin.

One night has turned into more with him. This vacation keeps getting better and better.

Once cleaned up and out of the bathroom I locate my boxers in the bedroom and slide them on. Patrick isn't in sight, so I head to the open kitchen and living area. It's one long room, the entry is right off the kitchen where I discover he's placed my hat on a peg next to his raincoat. The sight is mildly domestic. The place is simple and clean with a wood industrial vibe like Tally's, the couch looks brand new – as in he barely uses it, and the kitchen is a smaller version of something you'd find in a restaurant. Even the bedroom has very little to tell his story.

The only signs of life I find are three pictures; extending the length above the couch there is a painted picture of a highland cow in a grassy field with the sunrise in the background. On a side table there is a small, framed photo of a younger, bright haired Patrick with a lovely female with the same hair color unmistaken to be his mother, and on the fridge is a five by seven of Patrick and Lili with bright smiles while they embrace each other behind the bar at Tally's. Either this guy is a neat freak, or he doesn't spend much of his time here.

Patrick stands at the sink sipping a glass of water, a sense he's far away, lost in thought as I near him. He's dressed in a pair of boxer briefs and that gray beanie of his, and I'm not surprised when I discover more ink across his back. It's then I realize, he uses his body for his story, not his home.

[August] "Hey stud." I voice and wait for a reaction before closing in. When he turns there is a hint of a smile there.

[Patrick] "Hey cowboy." He offers me the glass which I accept and down half of it. "Care fer a bevvy?" I shake my head and set the glass on the counter, my hands moving to trail up his biceps.

[August] "I'd rather give you a back rub, maybe learn a little more about those tattoos of yours." I profess. His blue eyes darken as his hands go to my waist.

[Patrick] "Oh? Ye think I'll give up my secrets that easily?"

[August] "Once I'm done with you – probably." I say it smugly, because I know I'm right. I'll have him eatin' outta the palm of my hand soon enough.

[Patrick] "Alright then." He starts off. "Only if I give ye one first." I chuckle then hover my lips over his.

[August whisper] "You, Scotsman, have yourself a deal."

One thing I learn about Patrick is how he can do more than toss bottles and mix drinks with those talented hands of his. They are magic when it comes to back rubs. Thoroughly relaxed and unashamed to be sporting a stiffy, we swap places and I straddle his hips, gather lotion into my palm, then delight in the sounds coming from this Scotsman as I work him over.

After the lotion has dried, he's languid under my touch, and on the verge of snoring. He shivers as my fingers idly trace the large, intricate tattoo adorning his skin. It's a full black and gray backpiece; a winged man – scratch that – a hardened warrior is kneeling, holding a massive broad sword with a gem in the center of the handle. The angel feathers spread across the back of each arm, down his sides, and end at his dimples. They're so detailed they closely resemble the real thing. Small areas near the bottom are in the final stages of healing, and additional line work tells me this piece isn't quite done.

[August] "This tattoo of yours." I begin. "Wanna tell me about it?" Patrick hesitates, and I get the sense I shouldn't have asked. The room fills with silence as I continue to study his artwork ingrained with what had to've been a rough past. No matter where I touch there are scars and divots of marred skin under the ink. I know he won't get in to specifics, but I wouldn't be human if I wasn't the least bit curious.

[Patrick] "Lili is the master designer." He states, his gaze focused on a distant point around his closet. "The tattooist is a mate of mine I met during my teen years."

I continue tracing the edges of the dark angel wings down to his rear.

[August] "It's immaculate. What does it mean? If you don't mind me asking."

Patrick's sigh is heavy, the silence extending so long I didn't think he'd answer.

[Patrick] "The warrior is my guardian; someone to act as my compass, guide me on the right path, and remind me not to live in the regrets of my past." He pauses and I wait to see if he will continue. "I'm still trying to come to terms with the last part."

He's covered the scars with tattoos so they're less visible, a way to hide his pain. I trace the shining sword with the red gem in the handle, the only color on the piece. His words linger as a heavy weight in the room. I decide I'm not going to press the subject.

[August somber] "The past can be a bastard sometimes." I say in a way to tell him he's not alone.

Schuster Ranch wasn't meant to be my responsibility at twenty-nine, hell, we all thought dad would be here for years yet. I had so much to learn from him that I'm having to figure it out on my own. But here we are – and the day he died still haunts me.

Patrick's words got me thinking of the mild early February morning I found my father out in the field with the manure spreader. The old machine kept sputtering and choking as it often did. That's when I discovered my father caught in it, the white snow painted red. Over thirty years of that machine operating had it worn out to the point repairs only held it together for a short while. Every single one of us who ran that machine knew it required two people to bang on it to keep it going or clear the clogs, so why didn't the stubborn man wait for me? If I would've had my ass out there sooner I might've been able to shut off the machine and save his life. It's one of the worst days of my life that I'll regret forever.

Shaking off my torment, I shift off him and lay on my side, studying his face for any give aways. Patrick is detached for minutes then he takes a deep breath, his eyes soon finding mine. I'm not surprised when he shifts the topic off himself and turns to his side so we are chest to chest.

[Patrick] "I dinnae see any ink on ye. Tell me ye have something I have'ne found yet." I lightly chuckle and shake my head as I run my fingertips along his arm.

[August] "No tattoos. But ." I point to my ass cheek. "I've got a different kind of mark." He raises his brow.

[Patrick] "Like a birthmark?" He asks and I shake my head again. "What is it then?" A sly smile works its way on my lips as I sift through the memories of that night, and it helps diminish the negative ones. This is one story I will never ever forget.

[August] "This happened at a bon-fire party with some high school friends. Too many drinks. Lost a bet in a game of horseshoes. Had to get the brand." I point to my ass cheek, the searing pain forever imbedded in my brain.

[Patrick stunned] "A brand? Like, marking a coo?" He sat up, tugged down my boxers and traced the scarred Schuster Ranch branding on my skin.

[August] "Yeah, they thought it'd be funny. [Laughter] My momma was so pissed. She tanned my other cheek with her spatula when I showed it to her the morning after. Then my dad had to go buy her a new spatula because my ass broke her favorite one." I cringe at the memory of the pain. " – And the worst part was, I had double the chores, which meant double the time on my horse. My ass hurt for weeks ."

Patrick falls on the bed beside me in laughter, a full and genuine sound that has me joining in. After a few minutes we calm down then he grips my chin, the mood immediately shifting.

[Patrick darker] "Did'ye learn yer lesson?" His stare is mischievous as I resume the trail along his skin with my fingertips, having an idea where this is heading.

[August sly] "Not even close."

[Patrick] "Right answer." With that, his lips find mine and we are ready in seconds.

Round two, here we go.