17. Bishop

There'ssomething about giving Porter control that appeals to me. Not only because it lets me off the hook for a while, takes away the pressure of being next in line to run this place, but also because it's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot.

I'm an idiot for doing this with him on the ranch, but the grooms and cattle hands are still enjoying their dinner in the bunkhouse. My parents won't venture outside to find us behind the stable, in the darkest corner, where all you can see are the stars and the whites of each other's eyes.

We stand close, breathing the same air, and when he takes my mouth, I lose myself to him. Always have, probably always will. He tastes like that pie, cinnamon and nutmeg, and as I earnestly suck on his tongue, I can't get enough.

When his hands grip my shoulders, my dick stiffens behind my zipper because I know what's next and the anticipation is killing me.

"Now suck me good, boss." Porter's voice is rough as he urges me down with barely restrained zeal, and the rest is my own eagerness that I get to have him again.

As soon as I'm on my knees, I make quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, and there it is, his tantalizing scent. The one I fantasized about over the years as I tried to hold on to the memories, no matter how painful some of them were.

I bury my nose in his groin, reveling in the smell of soap and sweat and quintessential Porter as his coarse hairs tickle my cheek. "Damn, I missed this."

"I know what you mean," he admits, a rare confession. As if realizing his mistake, he follows it up with a challenge. "Not many suck cock better than you. At least, I used to think that. Not sure about it anymore."

That only lights a blaze in my belly as I brush my lips against his glans, then down his shaft to the root, refamiliarizing myself with the length and girth, determined to show him what he's missed. To blow his mind. Or at least his load. Just knowing I can turn him on pleases me to no end.

I glance up at him when his fingers dig in my hair, and he guides my lips to his head. "You're hot for my mouth, aren't you?"

"Maybe I just don't want to get caught while you're taking your time down there," he grunts out. "I wouldn't necessarily care, but you would since you're—fuck!"

I lash my tongue against his slit to disarm that cocky attitude of his, and Porter groans in response. At the first salty burst of precum, my eyes practically roll back in my head.

I hear his breathing intensify, and when I glance up, his eyes are screwed shut, his lips parted as if in silent prayer. Damn, if we had more time, I'd want to wind him up even further, but as it is, we're taking a risk by doing this in public. Again.

Christ, we're playing with fire.

But somehow that thought makes my dick so hard in my pants, they might bust open, so I use one hand to unzip my jeans and pull myself out. While I suckle his tip, I slowly stroke myself.

I feel his legs wobble as he moans, so I adjust my weight to prop him up. His eyes are still shut, which doesn't sit well with me.

"Watch me, Port. I want you to see who made you lose control."

His eyes spring open, and he meets my gaze. I can see the intensity in them, the warring emotions too.

I lick him from root to tip. "Can't wait for you to unload your balls into my mouth."

"Fucking hell, Bishop, you pick up some dirty talk over the years?"

"Maybe." Or maybe only with you.

I reach down to grip his sac. "Still got a thing for your nuts being played with?"

"Sure as hell do." But his words don't match his expression as he trembles, seeming vulnerable right then. To show him how much I remember, I lower my head to pull one of his balls into my mouth. The effect is satisfying as a deep moan releases from his throat.

I take my time licking and sucking his sac as he sways toward me. By the time I get back to his cock, it's red-tipped and thick with blood. I waste no time taking him between my lips and down to the back of my throat, keeping one hand on his ball sac and the other returning to my neglected shaft.

I get a rhythm going with my tongue and lips and hand as Porter moans shamelessly. It's so goddamn hot, I want to pull him down to the ground with me so we can let loose and fuck like animals.

"You're killing me." His cock is splitting my lips, drool coming out the sides of my mouth when I glance up at him. I'm too far gone to do anything more than hold his gaze. His fingers drift down to my shoulder and then to my ear, where he winds a lock of my hair in such a tender move, my heart stutters.

My eyes roll back as I shut them, doubling down with my lips and tongue and hands until my jaw is aching as much as my knees, not that I'm complaining.

I pull back to catch my breath. "Fuck my mouth, Port."

I hear the growl in the back of his throat as he grips my hair, pulling it back enough that it smarts. "You don't have to ask twice."

He fists his cock before stuffing it back in my mouth and rocking his hips.

My hand is working its magic on my shaft as he practically chokes and gags me with his thrusts. My throat feels bruised, but I also love the fuck out of it and he knows it, so he doesn't let up. My eyes are watering as my hand flies on my dick, and that's when I feel him stiffen.

"So fucking good." His voice is strained as his cum spurts down my throat.

I moan around his shaft as my spine tingles and I see stars floating in front of my eyes. My cock unloads over my hand and onto the grass. I'm still milking him with my mouth as he softens. I want to keep his cock between my lips, fall asleep like that, but I know it's a bit farfetched for what this is between us.

It's quiet as I finally stand, and we both catch our breath and tuck ourselves back in.

And then he's pulling me toward him to take my mouth and taste himself on me.

He hums against my lips. "Next time I'm gonna swallow your load."

Next time.

"I'll gladly oblige."

That's when we hear the sharp whinny coming from the paddock.

"What the hell was that?" Porter asks.

I immediately spring into panic mode, heading around the stable, Porter on my heels.

The horses seem restless as they keep their distance from Storm, who's pacing close to the fence. That's when I notice he's limping.

"Are you hurt?" Porter asks as he climbs higher on the fence.

"What the hell happened?" I ask, joining him.

Storm shuffles closer when he sees Porter, then lifts his front leg in the air, as if trying to alert him to something.

Porter frowns. "What happened, boy?"

I hold my breath as Porter stretches his fingers toward the stallion. Storm stares at his hand as if considering whether to trust him. I watch in amazement as the horse limps forward to sniff him before nuzzling his fingers.

"Maybe you should head inside and see if you can get a closer look?"

Porter nods as he steps down and makes his way to the gate. I watch from the other side, careful not to talk loudly or make any sudden moves. This could all go south in a heartbeat.

My pulse spikes as Porter gets closer to Storm. Standing near his front flank, he bends forward to gently pat the leg Storm keeps lifting off the ground. He strokes him for another minute, and when he's tolerated it for long enough, Porter cautiously reaches for his leg and tilts it upward to get a look at the underside of his hoof.

"I think maybe he's got a pebble stuck."

"Makes sense." It's likely painful, and if it's not dealt with, it can turn into a deep bruise, which is way trickier to manage. "The farrier's coming to shoe the new stock at the end of the week, but maybe we should try and get it out."

Storm shifts away from Porter, and as his hoof hits the ground, he whinnies again.

"Let's walk him to the stable," I suggest.

"And use the hoof pick?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

Porter nods as he gets hold of Storm's halter. "Come on, boy, let's put you in your stall so I can help you out."

Surprisingly, the stallion follows him toward the gate, still limping and snuffling all the way to the stable.

I grab a hoof pick off the nail near the door while Porter gets him situated in his stall.

The pick has a brush on the other end to wipe away mud or debris, and as I approach Porter, I can see the wariness in his gaze. "I'm gonna assume they haven't been able to get too close to Storm with that thing."

"Which is why the farrier can't get here soon enough."

Porter makes his way into the stall while I stay on the outside with a loose hold on the rope, wishing I could help in some way. But I have a feeling Storm will only let Porter get this close, so I just offer my advice and support.

He begins stroking Storm's mane before fetching a grooming brush and using it intermittently with his hand. That brush is gentler than the hoof pick will be, and it seems to soothe Storm. So Porter keeps going, trying to get him acclimated to his touch, along with the other tool.

"Okay, boy," Porter says, placing the brush down and lifting the pick. "Now we're gonna try and help you so you're not in pain anymore."

He reaches down to lift his hoof, and Storm lets him. But as soon as the stallion feels the instrument against his hoof, he rears his head back. I reach for the halter to hold him steady as Porter uses the same cooing-clicking sound he does with the gelding while grooming him in the evenings.

Storm relaxes a little as he resumes the task. He only gets one go-around with the pick before Storm is trying to pull away.

Porter relents and steps aside as I let go of the halter and loosen my hold on the rope. Storm backs away, but he has little room to move in his stall. The first thing we both notice is he's able to keep his hoof down.

"I think I got it," Porter says with something akin to pride in his expression.

I smile. "I think you're right. Thank God."

"You'll feel better now," Porter says, patting his mane one last time before exiting his stall.

That's when the stable door opens, and a groom appears. I lift my hand to shush him as he approaches so he doesn't spook Storm.

"What's going on, boss?"

"Seems Storm got a stone lodged in his hoof. Porter thinks he got it out."

He winces, either because he knows what a bear it likely was with a horse like Storm or because he knows how important the farrier's visit will be for the new stock so they're not vulnerable to injury.

"I haven't been able to get close enough, so you two apparently make a good team."

Porter looks away.

I thump Porter's shoulder. "Nah, it was all him."

"I'll keep an eye out, to make sure a bruise doesn't form."

"Sounds good," Porter replies.

He replaces the pick on the nail as we head out of the stable doors.

"Don't even say it," Porter tells me when we're away from prying eyes.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," I tease, nudging him off-balance with my shoulder. "Oops."

"Oh yeah?" Before I can get away, Porter has me in a headlock, and we're laughing like we did when we roughhoused as kids.

When I finally get out of his grasp, I look up to see Wade and Randy standing outside the bunkhouse, having what looks like a serious conversation.

I straighten immediately, realizing my mistake. No way I want to show any favoritism toward Porter or make it seem like he has any sway over me.

"Just you never mind," Wade says, shooing Randy toward his truck.

Randy gives us one more assessing glance before climbing inside and taking off.

"Well, shit," I whisper under my breath. "We're gonna need to cool it."

"I'll try my best, boss." Porter smirks as he salutes me and heads toward the bunkhouse.