Chapter 20: Bunker Lust
1531 Words
Chapter 20: Bunker Lust
The Bunker
Arched Q Ranch
1:33 P.M.
I thought he was going to bend me over the bed and have his way with my ass right then, but he told me to lie down as he fetched some plastic for his tool. Within seconds he was back at my side, on top of me, spreading my legs. Cord’s stiff junk rubbed against mine, making us both gasp.
“Do you want my c**k?”
“I do. All of it.”
“Can I be rough?”
“As rough as you want. I’m ready for whatever you have to give me.”
And rough it was. He made me bend my knees up and took full advantage of the moment, ramming his nine inches of erect stick into me all at once. It just about made me black out. He rode me like he was trying to break me to saddle, slamming into me, pulling out, and slamming in again.
The bed rocked and creaked under our weight as he thrust into me, connecting us again and again. He kissed me repeatedly while he kept pounding me, all our grunts and gasps echoing in that tight underground space. Now he felt like an unbroken horse that I was riding, giving me jolt after jolt. He was wicked, shoving his post inside, gliding it out, and shoving it back in, kissing and tonguing me passionately.
As he was banging into me, my mind started drifting back to everything that had brought me to this bliss: falling for Cord’s cowboy looks the moment I laid eyes on him at K&D Design, taking him to The Rawhide Bar & Grille, climbing Pier 19 with him, going back to my place and making passionate love with him, reading his letter, deciding to go to Stockton County and being caught by his spell again, escaping the tornado to be right here with his c**k inside me as he continued to bang, bang, bang me in his gentlemanly way.
Between kisses, he whispered, “Protecting you, pleasuring you—you’re the man I want in my life.”
I asked, lightly, looking into his eyes, “Do you love me, Cord Darringer?”
“Yes,” he groaned as he thrust into me, “With all my heart and soul.”
“And I love you,” I said, feeling drunk on his pounding, his sweet words, and our intimate connection there on the bed, as we sheltered under the earth, hidden from the world above and its danger.
He plowed into me with overpowering lust, panting as our sweat flowed and mingled. The sound of our flesh slapping together and our deep groans echoed off the concrete walls. He blasted into me again and again, his hipbones ramming the backs of my thighs, and he was damn good at it, a master. He was brutal, but I wanted it. I don’t know how long he kept at me, but my own western storm was building inside my city-boy as he satisfied us both.
His face turned even redder and his eyes seemed to glaze over in mindless lust—I knew he was going to explode in a matter of seconds. He grunted, “Going to shoot, Bradley, get ready.”
And ready I was. He humped me a few more times, then he pulled out and sat back on his haunches. He pulled the condom off his post and started to jack his stick.
I couldn’t stop looking at him, hypnotized by his cowboy aura, his strength and showmanship, and massive tool. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I’d jumped into his world, and onto his body, but our physical connection was somehow less important than the strength of my feeling for him. Cord Darringer was Mr. Stockton County, Mr. Right, and Mr. Perfect. I would have him in full. I would make him mine by virtue of the unbreakable bond between our two souls.
“Any time now,” he grunted, and I looked up at his delicious mouth for a moment. His fist was swift on his d**k, jacking his meat with endless energy. Within seconds, a stream of his white load fired out of his shaft and splattered against my ripped stomach, filled my navel, and hit the bull’s-eye right in the center of my chest.
* * * *
Cream-covered and glistening in the dim light, I told him, “Get me off, man.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Grab my d**k and do your deed.”
“I like a man who knows what he wants.”
He took the eight-inch rod between my sweaty and quivering thighs and started to jack me. He was intense, even rough, but I wanted it. As the friction built under his strong control, I started rising into a state of bliss.
My mind started drifting again. I saw our hands joined by golden bands, an old-time cowboy hymn soft in the distance. We wore tuxes and cowboy hats. We faced each other and he whispered, “I do,” to me. I eagerly said “I do” in return. Then we kissed, sealing our hands and our promise, as onlookers cheered and applauded, celebrating our masculine connection—
“Let it go, Bradley,” Cord told me, his voice soft but his tone commanding, as he pumped me. I felt he’d somehow shared the image of our deep connection that I’d just had, and he was loving as much as me. He speeded up and added, “Shower my chest with it.”
“Just about,” I gritted out, no longer in that far-away place of our commitment ceremony.
“Show me the prize, man,” he said, firing his fist on my stick, dreamy-eyed above me, grinning wildly as if he were riding a prized bull at a state rodeo, ready to take a blue ribbon.
Elation fired under my skin, sparking through my core, from my tailbone to my head. I gasped and my hips jutted up against his fist, warning of my detonation. “Close your eyes, cowboy—here he blows.”
Cord didn’t close his eyes, though. He watched my performance. Within seconds I came like a gusher. Cream shot out of my spike in four long arcs and splatted against his sweaty pecs, the cords of his neck, his scruff-covered chin, and his left cheek. My ooze striped his skin in long lines.
“Nice shoot, guy,” he said, grinning and beaming.
“Just for you,” I huffed, out of breath and exhausted.
He lowered himself onto me and our chests met, then our lips, and we kissed for the longest time as the thick aroma of man-spent filled the bunker like a masculine drug.
* * * *
After a quick clean-up with our damp cotton towels, we lay back on the bed, face to face with our chests touching. His palm cupped the back of my head and drew me to his mouth. We shared a heavy kiss. He said, “You’re a god to me.”
I laughed and said, “I think you’re just in a state of lust. Maybe you need some oxygen.”
“No, I mean it. Everything about you is perfect, Bradley.” He brushed my blond hair with the back of his palm and added, “I was meant to find you.”
“You weren’t. I found you.”
“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “Something called me to Florida and—there you were.”
“Shame. Chasing young men of the Florida sun. Is that what you do?”
“Only once. To find you, of course.”
“A job well done,” I replied.
“That it was,” he said, nestling his beef against mine. “Now, to keep you satisfied with my next task.”
“I think you can pull that off, whatever it is,” I said.
“I’m sure I can, Bradley Hull. Don’t underestimate my abilities.”
“Never did and never will,” I said, feeling tender and safe with him as our bodies melded together, just the two of us, so very safe from the dangerous tempest outside.
* * * *
The Arched Q Ranch
7:33 P.M.
We slept for a while. When we woke, the sound of the storm was gone. We dressed and Cord led me over to the ladder. He paused and said, “Expect it to look like the apocalypse up there.”
“I’m ready for it, guy.” Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect once we left the bunker. Neither of us did. The twister could have gouged through the land, uprooting trees and rerouting the river. All the buildings could have been ripped off their foundations and blown to splinters, turning Cord’s ranch into debris.
Cord climbed up and unlocked, then flung back the steel plate under the wooden doors. Then he pushed up on the heavy wooden doors. It was dark and still, but the barn was still standing, all the horses safe inside, though they were still a little jittery. Cord turned to me and said, “So far so good.”
“I’ve survived Florida hurricanes and you survive Oklahoma tornadoes,” I shrugged, following him to the door.
“It’s all about survival of the fittest, isn’t it?”
“I would imagine so.”
We were out of the barn in seconds. It was still light. The house was untouched, and so were the outbuildings. In truth, the only real damage was some uprooted trees and a hole in the bottom of the silo where a metal sheet had blown off. Relieved at the minimal damage, Cord turned to me and said, “You’re my lucky charm. Nothing bad happened.”
“Guys always say that about me,” I answered, grinning at him like a smart-ass .
He reached up and ruffled my hair. “You’re sexy when you make up stories.”
“Sexy as I can be,” I replied, happy that we were safe and that his ranch was unharmed.
I could see he was relieved that the ranch had come through with almost no damage. He stroked my hair one more time, then said, “You’re so sexy I could kiss you.”
“I don’t think I want to stop you.”
“Do you feel lucky, Bradley?”
“I always feel lucky when I’m around you.”
Cord pulled me close, our torsos colliding, and planted his plump lips on mine, combining us yet again, just like we both wanted.
- Writer
