Laird's Choice, Remmy Duchene [superbooks4u .txt] 📗

and peeled off his gloves to level his eyes on Laird. The sunlight only heightened the man's good looks.

The two stood in silence—Race with his back

against the corral and Laird with his elbows against it. It was a strange quiet Race wasn't used to. He was still trying to wrap his mind around being free. This, silence, was new to him because for so long in prison he couldn't hear himself think. There was always noise: guards yelling, prisoners screaming, riots boiling. There was always something to keep his attention off thinking and just on surviving.

"You know, we're going to have to talk about it,"

Laird finally said.

Race took a drag from his coffee and turned his

head to look at the real estate agent beside him. He said nothing, simply eased further back against the wood fencing and pushed his hat down over his eyes.

"Race, say something. Don't make me feel like a complete slut for throwing myself at you or something."

Race laughed then and received a fist to the arm for his troubles. Laird stalked off toward the house and Race ran after him. "Laird!" he called. "Laird, wait. Come on now!"

"Ass!"

"Laird!" Race grabbed his arm and ran to stand before him. "What did you expect my reaction would be to that statement? Come on! Cut a guy some slack. That was funny."

Laird only glared at him, and Race fought to keep a straight face. He may not have dated in a while but he never forgot—laughing would be the absolute wrong thing to do in this situation. He brushed a strand of hair from Laird's face, searching the man's clear green eyes for a moment before stepping in closer. "You're not a slut, Laird.

And you didn't throw yourself at me. You make it seem like I wasn't right there with you. I was as turned on as you if not more—so this isn't all on you."

Still Laird said nothing.

"Damn it, Laird."

Laird pushed his hand away and stepped around

him. "I have to go look up some properties for you." With that said, he disappeared into the house. Race removed his hat and dragged his fingers through his hair before slamming the hat back to his head and storming into the house.

"Hey, Race, Laird just…" Winston started.

"Not now!"

"Race! What's going on?"

"Not now, Winston!"

Race stalked through the house, down the hall and knocked on Laird's door. When no answer came, he turned the knob and stepped in, closing the door behind him. He removed his hat, tossed it on a nearby chair, and rested his back on the door. Laird was seated at the desk with his laptop open.

"Are we going to do this every time?" Race questioned.

"No," Laird replied, without looking up. "There won't be an every time."

"I see."

Walking across the room, he gripped the back of

Laird's chair, spinning him around. When their eyes met, he could tell Laird was mad. Smiling, he inched the chair back until it crashed into the desk. He leaned in then, trapping Laird between the chair, desk, and his body. Laird grabbed his shoulders but Race allowed his eyes to drift shut as he inhaled Laird's scent, memorizing it, allowing it to captivate him. He bowed his head to Laird's neck, licking the warm flesh, savoring the taste. He left his hands where they were, against the arms of the chair for he knew should he touch Laird he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He remembered the night before and that if they hadn't been so rudely interrupted, he would have gone further. Dragging his tongue up the side of Laird's neck, he dropped a kiss on the spot just beneath Laird's ear. A sigh left Laird's lips and Race took that as the sign he needed to pull Laird's earlobe between his teeth.

"You have to stop," Laird whispered.

"Why is that?"

"Because like you; I have my secrets."

"You have a mole I need to know about?"

Laird chuckled. "No moles—that I know of, and if I have, no one has said anything over the years."

"Then don't worry about it."

Snaking his tongue over the ear, he let a kiss fall at the side of Laird's face before moving his mouth down to hover above Laird's lips. He brushed Laird's mouth, caressing it with his own. When Laird's arms went up around him, Race sighed and shifted his head. But soon Laird's fingers were tangled in his hair and pulling his mouth down. When their lips finally fused, a growl erupted from Race's chest, making his knees weak and sending fire surging through his veins. He feasted on Laird's mouth, drawing Laird's tongue in then shoving his own into Laird's mouth. His breath left him quickly now, his heart racing and cock pulsing. He couldn't take a breath for fear of exploding and all he could do was suck on Laird's tongue and lips as if his life depended on it.

* * * *

Laird's mind had nothing to do with what was

happening between them. His cock, heart, and soul took over, causing him to tug Race's head back using the cowboy's hair and gripping the front of his shirt where the buttons fused through the holes. Locking gazes with Race, Laird curled his finger over the attached button then deliberately, slowly, pulled. One button flew off catching him in the chest before his hand fell down to the next. Then one by one, each button snapped and landed somewhere around them. Laird didn't release Race from his stare even as he pushed the shirt down Race's arms, released his hair and wrapped his hand around Race's back, pressing the palm to the cowboy's back. Licking his lips, Laird finally looked down to Race's chest and saw precisely what he wanted. Both the cowboy's now hardened nipples were pierced and wearing silver. He licked his lips, grabbed Race's shoulder, and pushed slightly.

Rising slowly, he took in Race's body, noting the necklace around his muscular neck; it was a black string with a shark's tooth and the letter S as