Stockton County Cowboys Box Set

Chapter 6: Cord’s Bottom

Chapter 6: Cord’s Bottom

The Pier 19 Ladder

Naples Pier

10:22 P.M.

“You’re touching my ass,” he said as I gave him a push up the ladder.

I sort of giggled and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In truth, his bottom was tight and perfectly squeezable in my right palm as I shoved him upward.

He kept climbing, then froze halfway up. The ladder was creaking and swaying under our combined weight, sounding like it was going to give out, sending our bodies plummeting to Green Palm Beach. Cord was motionless, stuck to the rungs like he’d been glued there.

The breeze had turned into a wind that whipped us, chilling our bare chests and whistling between our legs. It licked hungrily at us. How his Stetson didn’t fall off was beyond my comprehension.

The moon and stars painted us silver-white against the black ladder, highlighting the contrived pairing of a cowboy and a city boy on their very first date.

Cord still wasn’t moving. Honestly, I wasn’t sure why.

“Cord, are you all right up there?” I called up. His shirt was flapping, showing me his nicely muscled back.

“I forgot to tell you something,” his voice wavered, half a whisper and almost unrecognizable.

“Hit me, guy. Spill it.”

“I’m terrified of heights.”

“Are you kidding me, man?”

No, he wasn’t kidding. I looked at him again and saw that he was shaking, holding the ladder for dear life. He was sweating so much that the wind was blowing it onto my face. I licked it away, enjoying its salty, half-sweet flavor.

“I’m going to fall,” he said. His voice sounded high and thin, and was torn away in the wind.

I thought he was foolish for climbing a ladder if he knew he was afraid of heights. Then again, maybe he was trying to impress me by doing something he felt uncomfortable about. Why he’d agreed was beyond me, but here we were. I told Cord he had two choices: he could finish his climb and get his reward, or we’d just climb slowly back down.

“Up,” he said, sounding a little braver. “I can’t go back down. I’ll keep my eyes closed and meet you at the top.”

His decision seemed practical. A lot of people who didn’t like heights didn’t have a problem climbing up, but climbing down seemed to be hell for them. I respected his decision and found him even more adorable than before. People had phobias. Who was I to judge if they were afraid of spiders or water or heights? Shame on those finger-pointers and condescending judgers in his life that disrespected a man because of his fears, I thought. How dare they?

“Okay, up you go,” I said, still enjoying the sight of his perfectly-rounded ass. Too bad the guy was wearing jeans, or I would surely have pushed my lips and tongue into his hole right then and there, exploring the mighty darkness inside. But I was a complete gentleman and cheered him on at each rung. “Move it, Cord. You can do it. Just keep those eyes closed. You’re doing great. Don’t look down. Keep up the pace.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving.” His voice wavered. But I gave him credit. The guy was pretty terrified but he kept climbing the ladder, up to safety and the pier.

“That’s all you have to do, just keep moving,” I called up, ogling his butt again, wanting to rub a finger along his tight crease, to grab the balls that I imagined dangling tantalizingly between his muscular, cowboy legs.

I felt a little guilty, climbing up behind him with wood in my own denim. Shame on me for not being able to tamp my desires while Cord was confronting his fears. Why did Cord Darringer have to be so unrefined but such an endearing, gentlemanly guy, anyway?

But Cord didn’t know I was hard. He was suffering while I was in a state of erotic bliss, ready to bang him. Frankly, I wanted to nudge my eight-inch post up his tight cowboy ass and have my way with him. The wind had always been an aphrodisiac for me, and the higher we climbed, the hotter I got.

“You still behind me?” he asked, still climbing.

“I’m hard,” I said.

“Hard?” he asked, now almost at the top of the ladder.

“Here,” I corrected myself. “I’m here behind you.”

He started laughing, chuckling a little at each rung. His laugher was warm and melodic, and I think my little verbal slip helped him relax.

“You almost to the top?” I asked, knowing he was.

“Almost. Just a few more rungs.”

“How many is a few?” I asked, trying to distract him. God knows I didn’t want him to fall. For more than one reason. Some of them selfish.

“Two,” he said, and then he was at the top, scrambling to his feet while panting and trying to find his composure again.