walked out of the barn, leaving Bo on his knees and feeling like the biggest fuckup in the world.
Jesus, what was wrong with him? Max nearly giggled at the thought. He was a damned mess, that was nothing new. And he was scared of the way he’d lost control and went after Bo like he had, shoving into his warm wet mouth and just pounding away. Actually, he was furious with himself for it. That wasn’t the way he should have treated the man he cared so much for. Neither was running off, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He’d had to leave before he did something worse, like push Bo to the ground and fuck him until they were both unconscious.
Max walked faster, his mind stuck on the fantasy of feeling Bo under him, the tight clench of his ass around Max’s dick. He was so lost in the thought he nearly collided with Annabelle as she rounded the side of the barn the same time he did. Her surprised squeak was almost as loud as his, and she looked at him with startled blue eyes.
“Did you already finish the stalls?”
Damn it! What was he thinking, walking away from a job? Rapid footsteps distracted him and he craned his head around in time to see Bo hustling towards the bunkhouse, his MILES TO GO
Bailey Bradford
64
slight shoulders drooping and his head tipped down. Max’s stomach burned with guilt that he tried to hide. He didn’t want Annabelle to know what a heartless ass he was.
“No, not yet,” Max mumbled as he pulled his gaze away from Bo’s slender form. He pivoted on his heels, his legs feeling strangely boneless. “I’ll finish them now.” Maybe shovelling more shit would keep him from thinking of the things he wanted to do to Bo.
MILES TO GO
Bailey Bradford
65
Chapter Seven
“Bo sure took off in a hurry for an injured man.”
Max grunted as he lifted the shovel full of nasty mess. It’d figure Annabelle would show up right after he’d had his brain melted. The best Max could hope for was that he hadn’t lost the cells that controlled his power to speak—or not.
“Guess he’ll be leaving soon since he’s getting around so well.”
Well, god damn it, how’d he manage to miss the fucking wheelbarrow? And why was
Annabelle still chattering on, forcing him to think about things he didn’t want to? Max glared at her from the corner of his eye as he started trying to scrape the mess up and toss it where it belonged. Annabelle wore that smirk, the one that told Max she knew something he didn’t and thought it was hilarious. He gave up on glaring at her and concentrated on what he was doing, sort of. In truth, he was just trying to wait her out. She had to leave sometime.
“Smells a little funky in here.” Annabelle made an exaggerated sniffing sound, her teasing voice stoking Max’s irritation. It wouldn’t do him any good to let her know that.
“Well, seeing as how I’m shovelling shit out of this here stall, I imagine it does smell
‘funky’.” Surely she couldn’t smell anything else. The barn smelt like a manure-filled oven, thanks to the barn heater. Max sniffed cautiously—quietly—and didn’t detect anything other than the usual.
Annabelle hummed and stepped in front of him, her expression far from teasing.
“What’d you do to Bo?”
“Shit!” Shit, shovel, hay, it all hit the ground. “Annabelle, you need to let this be. I didn’t do anything to that man.” Adding on ‘except lose my mind when he gave me my first blowjob, then I fucked his pretty mouth like some animal, rutting and shoving my dick down his throat’ wasn’t really an option.
Once he’d come, Max had been well past appalled with his behaviour. Bo had done
something for him no one else ever had. Max had repaid Bo by violently thrusting into his warm, wet mouth over and over, battering away with no thought to whether or not he was hurting Bo. Added to that damning realisation was Max’s pa’s voice, dredged up from childhood beatings—not always his own—during which
Jesus, what was wrong with him? Max nearly giggled at the thought. He was a damned mess, that was nothing new. And he was scared of the way he’d lost control and went after Bo like he had, shoving into his warm wet mouth and just pounding away. Actually, he was furious with himself for it. That wasn’t the way he should have treated the man he cared so much for. Neither was running off, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He’d had to leave before he did something worse, like push Bo to the ground and fuck him until they were both unconscious.
Max walked faster, his mind stuck on the fantasy of feeling Bo under him, the tight clench of his ass around Max’s dick. He was so lost in the thought he nearly collided with Annabelle as she rounded the side of the barn the same time he did. Her surprised squeak was almost as loud as his, and she looked at him with startled blue eyes.
“Did you already finish the stalls?”
Damn it! What was he thinking, walking away from a job? Rapid footsteps distracted him and he craned his head around in time to see Bo hustling towards the bunkhouse, his MILES TO GO
Bailey Bradford
64
slight shoulders drooping and his head tipped down. Max’s stomach burned with guilt that he tried to hide. He didn’t want Annabelle to know what a heartless ass he was.
“No, not yet,” Max mumbled as he pulled his gaze away from Bo’s slender form. He pivoted on his heels, his legs feeling strangely boneless. “I’ll finish them now.” Maybe shovelling more shit would keep him from thinking of the things he wanted to do to Bo.
MILES TO GO
Bailey Bradford
65
Chapter Seven
“Bo sure took off in a hurry for an injured man.”
Max grunted as he lifted the shovel full of nasty mess. It’d figure Annabelle would show up right after he’d had his brain melted. The best Max could hope for was that he hadn’t lost the cells that controlled his power to speak—or not.
“Guess he’ll be leaving soon since he’s getting around so well.”
Well, god damn it, how’d he manage to miss the fucking wheelbarrow? And why was
Annabelle still chattering on, forcing him to think about things he didn’t want to? Max glared at her from the corner of his eye as he started trying to scrape the mess up and toss it where it belonged. Annabelle wore that smirk, the one that told Max she knew something he didn’t and thought it was hilarious. He gave up on glaring at her and concentrated on what he was doing, sort of. In truth, he was just trying to wait her out. She had to leave sometime.
“Smells a little funky in here.” Annabelle made an exaggerated sniffing sound, her teasing voice stoking Max’s irritation. It wouldn’t do him any good to let her know that.
“Well, seeing as how I’m shovelling shit out of this here stall, I imagine it does smell
‘funky’.” Surely she couldn’t smell anything else. The barn smelt like a manure-filled oven, thanks to the barn heater. Max sniffed cautiously—quietly—and didn’t detect anything other than the usual.
Annabelle hummed and stepped in front of him, her expression far from teasing.
“What’d you do to Bo?”
“Shit!” Shit, shovel, hay, it all hit the ground. “Annabelle, you need to let this be. I didn’t do anything to that man.” Adding on ‘except lose my mind when he gave me my first blowjob, then I fucked his pretty mouth like some animal, rutting and shoving my dick down his throat’ wasn’t really an option.
Once he’d come, Max had been well past appalled with his behaviour. Bo had done
something for him no one else ever had. Max had repaid Bo by violently thrusting into his warm, wet mouth over and over, battering away with no thought to whether or not he was hurting Bo. Added to that damning realisation was Max’s pa’s voice, dredged up from childhood beatings—not always his own—during which
Similar Books
