An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Cowboy Up

ISBN 9781419915512

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Cowboy Up Copyright © 2008 Mary Winter

Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski.

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

Electronic book Publication April 2008

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.  (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cowboy Up

Mary Winter

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Country Music Television: Country Music Television, Inc.

ESPN2: ESPN, Inc. Corporation

Sam Adams: Boston Beer Company Limited Partnership DBA

Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

Styrofoam: Dow Chemical Company

Chapter One

Rock Brennan leaned on the fence to watch the leading members of the U.S. Equestrian Team working in the indoor arena. Out of all the top American riders, only one caught his eye. A stately, tall man riding a huge dark warmblood working at the far end. His helmet obscured the color of his hair, and this far away Rock couldn’t see his eyes. He noticed the man’s muscular build. He looked exceedingly fit, and Rock made a mental note to talk to him about his workout regimen. Suddenly, another rider, a show jumper he guessed from the smaller saddle and greater knee angle, came in too close. The tall man snarled and gestured with his dressage whip.

Rock curled his lip in disgust, revising his mental picture of the man. What an ass! The rider turned away and rose in his stirrups, posting with the trot. What an ass, indeed. In spite of the man’s rude behavior, Rock had to admit the tan breeches he wore outlined a pair of nice, hard gluteus muscles. He shook his head to dislodge the image of the man’s firm buttocks. Sharing the ring was a part of competition. What kind of hoity-toity fruity dressage rider did that guy think he was? Rock clenched the top board of the fence. There always had to be someone at these camps who thought he was the star and deserved special treatment.

Forcing his attention away from the dressage rider, even though he admitted the huge horse and its rider looked good together, he surveyed everyone else. A few faces he recognized and lots of newcomers he didn’t. His stomach rumbled.

Well he didn’t know what he’d expected to see, but he’d seen enough. He stepped away from the fence and returned to his truck. A nice big meal, preferably a huge slab of rare beef, and a good night’s sleep were in order. Tomorrow, he’d figure out who the dressage diva was and try to stay out of his way. He had work to do.

A steakhouse down the road provided the big meal but even as Rock devoured his fourteen-ounce T-bone, he still thought of the dressage rider. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the man’s image out of his mind. The rider had been a man completely devoted to his sport—it showed in every line of his body. Rock knew about such devotion, had clung to it, even when he faced ribbing and hazing on the rodeo circuit because of his sexuality. Too bad the dressage queen had acted like a jerk to that other rider. It might have been nice to get to know him a bit better.

He paid for his meal and returned to the hotel, arrangements for rooms having already been made through the team. The long drive of the last two days wore on him, and now all he wanted to do was fall into bed.

Rubbing the grit out of his eyes that only the last few hours of an eighteen-hour drive could cause, Rock ambled down the hall and paused to lean against his room door. Inside, opera music sung by a woman who sounded as if a horse had stomped on her toe rose in scary volumes, and he shuddered to think what kind of person he’d be sharing a motel room with.

Didn’t matter. He was here for two reasons—to get his horse, Hollywood Chexinit, ready for the North American Cup and put his past behind him.

Rock dropped his duffel on the carpeted floor just as the singing woman hit a painfully high note. Wincing, he swiped his card and watched the light turn from red to green before cracking open the door. The musical volume, if he could even call it music, ratcheted up as he poked his head inside. Looking down the short, white-painted hallway, he saw the double beds. A portable stereo sat on a table in the corner, and in the space between the table and the beds, a man wearing only a tiny pair of gym shorts faced the wall as he cranked out sit-ups.

Rock’s mouth went dry. He picked up his duffel and stepped inside, letting the door click quietly closed behind him. Putting his bag down, he leaned against the wall and watched. In spite of the man’s horrible taste in music—Rock preferred George Strait or Trace Atkins—from what Rock could see, his roommate provided a vision of muscled flesh. His back flexed with his motions, his gym shorts riding low on his hips. The man’s workout captivated Rock. He stood there transfixed as the man counted out reps.

Ten sit-ups later, Rock realized the man wasn’t going to stop. He picked up his duffel and stepped forward. An open portfolio holding a legal pad and some dressage tests sat on the bed closest to the man, so Rock claimed the one near the door. All the better for slipping out to the barn for early morning workouts.

The man muttered under his breath, counting to one hundred, then rested his forearms on his legs and breathed deeply. Grabbing a towel from the table, he mopped his brow. He rose to his feet in a fluid motion and turned toward the bed, freezing in place when he saw Rock.

Rock took his time in sizing up his roommate. Hard abs with well-defined ripples and cuts told Rock this wasn’t just a pretty boy who sat on horseback. His gaze followed the terrain down below the waistband of the man’s gym shorts. If the bulge there was to be believed, this dressage rider had a heart-stoppingly large cock.

Rock stifled a groan and dragged his gaze to the man’s face. Tousled dark brown hair went nearly to his nape, framing gray eyes the color of a stormy summer sky and the kind of features not out of place on a Roman statue. He was the same dressage rider Rock had seen in the arena. And they shared a room. Damn.

Sometime during his perusal, the opera music had blessedly faded into silence. The dressage rider’s gaze traveled from Rock’s booted feet up to his sandy hair and the cowboy hat on his head. A small shake of his head betrayed his thoughts.

Double damn. As stuffy in person as he was in the arena. Well, reining was now an FEI-level equestrian sport, and this tight-ass would just have to deal. And having seen him exercise, Rock figured his ass was indeed tight. His own cock stirred. Down boy. Not now.

“Andreas Thorpe.” The man shifted the towel into his left hand and held out his right. “I’m Prince Borealis’ rider.” He said it like it should mean something.

Rock took the offered hand, finding Andreas’ grip to be firm. A solid handshake, the kind you could close deals with. It made him feel a little better about sharing a room with someone from the opposite side of the equestrian world. In Rock’s view, if it didn’t buck or you couldn’t rope cows from it, then it probably wasn’t much practical good. Sure, dressage and jumping were nice but those fancy riders, in their English saddles with their too-tight breeches and too much contact, seemed to interfere with their horse more often than they helped. Give him a western saddle and a loose rein any day.

Andreas hit the power button on the stereo before the woman could launch into another ear-bleeding aria.

“Rock Brennan,” he said, introducing himself.

Andreas’ gaze dropped to his belt buckle. “The rodeo rider,” he said dryly.

Rock touched the brim of his hat. “The very one. World all-around champion a few years ago, world bareback rider the year before.” He figured the all-around buckle on his belt, and not the package beneath, was what drew Andreas’ gaze.

“So you’re here for the reining?” Andreas slung the towel over his shoulders then grabbed the open portfolio from the bed and tossed it onto the table. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the western sports.”

“Don’t suppose you would.” Itching to do something instead of stand there and dance around their mutual dislike of each other’s disciplines, Rock rose to his feet. “Mind if I shower? It was a hell of a long drive out here.”

“Not at all.” He flipped on the stereo and the woman’s voice filled the air again.

Rock tuned out the noise as he rummaged in his bag for a fresh pair of jeans, socks and a shirt. Grabbing the clothes, he fled to the bathroom where, thankfully, the closed door blocked out some of the music. For a man with a drool-worthy body, Andreas’ taste in music sucked.

He chuckled to himself as he stripped and regulated the water temperature. He wondered what Mr. High Falutin’ Dressage Rider would do if he broke into an off-key rendition of Garth Brooks. Chuckling again, he stepped beneath the spray and let the water wash the dust from the road and his worries away. He was here, and he had three weeks in which to train. Then he and Checkers could prove themselves at the North American Cup. Prove to themselves and to the world that the scandals of the rodeo circuit were behind them. This might not be a rodeo, but it was just about as fun. Washing the shampoo from his hair, he burst into song and figured Mr. Dressage could put that in his breeches and stroke it.

* * * * *

After the cool greeting Rock had given him yesterday, Andreas called himself a thousand kinds of a fool for driving to the barn on the one day of camp devoted to rest. The schedule had allowed for everyone to arrive last night, but there were always a few stragglers, so training didn’t officially start until tomorrow. Most of the riders gave their mounts a well-deserved day off. Andreas knew he should do the same. Sure, he told himself he wanted to check on Prince, make sure the stallion had settled in nicely, but truth be told, he wanted to see how well the cowboy rode.

But the truth of the matter was, when Rock had dashed out of the hotel room that morning with a wave and a mention of practicing, he’d piqued Andreas’ interest. No one practiced today unless they had to. But he figured Rock could use all the practice he could get—if the rumors were true, the rodeo rider had a hell of a lot more to prove than he and Prince. A smile quirked the corners of Andreas’ mouth. He might live and breathe the discipline of dressage, but something about cowboys made him hard. Too bad this one didn’t seem to like him much.

Of course, he hadn’t helped with the way he’d greeted him, falling back on old habits and remaining aloof. Andreas groaned at the memory of Rock’s ass in his too-tight jeans. His shaft throbbed, all too aware of the man with whom he’d be sharing the room. Not even the off-key Garth Brooks coming from the bathroom last night had dimmed his appreciation.

After checking on the sleeping equine, Andreas strolled toward the arena. The lights were on, which meant someone was practicing. He stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust. The steady pounding of hooves and the rhythmic snorting of a cantering horse filled the air. He leaned against the railing and focused on the man in the arena.

Rock sat astride a chocolate brown horse. The horse skipped, faltered on a flying lead change and kicked out. Rock frowned, riding the horse into a tight circle then straightening out and racing down one side of the arena. Though all the movements were done at a fast canter, they held precision, a kind of agility and quickness not seen in high levels of dressage. No, when he rode Prince he presented a controlled, stately picture, not this adrenaline-inducing whir of horse flesh and rider.

Rock pulled the horse into a sliding stop that went a good thirty feet down the arena. Dust churned from the horse’s hooves, and Andreas shook his head. He preferred a nice square halt. A stop that actually stopped.

Rock’s horse executed a perfect rollback, shifting his weight to its hindquarters and turning over its hocks. The horse stepped into a canter, the right leg hitting the ground first. Rock counter-cantered around a circle then dropped the horse to a trot, pulled its head around so that its nose nearly touched his boot, and trotted.

The horse kicked. Crow-hops, really, nothing about which to be alarmed, but to see such a high-level horse acting so green startled Andreas. Lips pressed into a thin line, he watched the horse buck and kick around the arena—and realized Rock was actually smiling.

Was the man insane? Maybe he thought this was all one big rodeo. International competition like what they’d face at the North American Cup was a far cry from what he’d seen at some rodeos. He sighed, knowing he wasn’t being fair. Rock came from a totally different world. He wondered what his father would think of him, and already knew. He’d heard the rants often enough about those “cowboys” at FEI-level competitions and his father’s dismay that Europeans had embraced the western events.

The horse bucked hard enough to nearly unseat Rock. From where Andreas stood, it’d take more than a few weeks to get this pair ready for competition. Andreas hoped he’d brought a second horse, and maybe this was his reserve mount. He seemed too good a rider to pin all his hopes on this seemingly untrained beast.

Rock—damn him—just laughed and steered the horse across the arena. The thoroughly pissed-off equine farted and snorted as he bucked his way across the arena. Rock rode well, staying with the horse’s motion. He steered the horse in a large circle, working into serpentines and figure eights in an attempt to regain control. As Andreas watched, the horse dropped to a slow canter then a trot, then finally a walk, blowing. Rock leaned forward and patted the horse on the shoulder. Giving the horse just a moment, he cued him into a canter and started large figure eights in the center of the arena.

Respect for the rider grew as Andreas watched him carefully school his horse. The bucking temper tantrum was a long way away from this obedient, supple mount. He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking maybe Rock had a place here, a chance to reclaim his title as one of the top horsemen in the world. He’d heard the rumors that Rock had fallen off his game when he left rodeo. That his love affair with cow horses and reining meant he was getting soft, no longer had the competitive edge. But the man and horse in the arena told a different tale.

He turned away from the railing, not wanting Rock to know he’d been there watching.

Outside, a car backfired.

The horse snorted, bucking his way across the arena to whirl like a dervish. The ride lost all its polish and looked instead like something from a rodeo arena. The horse ducked his head, trying to dump his rider over his shoulder. Rock became unbalanced. His foot slipped from the left stirrup.

Andreas gripped the railing, knowing what would happen yet, like watching a train wreck, unable to pull his eyes away.

The horse shied, tossing Rock over his shoulder. He flew through the air while the horse whirled and bolted for the other end of the arena. Landing on his shoulder, Rock grunted, rolled and lay in the dirt.

Andreas bounded over the fence. He went straight for the horse, not wanting the animal to injure himself in the dangling reins. On the ground, Rock moaned. He wasn’t unconscious and undoubtedly had survived far worse falls. The horse skidded to a stop at the fence then whirled around. With the whites of his eyes showing, he glared around the arena, his gaze fixed on the man walking toward him. The beast snorted.

“Easy,” Andreas crooned. He reached the reins and gently curled his fingers around them.

The horse snorted again.

“Easy, boy,” Andreas said. He waited a second for the horse’s head to drop, for the beast to realize there wasn’t any threat, and began walking him back toward Rock.

Rock sat up, cradling his left arm. His shoulder looked twisted at an awkward angle. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his arm and popped his shoulder joint back into place.

Andreas winced.

Rock rolled his shoulder then stood and reached for the horse’s reins. “Thanks,” he said, walking the horse forward a few steps to place his foot in the stirrup.

“You okay? You took a hell of a fall.”

Rock shrugged, the motion making tiny lines of pain bracket his eyes. “Just a tumble.” He turned the horse into a circle, leaving Andreas standing there, watching the back of a cowboy who apparently treated everything like a rodeo. Shaking his head, he strode toward the gate. He glanced over his shoulder but if Rock’s injury pained him, he showed no sign. Apparently tired from his exertions, the horse loped around the arena like a pleasure mount.

His roommate was either a little foolhardy or quite determined. Andreas wasn’t sure which was more likely, and decided he was probably a bit of both. He left the arena before he could do something stupid like give this cowboy a piece of his mind. Whatever demons chased him had no place at this level of competition. Andreas decided to return to the hotel and do something constructive, like go over his game plan.

* * * * *

Once back at the hotel, the only thing on his mind was the image of Rock sailing over the horse’s shoulder to land on the ground with a sickening thud. His body hurt just thinking about Rock dislocating his shoulder and popping it back in. Shortly after Andreas had arrived, Rock had returned, change clothes and left again, muttering something about the workout room. How he could work out after a fall like that… Foolhardy. No other word would do when it came to describing Rock.

Andreas shook his head, wondering why he even worried about Rock. Obviously the man could handle his horses and his life on his own. Perhaps it came from always being the senior member on the circuit and growing up with a father who believed in paying things forward, but Andreas always felt responsible for newer riders. Although he suspected Rock could handle his own career, watching the man careen around the arena on a bucking horse made him wonder.

Andreas needed to get out of the room. He changed, his mind still picturing the man in the arena as he navigated the hallways and made his way down to the hotel’s pool room. The scent of chlorine hovered in the air, the water in the larger pool unmoving. For a moment he contemplated laps, some vigorous exercise to work out the nervous energy filling him. Around the corner, the jets on the hot tub whirred to life.

Andreas stopped, suddenly aware he wasn’t alone. He took two more steps and turned toward the hot tub. There, in the middle of frothy bubbles, sat Rock. Eyes closed, he looked like a man receiving some sorely needed relaxation. The churning surface of the water hid his lower body from view, but what Andreas saw above the water made his mouth water. Rivulets of steam rolled over Rock’s chest. A drop of water trickled from his hairline, down the corded column of his neck and over scars marring his shoulder. Andreas found his eyes drawn to the network of lines crossing his right shoulder and upper pectoral.

Andreas’ cock surged to life. To be in the hot tub with Rock, sharing the hot water, nearly naked, had him thinking of other, more pleasurable ways to relax. He’d heard the rumors and knew Rock was gay. Andreas swallowed hard. He stepped back, not quite wanting to intrude. Perhaps those laps would be a good idea.

Rock opened one eye. “Hey,” he said. “Come on in, the water’s warm.” He shifted position and noted Andreas’ stare. Rock followed his gaze. “Rank bronc gave me those. The bitch bucked me off then tried to tap dance on me to finish the job.” He grinned. “I got her though. Year later, she was the horse that gave me the world title.”

Andreas nodded and tore his gaze away. He tossed his towel on a nearby chair then descended the stairs into the steaming water. Heat radiated through his legs, up his calves and thighs. He stifled a groan and eased himself onto the bench.

His foot brushed Rock’s hair-roughed calf. He tried not to linger, not to let the cowboy’s muscled body tempt him into doing something stupid like kissing him. Damn, it’d been awhile, and his throbbing dick reminded him exactly how long. “You doing okay?” Andreas asked, his voice rougher than he’d have liked. “That was a hell of a fall.” He might as well try to make amends for their bad first meeting.

Rock shrugged it off. He winced, tiny lines of pain appearing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Doing just fine.” He shifted, a dark bruise Andreas hadn’t noticed earlier now clearly visible over his shoulder blade.

“You don’t look fine.” Andreas moved across the tub and sat beside Rock. “And don’t give me that cowboy shit. If you want to do well at the North American Cup you’ve got to be able to give one hundred ten percent.”

Rock shifted away. “And you think I can’t.”

“I didn’t say that.” Damn it, he’d put his foot right in it. Andreas exhaled and wondered what it was about this cowboy that had him saying all the wrong things. “Look, I’m sorry. I get way too competitive.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the arena yesterday. Took a piece out of that show jumper’s ass, didn’t you?”

Andreas frowned, not quite remembering…oh yeah. “Just some good-natured teasing. Charles has been a friend for a while now. You’ll see him and his partner Derek around. They’re both in contention for Rider of the Year. Lucky bastards.” He smiled.

Rock grinned. “I hear you. Second place ain’t winning, that’s for sure.”

Both men shared a conspiratorial grin that burst into laughter. Andreas knew Charles and Derek were lucky for another reason—they had each other. But he didn’t mention that to Rock.

“Listen to us. You’d think we hadn’t done this before. You’ve won an Olympic bronze medal and the dressage competition at last year’s North American Cup,” Rock offered.

Andreas struggled to school the shocked expression from his face. He hadn’t expected Rock to know so much about him. “Yeah, I did. You’ve made quite a name for yourself too.”

Rock’s grin turned wry. “In some ways more than others,” he said, his gaze sliding away.

Overcome by a need to show support, he reached across and touched Rock’s arm. “Some guys don’t know what they’re missing,” he said, meaning heavy behind his words.

Rock stilled. He looked at Andreas, really looked at him, and a huge grin slid across his face. “Wanna put your money where your mouth is?” Rock whispered as he leaned over and brushed his lips across Andreas’ mouth.

The action startled Andreas. Opening his mouth, he gasped against Rock’s lips. Warm, soft, with just the right amount of pressure, Rock’s mouth moved across his. Damn, the cowboy knew how to kiss. Blood surged south, the warmth of the hot tub only fueling his desire. Rock flattened his hand on Andreas’ chest and pushed him against the wall of the hot tub.

Andreas groaned into Rock’s mouth. His hands slid on the man’s wet flesh. Rock thrust his tongue into Andreas’ mouth. The invasion made him think of sweaty bodies and the cowboy’s cock plunging into his ass. He reached under the water to cup Rock’s dick through the wet swim trunks.

Rock groaned. He deepened the kiss, his tongue thrusting in and out of Andreas’ mouth. The carnal claiming left Andreas breathless. He stroked his fingers along Rock’s cock, thinking of having that huge shaft filling him, taking him. His balls tightened and he groaned when, finally, Rock closed his fingers around his heat. A quick tug had his swim trunks down and Rock’s fingers on his bare shaft.

“Damn, cowboy, you work fast,” Andreas breathed when finally the need for air parted them.

His hand stilled. “In rodeo, you’ve only got eight seconds to ride—and you make every one of them count.” He didn’t release Andreas’ shaft but his fingers softened against it.

“Well, I hope this ride lasts longer than eight seconds.” He leaned forward to lick a bead of sweat from Rock’s neck. “Why don’t we go back to the room?”

Whatever possessed him to make such a bold statement, Andreas couldn’t say. They were moving much too quickly. The jets whirred to a stop, leaving them in still water. Looking down, Andreas saw Rock’s fingers on his penis, the visual making him that much harder. His cock twitched beneath the cowboy’s touch.

“All right,” Rock said. He moved away then rose to his feet. Water sluiced from his muscled body and when he ascended the stairs, he gave Andreas a view of his tight ass with the swim trunks clinging to the hard muscles.

Andreas’ mouth went dry. He stood and adjusted his trunks before following Rock from the water. A cursory wipe with the towel dried him enough to walk down the hall. Neither one spoke on the way back to the room, with Andreas following just a few steps behind. Not to watch the cowboy’s ass, he told himself.

Rock opened the door and held it for Andreas as he stepped inside the room. Whatever the cowboy thought he kept it from his face. “I’m going to wash the chlorine off,” he said and ducked into the bathroom.

Andreas stared at the closed door then peeled off his swim trunks. The air conditioner whirred to life, sending a chilling blast of air across his wet skin. What had he done? Dragging his fingers through his hair, he stared at the closed door. The sounds of the pattering water made his mind wander to the naked man standing beneath the spray and it took all his willpower not to go there and finish exactly what they’d started.

No! Andreas dried off, quickly changing into a pair of boxers and jeans, then sat on his bed and turned on the television. Ten minutes later Rock stepped from the bathroom. He wore a towel slung loosely around his hips, which he dropped as he turned toward his duffel.

The quick view of Rock’s magnificent package only whetted his appetite for more. What jeans and swim trunks had hinted at paled when compared to the reality. His balls hung between his legs, full and large, his shaft thick and half-erect. Andreas’ mouth watered just thinking about wrapping his lips around such a fine male cock.

And Rock’s naked ass only completed the view. Andreas adjusted his jeans, wishing now he’d left the button undone to ease his growing erection. The hard globes of Rock’s ass looked perfect for biting. He imagined teeth marks right there, on the curve of his buttock. The laugh track on the television interrupted his thoughts, and he pulled the attention away, hopefully before Rock noticed.

The force of Andreas’ gaze burned into Rock as he stepped into his jeans. He thought he heard a groan from behind him as he pulled the denim over his hips. He turned around, snagged a heat pack from his duffel and activated it in the microwave before placing the fabric on his shoulders. Ah…much better. Damn it, he had to dislocate the same shoulder that had been giving him fits lately.

Rock grimaced as he sat down. He caught Andreas giving him sidelong glances. The shower had given him time to think and regret. He’d been trying to escape his past, not relive it by falling into bed with the first gay man he met. Rock tried not to think that the dressage rider thought he’d get a little slumming in while he trained. After all, Andreas was rated at the top of his game. These three weeks of training would pass easily for him, unlike some other people on the team.

“Your shoulder hurting you?” Andreas asked. He flipped off the television.

“Yeah.” He rubbed it, rolling the joint around and trying not to wince. What he needed was a good massage. After the sparks in the hot tub that still had his cock hard, he figured if Andreas put his hands on him they’d end up fucking each other’s brains out. Might be a good way to work off some excess tension, but not a smart way.

“Look, I know things got a little crazy in the hot tub. It’s probably a good thing we stopped. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about me,” Rock said with the need to explain.

Andreas nodded and said nothing.

His silence, oddly enough, bolstered Rock’s courage. “Jumping into bed together probably isn’t smart. We’re training for the Cup, after all.”

“You’re probably right,” the dressage rider replied.

“So…I hate to ask…but I don’t suppose you’d mind doing a bit of a rubdown on my shoulder?” Rock finally got the question out. “Athlete to athlete. Nothing else.” Smooth. He knows you want him from the way you jumped him in the hot tub. Might as well flash a neon sign saying, “I want to fuck you.” Talk about mixed signals.

“I think I could do that.” Andreas levered his body off the bed and crossed the space between them. “Is this an I-rub-your-back-you-rub-mine proposition?” Hunger danced in his gray eyes.

“We’re training for three weeks…” Rock turned to present his back to him.

“It might be easier if you lie down across the bed.” Andreas sounded business-like, as if this were a simple favor. And maybe that’s all it was, but thinking about the dressage rider’s long, tapered fingers on him had Rock’s cock throbbing and his balls tight.

He lay diagonally across the bed, his head pillowed on his arms. Andreas braced one knee on the edge of the bed, and Rock looked over his shoulder and watched as Andreas straddled him.

Rock bit back a groan and wished he’d thought to unfasten his jeans. Trapped between the confines of the denim and the mattress, his dick ached, and as Andreas leaned forward to rub the rhomboid muscle just beneath his shoulder blade, Rock knew it was going to be a hell of a long three weeks.

Chapter Two

Half awake already from the shrill ring of the phone from Rock’s wake-up call, Andreas groaned and tossed the blankets over his head. The clock radio buzzed insistently and he reached out, slapping it twice until it fell into silence. Andreas cracked open an eye and stared at the clock. Six-o’fucking-clock in the morning. He cursed.

Off-key warbling from the shower made him wish for earplugs. Who the hell sings off-key, tuneless country music so damn early in the morning? Rock Brennan. Notorious rodeo rider. Remembering massaging the cowboy’s shoulders and muscled back gave him morning wood the likes of which he hadn’t seen in a while.

Andreas swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Just forget about it and focus on the competition. He wanted to be in the arena, astride Prince, working on their transitions today. He kept his training goals firmly in his mind.

The bathroom door opened.

Jeans dangled from Andreas’ hands as he watched Rock step out of the bathroom wearing nothing but another towel. Damn he envied that white towel, with the press of Rock’s cock and balls against it.

“Gonna be late to the arena,” he said before turning to his duffel and rummaging around for a pair of jeans.

“Yeah.” Andreas struggled to croak out the single word. Last night, straddling Rock, his cock had pounded with the need to slide his hand between Rock’s hips and the mattress to see if the man had wanted him just as badly. Andreas hadn’t. He’d been a gentleman, doing nothing more than massaging Rock’s shoulder. After all, that’s all Rock had asked for. The cowboy’s moans of pleasure, his words of encouragement and his husky, “oh yeah, right there” had Andreas reciting dressage tests from memory, starting at training and working his way through the top levels then back down again to keep from taking things further.

Andreas pulled on the jeans, thinking he’d come back later—much later—when Rock wasn’t there to change into breeches. Grabbing a T-shirt, he slipped it over his head, thankful that while he did so, Rock had pulled on his jeans. The man’s bare back was enough to make him forget early morning training sessions and simply pull the cowboy down to the bed and give them both a ride they wouldn’t forget. Andreas shook his head. He hadn’t become the top rider in the country by skimping on his training, and Rock needed to get his signals straight anyway. Hot and heavy one minute, just roommates the next—Andreas didn’t need that kind of confusion in his life. That’s why he liked the nice, orderly world of dressage. He sat down long enough to put on his socks and boots, then grabbing his keys, nodded to Rock as he passed. “See you in the arena,” Andreas said.

The cowboy grunted in response and turned to the sink.

Andreas hurried out of the hotel room, not wanting to examine the situation with his roommate too closely. Breathing deeply, he focused on his attitude, the training…things he could change. Not the attraction to an Oklahoma cowboy that would be unhealthy to say the least. He grinned, slid behind the wheel and figured he’d channel all his tension into training.

By the time he arrived at the barn, Andreas shoved all thoughts of Rock from his mind. He led his big black gelding into the cross-ties and started grooming him, his entire being focused on the competition and his horse. He could do this, and he’d just have to ignore one sexy cowboy. After all, from what he’d seen, Rock needed as much training time as he could muster. Conversely, Andreas stood on top of the world. He led Prince into the arena and swung onto the horse’s back. He asked for a medium trot and grinned as the familiar movements of his chosen sport erased all the worries from his mind.

Damn him! Rock swung into the saddle, taking the rail in a soft lope. He didn’t know whether he cursed himself, his roommate or his horse. Checkers acted like the seasoned pro he was, with no trace of yesterday’s bucking fit. Rock breathed a sigh of relief and cued for a faster gait. Checkers responded like a pro.

Yeah, this was what he was talking about, a good horse, a steady ride and a chance at winning the North American Cup. Adrenaline’s familiar hum filled his veins. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Andreas and his big black horse as they practiced flying lead changes. The horse appeared to skip across the length of the arena. Nice, though Rock knew he could make Checkers do the same thing if he wanted to, and without the foam at the bit and the swishing tail.

The far end of the arena was clear for now, and Rock steered Checkers into a large circle. He let the horse guide himself, thankful to see he kept the right track. Yet, always in his peripheral vision rode Andreas. The horse and rider pair executed something like a trot in place then an extended trot, canter, halt, walk and canter. Andreas put his horse through a gymnastic worthy of an equine athlete. Rock sent Checkers into a sliding stop and then a rollback, almost as if to say, “My horse can do whatever your horse can.” He grinned.

Aware of Andreas’ attention, Rock moved aside to let others into the arena. The next three weeks would go a long way toward putting his past behind him. He might want more, but his impulsive nature had gotten him into trouble before. He needed to rein in his desires, no matter what he wanted—for his horse or body.

Checkers stumbled. Rock pulled the horse back in line, working through some transitions to keep the creature’s mind on his work. With a grin, Rock knew he’d better follow the same advice and tipped his head to Andreas as the dressage rider left the arena.

Every time he saw Andreas, Rock struggled to focus his attention where it needed to be—on his horse and his ride. Andreas brought a second horse into the arena, starting a warm-up, and Rock finally led Checkers out to get his backup mount and soon, both men rode in the same arena again. Competitors came and went, but none diverted his attention as much as Andreas. Finally, the dressage rider left and Rock hoped that’d be the last he’d see of him for the rest of the day.

About an hour later, Rock steered Checkers out of the arena and, after a quick meeting with the training coach, who unequivocally told Rock he needed to get his head screwed on straight, he returned to his truck to head back to the hotel. A good hour spent in the gym would help his training and clear his mind. An image of Andreas wearing nothing but those tiny shorts as he performed sit-ups filled his mind and his cock grew hard. He bit back a groan. Two days. They’d shared the room for two long, agonizing days, and already he’d been reduced to little more than a horny teenager.

Removing his cowboy hat, Rock ran his fingers through his hair and cursed his stupidity. He could do this. He’d done far more difficult things, like stay on the back of a bucking bull for eight seconds. Three weeks with a hot dressage rider? Piece of cake.

Rock chuckled. As he pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, he saw Andreas’ royal blue truck with his father’s farm logo on the side. He parked next to it.

Rock breathed deeply as he stepped from the cab. Get to the hotel room, change, get to the gym, work until he fell into bed exhausted. That would be the way to try to keep from jumping Andreas and fucking him until they were both blind. He grinned the kind of shit-eating grin that used to have all the buckle bunnies falling all over him at rodeos and strutted his way into the hotel room.

Opening the door, he stepped into the empty room. Rock breathed a sigh of relief and called himself a hundred different kinds of a coward for doing so. He pulled a T-shirt and gym shorts from his bag then sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t do this to yourself,” he muttered as he buried his face in his hands. Sucking in deep breaths, he shoved the images of another horseman, this time a calf roper, from his mind. Another man, another event, another lost medal. He refused to let that happen again.

“The problem is you think with your dick and not your head,” Rock muttered as he changed into his gym clothing. “Andreas didn’t get where he is by fucking around. The man’s disciplined. I saw it in the arena. Discipline that I need to cultivate.” He grinned, thinking back to a time on the rodeo circuit when he indeed lived fast and partied every chance he got, discipline be damned. But then Rock caught sight of his face in the mirror, noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He was a different man then, with different priorities. If he expected to do anything at the North American Cup he needed to get in gear and do it now. The coach had said as much to him today. And that meant, no matter how hard his cock throbbed, ignoring one sexy dressage rider.

His mental pep talk over, Rock headed to the gym. He’d spent two days driving here, and frankly, after being cramped in the truck for so long, he relished the chance to push his muscles. He snagged a bottle of water from the vending machine on his way and entered the gym. It was next to the pool area, a large glass window giving him a view of the swimming pool and hot tub. The empty gym welcomed him and he switched the channel over to Country Music Television and staked a claim on a treadmill.

As he walked, half paying attention to the music videos, half staring out the window at the pool, he noticed a lone figure swimming laps and instantly recognized him as Andreas. Rock tore his attention away and turned up the volume on the television. Increasing the speed to a brisk jog, he settled into an easy rhythm.

His gaze went back to Andreas. His efficient strokes cut through the water, propelling him from one end of the pool to the other. He moved quickly, as if he too had a need to burn off excess energy. Rock pulled his attention away again, finding solace in the ground-eating pace of his running, the hum of the treadmill and the country music soundtrack. He slowed and stopped, deciding to shift his focus to the weights. At least that way he wouldn’t be looking out the window at the man he couldn’t—no, shouldn’t—have. With a shake of his head, he wiped sweat from his forehead with a towel and went to one of the many weight machines. Soon, the clank of weights and his rhythmic breathing drove even thoughts of Andreas from his mind.

He worked out for nearly two hours, ending with a solo soak in the hot tub. He saw a few of his fellow competitors, but after his swim Andreas had disappeared. If he had seen Rock in the exercise room, he gave no sign, and his own workout finished, Rock returned to the room, sore in body but feeling much better.

As he walked down the hall he heard it. That damned opera music. It meant Andreas was in his room. His steps slowed, halting just outside the door. He closed his fingers around the doorknob, half debated on changing quickly and returning to the barn.

No. He’d face this. They were two adults. He exhaled sharply and, quickly swiping his key card, opened the door.

Andreas wondered how long it’d take for Rock to come back to the room. He’d seen him in the gym running on the treadmill as if one of those bulls he used to ride was chasing him. As Andreas had left the pool, he’d looked through the large glass windows and saw Rock reclined on a bench lifting weights. For long moments he’d done nothing but stare at the cowboy’s tanned skin, the sweat dripping between each defined muscle, and his mouth had watered. His cock demanded he step into the room and give in to the tension snapping between them like electricity from a downed power line. He hadn’t. Instead, he’d gritted his teeth and headed for the elevator.

The door creaked as Rock opened it and stepped inside. Rock stopped, his breath hissing from between clenched teeth. Andreas counted to ten then stopped the sit-ups he’d been punishing himself with. He faced the door, forearms braced on his knees. He blinked away the sweat threatening to drip into his eyes. “Have a good workout?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the towel clutched in Rock’s hand. He wore a sweat-soaked T-shirt and a pair of shorts, the expensive sneakers on his feet a far cry from the cowboy boots he usually wore.

Rock’s gaze raked him up and down. “Yeah, you?” He shoved the door closed with a push of his hand.

“Good enough.” Andreas made no move to stand. Sitting on the floor meant if Rock came a little closer, his package would be enticingly close to Andreas’ face. It was time to use his trademarked control for something pleasurable. “Though you’re looking a little tense. Maybe you need a different kind of workout.” Surely his roommate wouldn’t miss the innuendo.

Rock arched an eyebrow. He hesitated before speaking. “Maybe.”

His cock stirred at the hesitant potential in the cowboy’s reply. “How can I turn that into a yes?” Andreas rose to his feet, legs shoulder width apart, arms hanging loose at his sides. He measured Rock with his gaze, from the growing bulge in the front of his gym shorts to his muscles outlined by his sweaty shirt. “Might be good for both of us. Get this out of our systems so we can concentrate on our training.”

“I think it’d be better than good,” Rock replied. He fisted the hem of his shirt. “But that’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Andreas held his ground. “If it’s about what happened on the rodeo circuit, I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”

Rock looked mildly shocked. “Didn’t realize you knew quite so much…I thought that was confined to the rodeo circuit.” He released his shirt, his gaze shifting to the floor, the bed…anywhere but on Andreas.

No, don’t put up those walls. “Word travels fast. You can talk about it or not, but we’re both healthy, adult males. My sport may not be as fast-paced as yours, but I understand adrenaline and how to work it off.”

Rock swallowed hard. Watching him, Andreas sensed the wheels turning in Rock’s mind.

“You want me. I want you. Maybe if we take the edge off this distraction we can focus on our training.” Andreas didn’t want to push, but he knew what the cowboy needed. Heck, he knew what he needed.

Rock said nothing as he pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. Toeing off his shoes, he kicked them to one side of the double bed he’d claimed as his, tossing his socks in the same direction. He stepped to the duffel bag squeezed between the bed and the wall, reaching in and tossing a handful of condoms on the bed. “You know how to save a horse?”

“Ride a cowboy,” Andreas answered with a grin. He stared, his heart beating double time. It’d been a damn long time since he’d had a fling. And then Rock stood in front of him, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and shoved them down over muscled legs. The action eroded any lingering doubts Andreas had.

Rock stood before him, blissfully, gloriously naked, and Andreas stared in awe at the masculine beauty in Rock’s naked form. Broad shoulders and a flat chest dusted with hair gave way to tight six-pack abs. The mouthwatering indentations of his hips drew Andreas’ gaze down to the thick, erect cock nestled in light brown curls. Full balls hung between his lightly furred thighs and his legs were etched with muscles from riding. From his head down to his feet—and Andreas always did have a weakness for bare feet—Rock was a mouthwatering hunk of man.

Andreas stripped, his body screaming for the physical release he knew he’d find in Rock’s hands, his mouth…his ass. An image of him bearing the cowboy down to the bed, using his weight as leverage as he thrust his cock balls-deep into Rock’s tight body, had his own shaft jerking and twitching beneath Rock’s hungry gaze. He crossed the space between them. Rock held himself rigid, body tense. Circling him, Andreas looked him up and down from his muscled back and tight ass to those legs again. He stopped behind him and rested his hands on Rock’s shoulders.

Tense muscles called him to action. Squeezing gently, he massaged Rock’s shoulders. Rock let his head fall forward, a soft sigh emerging from his throat. Taking it as a sign of submission, Andreas stepped forward until his cock brushed the cleft of Rock’s ass. It felt so good sliding along his flesh, feeling his heat, his warmth. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Rock’s shoulder.

The taste of salty male flesh exploded on his tongue. Closing his eyes, Andreas kissed a trail along the top of Rock’s right shoulder. His hands slid from the muscles to caress Rock’s flat nipples. The tight beads hardened beneath his touch, and with Rock’s skin still sweaty from his workout, Andreas’ fingers glided smoothly around the stiff nubs.

“Mmm,” he murmured against Rock’s skin. “You taste so good.” Andreas splayed a hand along his sternum, feeling the pounding of the cowboy’s heart. Slowly, tracing each ridge and line of his abs, he moved his fingers south. Muscles fluttered beneath his touch and Andreas rocked his hips. The slide of his cock against the crack of Rock’s ass had him biting back a groan, and he stifled it by pressing open-mouthed kisses along the cowboy’s heated skin.

Andreas sucked Rock’s earlobe into his mouth as his fingertips brushed against the root of Rock’s cock. The cowboy groaned. Wrapping his fingers around Rock’s steely length, Andreas stroked, tip to base then back again, rubbing his palm across the head with a flick of his wrist. Rock thrust his hips, pumping into Andreas’ hand. He squeezed, stroking Rock’s cock as if it were his own and tonguing the cowboy’s ear.

Just like riding a dressage test, sex called for smooth, easy movements directed by coax and touch until he had his mount doing exactly what he wanted. In this case, Andreas steered Rock down the path that would give them both a mind-blowing release. He grinned against Rock’s neck. “Like that?”

“Yeah,” Rock’s husky growl vibrated along Andreas’ skin. “I want to touch you.”

“Not yet. Let me do this for you.” He tightened his fingers, capturing a bit of pre-cum with the palm of his hand and smearing it along Rock’s cock. Yeah, he could stand here for hours, just stroking back and forth, up and down, working them both into a frenzy. He reached around and cupped Rock’s balls, the sac full and heavy in the palm of his hand. He stroked them, finding the sensitive skin behind and running his finger along it in a delicate caress.

Andreas’ balls tightened thinking of the cowboy doing the same thing to him. All in good time, he thought as he stepped around Rock and pushed him back until he sat on the edge of the bed. Andreas reached for a condom.

“I’m clean,” Rock said. “Tested about three months ago.”

“Just in case?” Andreas asked.

Rock nodded.

Andreas dropped the rubber back on the bed, quivering at the thought of experiencing the rare treat of flesh against flesh. “So am I. Been about six months, but no one since.” He stepped between Rock’s thighs and knelt before him. He leaned forward just enough to lave the arrow of hair leading down from Rock’s navel with his tongue. Making appreciative sounds, he licked and nibbled across the cowboy’s abs, making sure to trace each ridge with his tongue. His body pounded with the insistent and demanding need to fuck. He held it back by sheer force of his will. If everything worked out the way he expected, then he’d come and come often.

Andreas buried his face into the hair at the root of Rock’s cock and inhaled deeply. Hell, nothing smelled better than an aroused man. Not horses nor leather—and the scent of leather always gave him a hard-on that wouldn’t quit. He grabbed the base of Rock’s cock and licked him.

Rock groaned. He cupped the back of Andreas’ head to hold him still. In his seated position he couldn’t thrust deeply, and Andreas grinned, knowing he held all the control. He gripped Rock’s thigh in an attempt to steady himself, the world already fading away to the plunge and retreat of his lips on the cowboy’s cock. The rough carpet beneath his knees, the sound of water running in another hotel room…none of it mattered.

“Suck me,” Rock moaned. He gripped the edge of the bed with his free hand.

Andreas let his gaze roam over Rock’s torso, up to where his head was thrown back, his features contorted in a mask of pleasure. His sighs and moans sounded restrained, as if he held them back in deference to the thin hotel walls. Knowing the controversy that surrounded Rock’s departure from rodeo, Andreas suspected the cowboy tried to be discreet about his sexuality.

Andreas swirled his tongue around the opening of the cock in his mouth, tasting the drops of pre-cum that emerged. Maybe he had it better than most. His discipline kept him in Europe most of the time, where they cared far less about who a man slept with and more about what he did in the arena. Rock’s self-imposed silence, especially given the fact that he was a former rodeo rider, reinforced Andreas’ belief that people may have watched Brokeback Mountain but plenty of them sure as hell hadn’t liked it. He grazed Rock’s shaft with his teeth, feeling the shudder that raced through the man’s body.

Let go. Just let go. He sensed Rock had needed this for a long time, felt it in the tense lines of his body. He reached between Rock’s legs and fondled his balls. Back and forth, Andreas caressed the sac and the skin in between. Flicking his fingers over the sensitive skin behind, he brought Rock closer to the edge of orgasm.

Rock’s hand tightened on his head. Andreas sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing with the suction. The need to feel Rock come in his mouth had him slipping the man’s cock past the tight ring of muscles at the back of his throat.

“I’m close! Fuck yeah,” Rock growled.

I want you to come! The thought might as well have been an order, for Rock stiffened. His shaft twitched and with a hoarse shout, he came. Warm jets of seed spilled down Andreas’ throat. He swallowed them, relishing what it took to get Rock to this point. Andreas licked him clean then gently slid his lips from Rock’s shaft. He sat back on his heels and grinned.

Rock lay back on the bed, his cock half-hard against his thigh. His heavy breaths echoed in the room as he tried to slow his heart rate, giving Andreas time to grab a small bottle of lube from his luggage and smear some on his hands.

“You’re not done yet,” Andreas said as he knelt on the bed beside him. A hand on Rock’s shoulder had the other man rolling over and scooting up the bed, his head pillowed on his arms.

“You’re going to fuck me now?” His words might have been hesitant, but hunger filled his eyes. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been on the bottom.”

“Then maybe it’s time you were.” He smeared slick fingers along the crack of Rock’s ass, liberally coating the puckered ring of muscles with generous amounts of lube. He pressed his thumb against the ring, evoking a pleasured sigh from Rock. Gently, millimeter by millimeter, Andreas’ thumb penetrated the cowboy. Against the mattress he had no doubts that Rock had grown hard again, and he grinned at the thought of spending the entire night like this. Of course, a six a.m. wake-up call might change their plans, but he could always hope. He’d ridden on little sleep before.

“So I can’t touch you?” Rock asked, shifting his weight and trying to roll onto his left side.

Andreas pinned him down, using his weight to keep Rock pressed flat against the mattress. “Not until I say you can.” He grinned and kissed the nape of Rock’s neck. “What? You don’t like being at my mercy?” He bit Rock on the shoulder then laved the red mark with his tongue. “Next time I might just tie you up.”

Rock shuddered, his aroused reaction to Andreas’ words obvious. Reaching around Rock’s hip, Andreas worked one hand beneath him, the cowboy shifting ever-so slightly to accommodate. Andreas circled his fingers around the man’s impressive erection, their positions making it difficult for him to do much more than squeeze the velvety flesh. He slid his thumb from Rock’s ass and leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand. Rubbing his cock against the man’s back, Andreas licked and nibbled along the back of Rock’s neck. Though the man’s muscles still felt tense, Andreas doubted it was from the workout or thoughts of the competition. Beneath him, Rock thrust his hips in an attempt to get Andreas’ hand to stroke his cock.

“Getting pushy, aren’t we?” Andreas chuckled. He licked the shell of Rock’s ear.

Rock lifted his buttocks against Andreas. “Only when you won’t give me what I want.”

Andreas squeezed the cowboy’s shaft before releasing it. “Oh I think you’re getting exactly what you want.” He nipped the cowboy’s earlobe and then drew it into his mouth and sucked. The depth of Rock’s groans told Andreas exactly how he was affecting him. Slowly, oh-so slowly, Andreas kissed his way down his body before straightening once again, the head of his cock now pressed firmly against the cowboy’s anus. He rubbed it, mingling his own pre-cum with the lube. “Just think of it as another ride.”

He tilted his hips, pressing the head of his cock against the tight ring of muscles.

“Do it,” Rock growled.

“Yes!” Andreas hissed. He jerked his hips slowly, his shaft penetrating with shallow, halting thrusts into the tight sheath of Rock’s body. So hot, so warm…and it felt so good. His balls tightened. He held back, not wanting to blow his wad too soon, yet it’d been so long since he’d taken a man. Closing his eyes, he gritted his teeth with the will it took not to simply plow into the cowboy and give him everything he had.

After long moments, he lay completely buried in the hot furnace of Rock’s body. Bracing his weight on his hands, he lowered himself to rub his chest against Rock’s back. Beneath him, the cowboy relaxed, his ass no longer clenching so tightly around Andreas’ cock. A soft sigh issued from his throat and his eyelashes lay fanned on sharp cheekbones. Lips parted, he panted, and Andreas swallowed hard.

He breathed deeply and pulled out, inch by excruciating inch until just the head of his cock rested inside Rock’s body. He pumped his hips and the delicious slide started again. Husky groans and panting breaths filled the air. Over and over, Andreas plunged his shaft into Rock’s body and the cowboy took it all, lifting his ass to meet the thrusts. He fisted his hands in the comforter. With his ass stuffed full and his knuckles white from clenching the blankets, Rock looked like a thoroughly pleasured man.

And then Andreas couldn’t hold back anymore. With a guttural cry, he slammed forward. The driving need to pound his cock into Rock’s body, to feel muscles clamping around him, had him thrusting again and again, faster and faster. He reached out and covered Rock’s hand with his own.

“Yes!” Rock shouted, his ass lifting, body going rigid.

Rock’s uninhibited response had Andreas thrusting hard once more. Balls tight, his orgasm raced through his body. The tingling at the base of his spine started, shot forward through the top of his head. With one final surge, his cock jerked and he came inside Rock.

Andreas remained buried balls-deep inside him. Aftershocks darted through him. Eyes closed, neck taut, he fought the sensation that his head was going to blow off. He drew air into his parched lungs several times before finally rolling to the side, his cock sliding from Rock’s body. His sticky fingers released Rock’s hand to rest on his back.

Rock lay on his stomach, head turned away from Andreas. Andreas missed the lingering closeness he usually felt with his lovers, but he knew this was only two men releasing tension. Nothing more. They each had a competition for which to prepare.

Slowly, Rock rolled to his side to face him. Andreas grinned as he looked at the cowboy’s naked body. His cock lay against his leg, and as Andreas watched, it twitched. Damn, but he was insatiable. Must come from his rodeo days, from living life in the moment, as he had said, and Andreas wished he could see some footage of Rock riding rough stock. Just thinking of the cowboy astride the whirling and bucking beasts had his breath catching in his throat.

Andreas sat up and eased off the bed. “I’m going to jump in the shower.” He left the invitation open. No pressure.

“Okay,” Rock said. He stared at Andreas for a moment longer, looked as if he was going to say something but instead sat up and reached for the remote. The sounds of the television chased Andreas into the bathroom.

Moments later Andreas stood under the pounding spray. He didn’t regret what they’d done. Two adult males recognizing their attraction to each other. No, he didn’t regret it at all and wondered why he felt that Rock did. He shook his head and thought he might have to take a page from the cowboy’s playbook. Just take things eight seconds at a time.

Chapter Three

The outdoor arena provided a change of scenery. Rock cantered Checkers, practicing effortless circles. Fast and slow, he transitioned from gait to gait, slowing to a walk as Andreas entered the arena next to his on his big, black mount, Prince. Rock remembered the horse’s name with a grin. It’d been nearly four days since they’d had sex. Both men had taken showers and then they’d sat up talking horses and events until exhaustion from the day’s activities caught up with them and Rock had fallen asleep. He didn’t know what time Andreas had gone to bed. They’d spent the next three nights doing exactly the same thing, talking about their disciplines and their lives until sleep claimed them. In spite of their different riding styles, he felt a growing connection with Andreas.

Slowing Checkers to a walk, Rock surreptitiously looked into the other arena to watch Andreas. When he’d seen dressage riders before, he’d thought of their discipline as one of stuffy, uptight people. Limited speed, precision, even those top hats and tailed coats looked prissy compared to the fast spins and turns of reining. A smile quirked his lips. His time with Andreas had proved the man was anything but a pansy. Just thinking about the man’s cock penetrating deeply inside him and the masterful way he’d pinned Rock to the mattress had his cock hardening, the saddle suddenly becoming uncomfortable.

Rock had to admit the man had talent. With miniscule movements of seat and legs, Andreas directed Prince around the arena, the steps looking like a dance. Around him, other dressage riders practiced similar movements, but side by side, Andreas always looked better. And that was the reason he ranked at the top of his sport. He’d earned it.

The cool, calm man in the arena bore little resemblance to the one who’d had sex with him. Rock tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he’d essentially fallen into bed with his roommate after telling himself he couldn’t. Not that he hadn’t had his share of one-night stands. He’d done plenty of that on the rodeo circuit with both men and women. But his last relationship had ended in a scandal that had caused him physical violence and cost him his rodeo career. He’d only recently begun once again to focus all his attention on his riding and getting back into championship form. As far as he was concerned, no matter how pleasurable, any physical relationship would interfere with his goal of once again being a winner.

As if sensing his rider’s distraction, Checkers stumbled. Picking up the reins, Rock urged the horse into a trot to work on counter-bending exercises. With the horse making a large circle, he bent its head and neck to the outside of the circle to increase suppleness and responsiveness. Checkers’ little bobble proved his theory. Rock needed to focus on his riding, not the quasi-relationship he had with his roommate. He cued Checkers into a canter to increase the difficulty of the exercise and tried to focus on the horse beneath him instead of the man he wished were beneath him.

“Rock. Can I talk to you for a moment?” The coach’s voice carried across the arena.

“Sure.” Easing Checkers into a walk, he wove in and out of the traffic in the arena to the fence. “What’s up?”

The tall man leaning against the arena fence had won several medals in international competition and he promised to lead this year’s U.S. Equestrian Team to even more glory. He looked at Checkers with a critical eye born of many years spent evaluating horse flesh. “The horse is ready for the North American Cup—but are you?”

The blunt question cut Rock to the quick. “Yes sir,” he said, half-offended that the coach had been thinking the very same thoughts he had. But it was their coach’s job to notice every minor detail of his riders’ performances.

“You don’t look ready. You’re distracted. Look, I know it’s difficult going from being a world champion to having to build your way back up again. This is your first year back into heavy competition, and I know your expectations are high. But if you shoot yourself in the foot before you even step into the arena, it isn’t going to work. Focus. You don’t have to prove to anyone you have the right to be here. You earned it through your wins and your performance. Let your horse do his job and leave your personal life outside the gate.” The coach curled his fingers over the top board of the fence and fixed Rock with a knowing stare. “The only person you need to worry about is you. So get over whatever’s bothering you and concentrate on your riding.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away.

Rock released the breath he’d been holding. Damn. Though expected, ever deserved, the coach’s words stung anyway.

And Rock knew he had to work five times as hard just because he was a rodeo cowboy. Last year’s silver medalist in reining at the North American Cup rode down the length of the arena and executed a perfect sliding stop. He made an easy rollback, the horse pivoting on its hindquarters and making a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. With competition like that, Rock knew he and Checkers needed to be in top form. Physically, they more than had the ability to win. Emotionally, he had to get his shit together.

Ignoring the riders in the other arena—including Andreas—Rock cued an impatient Checkers into a canter. Forget the circles, the serpentines, all the solid stuff he’d been doing. He needed to practice hard. Finding a spot in the center of the arena, he slid Checkers into a stop and then started spins. Quick and fast, the horse pivoted in place, mane and tail flying. Four to the left then four to the right. Stop. Breathe. Spin again.

There, that was exactly what he needed—the easy rhythm of the horse beneath him and the feel of the sun on his face. Closing his eyes, he gave himself over to Checkers’ loose, easy gait for a few moments as they cantered down the length of the arena. The three-beat gait pounded the worries from Rock’s mind until it was just he and his horse, doing what they did best.

As they rode down the long side of their arena, in the other, Andreas and Prince rode toward them. Though their horses differed in size and muscling, and Andreas’ warmblood’s canter held more of an upward bounce, the men appeared to be mirror images of each other.

Rock cued Checkers for a lead change. The horse ignored him. Again, Rock cued Checkers and still, the horse continued cantering with his right leg leading. Andreas looked at him as he passed but said nothing. Rock growled. Damn it! Once again he’d proven Andreas was a distraction that he didn’t need.

* * * * *

Rock had finished his ride and taken Checkers back to the barn. Cross-ties latched onto either side of the horse’s halter held him in place, and Rock rubbed a soft cloth over the horse’s coat until it shone. Grooming his horses always proved to help settle his thoughts, and after a rough morning of training, Rock needed all the help he could get.

Checkers yawned, sticking out his tongue as if he were thoroughly bored with everything. And perhaps he was. The former roping horse usually alternated working with cows and training in an arena. Now, with the North American Cup getting closer by the day, they both spent far more time in the arena than Rock would have liked.

He wiped an invisible speck of dust from the horse’s hide then unclipped the cross-ties and led him back to his stall. After checking to make sure no feed or hay blocked the automatic waterer and adding an extra handful of grain to reward the horse for his efforts, he closed the door.

The sound of footsteps made him turn to see Andreas walking down the barn aisle. He wore his tall boots and breeches, the polo shirt looking more official than Rock’s button-down shirt and jeans. “Afternoon,” Rock said, then turned and took a step toward Andreas and the door.

“Afternoon. Looks like you had a good training session.” Andreas stopped. “Want some friendly advice regarding your lead changes?”

Rock’s spine stiffened. When it came to riding, as far as Rock was concerned, dressage was light-years away from reining. The analytical part of his mind told him that in truth Andreas was just being friendly, probably had something helpful to say. After all, he hadn’t gotten where he was for nothing. But the day he accepted help from a prissy dressage rider, well…he might as well hang up his hat and spurs. And if Andreas thought that just because they fucked he could tell Rock how to ride, he had another think coming. “Doing just fine.” Rock bit off the words.

Andreas frowned. “Okay then. But with the cup so close, I don’t think Checkers has time for your pride.”

“You don’t know what he does or doesn’t have time for,” Rock snarled. In his stall, Checkers turned his head to look at Andreas and snorted as if he agreed with his rider.

“Maybe not,” Andreas admitted. “But I know you’re here to win.” He tightened his fingers around the dressage whip he held. Lips pressed in a tight line, he shook his head. “I was only trying to help.”

“When I need your help, I’ll ask for it.” Rock shoved his hand into his jeans pockets.

“I’ll remember that.” Andreas spun on his heel and strode out of the barn.

Rock stood there for a moment and watched Andreas leave. He regretted his harsh words, his worry over his riding and his chances of winning making him act like an ass. He’d simply had one too many people pointing out his faults today. Shaking his head, he walked out of the barn.

During the short ride back to the hotel, he began hoping he’d see Andreas and have a chance to apologize. Removing his cowboy hat, he ran his fingers through his hair. He sure had made a mess of things.

By the time he made it back to the hotel room, Andreas was gone, though the lingering steam in the bathroom and the scent of soap filled the air. Rock stripped, finding it intimate to be in the same room where Andreas had bathed not long ago. After a quick shower, he dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a shirt and, when Andreas didn’t return to the room, Rock decided he needed to seek out the dressage rider. Slipping his feet into clean socks and his boots, he made sure he had his wallet and room key before stepping into the hall.

The pool and weight rooms were both empty. Rock next stopped at the hotel bar, pausing in the entrance to scan the crowd. Andreas sat in the back of the room with other dressage riders. Although he faced the entrance, he didn’t acknowledge Rock’s presence.

A cold one sounded good, and Rock walked up to the almost-empty bar and took a seat. He ordered a bottle of Sam Adams, paying far too much for it before taking a long swallow. The smooth liquid felt good going down his throat, all robust and full of flavor—like he imagined Andreas’ cock would taste. Boisterous laughter sounded from the table to the left of the bar, one of the men speaking loudly in German. Andreas answered back, his deep voice replying in German with a perfect accent. A far cry from the uncultured cowboys who were commonplace where Rock came. He frowned.

“Another beer, sir?” The bartender interrupted Rock’s thoughts.

He glanced at the bottle, suddenly aware it sat empty in front of him. He shook his head. “No thanks.” With a last quick glance at Andreas, he slid from the stool and left the bar.

As he walked back to the room, he tried not to think too much on the fact that coach was right. Physically, there was no reason why he and Checkers couldn’t take the gold medal at the North American Cup. Emotionally, they’d be lucky to finish their run. It was time for Rock to face the facts. The only person preventing him from getting to the top of his game was him. It would take hard work and mending fences to get where he needed to be, and the first place to start would be an apology to Andreas.

Rock paused outside the hotel room. The urge to turn around and return to the bar gripped him so hard he nearly did just that. Instead, he pressed his fingers to the door and shook his head. The barn, with its smells of horses, leather and hay, promised a peace of mind he couldn’t find inside these four walls. Turning, he headed to the parking lot and five minutes later, he was merging into traffic.

It didn’t take him long to drive to the barn, and soon he leaned his forearms along the bottom half of Checkers’ door. Rock stared at his sleeping horse. In the stall next to Checkers’, his second mount, a young gelding, munched placidly on hay. Checkers woke with a soft snort and ambled toward Rock to hang his head over the open door. The minutes passed quietly, Rock’s thoughts tumbling through his head as he rubbed and scratched the horse behind his ears.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Andreas’ voice cut through the solitude. “I wanted to speak to you at the bar, but before I could get away you’d gone.”

Rock’s hand fell from his horse’s neck. Turning, he watched as Andreas’ quiet footsteps brought him closer. The dressage rider stood in the middle of the aisle, hands in his pockets, just watching. Behind him, Prince whickered in his stall and Andreas smiled.

Words caught in Rock’s throat. An apology hovered on the tip of his tongue, yet now, with Andreas standing before him, it simply wouldn’t come. He expelled a hot rush of air and felt Checkers nuzzling his arm and shoulder, as if telling him to get on with it. Absently, he rubbed the horse.

“Thanks for tracking me down,” Rock said at last. “I thought about going back to the bar but you guys were talking German. I didn’t want to interrupt.” I didn’t want to wonder if you were talking about me. He cursed the self-conscious part of his mind.

Andreas strode closer. He stopped less than an arm’s length away from Rock. This close, heat radiated from his body, reminding Rock of how good it felt to have the man penetrating his ass, his fingers wrapped around his cock. He bit back a groan.

“It’s all right,” Andreas replied. “Just catching up with some old friends.”

Rock nodded. Mustering his courage, he said, “Hey, I’m sorry I acted like a jerk. You said you had some tips to help Checkers’ flying lead changes?” The words rushed from him, hanging in the air like a half-assed peace offering.

Andreas grinned. “No problem. We all get too intense with the competition. Yeah, I do. It’s all in the feel.”

“All in the feel, eh?” Rock couldn’t stop the grin from plastering itself across his face. A mental image of the two of them pressed up against the stall filled his mind, and he desperately wanted to make it a reality.

Andreas moved closer.

Rock’s cock surged to life behind the fly of his jeans. Thick and hard, it pounded with the memory of Andreas’ fingers clasped around it. He leaned a hip against the bottom half of Checkers’ stall door, the horse having turned away to snooze in the corner. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. Rock remembered the feel of being pinned to the bed, how it felt to be filled with Andreas’ cock. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

Andreas grabbed Rock’s arm. He pushed the cowboy against the stall, trapping him between the hard wood and his hard body.

“What do you feel now?” Andreas’ husky voice filled the barn aisle.

Rock shuddered. With the doors open, letting in limited light, shadows played across Andreas’ features. Rock flexed his hips. Denim rasped against denim.

Suddenly, the dressage rider dropped to his knees. Andreas’ fingers made short work of Rock’s jeans before easing his shaft into the humid night air. Rock looked down as Andreas closed his eyes and inhaled. He wrapped his lips around the hard cock in his hands and sucked it deep into his mouth.

Rock groaned. His balls tightened, his shaft leaping to life inside the wet cavern of Andreas’ mouth. The suddenness of the dressage rider’s actions combined with the thrill of possible discovery had every nerve tingling, every sense aware.

Andreas made a husky sound in the back of his throat as he sucked and slurped on the cock on his mouth, the noises mingling with the stamping of hooves and swishing of tails. For a moment Rock thought he should push Andreas away. For only a moment—then Andreas hummed in the back of his throat. Rock moaned and his head tilted back. His cowboy hat tumbled into Checkers’ stall.

Andreas laved the thick vein on the underside of Rock’s cock, finding the bundle of nerves just beneath the crown and tonguing them.

Tires crunched on gravel.

Rock’s mind flashed back to another quest for a championship, a different man…and the liaison that brought his career tumbling flat on its ass. Stiffening, he cupped Andreas’ head and pushed him away.

“Rock…” Andreas whispered.

“Shh. Someone’s coming.” And it isn’t either one of us. Damn!

Andreas rose to his feet and Rock took a few painful minutes to tuck his erection back into his jeans. Long moments stretched with tense silence. A pair of vehicle doors slammed, the sounds drowning out the pounding of his heart.

Damn. Damn. Damn! Fucking in a hotel room behind closed doors was one thing, but getting caught in the aisle of a barn? The distinct sounds of female laughter filled the night and Rock knew if one of the females had gazed into the barn, they certainly would have gotten quite the show. He rolled his shoulders and watched Andreas backed away.

“It’s all about feel. What you feel right now, in this moment. That’s what I was going to say. Don’t think about what it should feel like or what you should do or what might happen, just experience the moment. That was my advice about flying changes. And it’s good advice for everything else.” Andreas winked and grinned before turning and striding out of the barn.

Rock watched him leave. Truth reverberated through Andreas’ words, and Rock stepped forward, intending to follow.

Ah hell, better let him go. Rock slipped into the stall and retrieved his hat, giving his horse a lingering pat on the rump before going to the parking lot. The two women must have gone into another barn, for he saw no sign of them as he made his way to his truck.

Just feel. Yeah right. Rock scowled. He’d thrown caution aside and felt his way once before, and it had ended in scandal and rumors that had forced him out of the sport he’d loved. Scowling, he peeled out of the parking lot fast enough that his tires spit gravel. “Stick with what you know, buddy. That’s the way to win the North American Cup.” His words echoed in the cab, as hollow and empty as the man inside.

Chapter Four

Anger. Resentment. Andreas knew the emotions Rock kept bottled up inside too well. After the sexual openness of Europe, returning to America was like stepping into a cold shower. He could only imagine the things Rock, coming from rodeo, had gone through trying to be an openly gay man in that kind of macho world. Rock had too much integrity to hide his nature. Maybe not flaunt it, but certainly not cower in the closet either.

Lifting the bottle of German beer he’d picked up at a grocery store on his way back to the hotel, he took a long swallow and thought about what they’d started in the barn. Good thing he’d bought a case.

Andreas set the bottle on the nightstand with a clang. He flipped through the channels, finding a rodeo on ESPN2. Watching the bulls and the dust, he tried to imagine how Rock must have felt being a gay man in a predominately heterosexual sport. And yet it shouldn’t matter. A man should be judged on who he was, not who he loved.

He finished off the bottle of beer with the sad realization that he knew little about Rock’s life beyond the rumors. Andreas judged him as a cowboy, made assumptions about the rodeo life and went on living in his self-absorbed, cushy world. He knew that with his high boots and tight white pants, certain assumptions were always made—which in his case were correct. Andreas laughed and realized he was more than half drunk.

He had nothing to prove and neither did his horse, for Prince was the epitome of an upper-level dressage mount, his movements flawless, his fitness level superb. No, Andreas learned long ago to forget what everyone else said about him and focus only on his gut. He naturally expected a rider in Rock’s position to feel the same way. Judging from Rock’s nervousness in the barn, Andreas had apparently been wrong.

And although he’d never say it to Rock’s face, that’s the reason why the cowboy wouldn’t win the North America Cup.

The door opened and Andreas continued to stare at the television, wondering what the cowboy would think about finding him watching a rodeo. A grin split his face as he popped the top on another bottle of beer. He’d find out in a moment.

Rock entered, the door slamming behind him with a solid thud. He looked tired. Tossing wallet and keys onto the nightstand beside his bed, he sat down, one booted foot on the comforter, one braced flat on the floor.

“That kid never could hold on,” Rock mumbled, staring at the television set.

“Miss it?” Andreas asked. He passed a beer across the space between them.

Rock’s fingers grazed his. Sparks zinged up Andreas’ arm. His cock throbbed. For a moment his breath caught in his throat.

Rock jerked his head toward the television. “The rodeo circuit? Sometimes.” He toed off his boots and they hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. Tipping back the bottle, he swallowed half of it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Really?” The honesty of Rock’s words startled him. After nearly getting caught in the barn, he’d expected Rock to be more guarded with his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Rock nodded and finished off the beer. “The adrenaline, the rush. I get that in the reining arena, sure, but not as much. I have to work harder for it, though staying on rough stock is a lot more difficult than riding a reining pattern.”

“Is that why you did it? The thrill?” Andreas could understand that, even in his inebriated state. Thankfully, he didn’t slur his words.

Rock shrugged. “You could say that. Something about going out there night after night and proving myself. It was a rush. I mean, on the back of a bull it was just me and him, and one of us was going to win. Some nights I stayed on for eight seconds and I won. Other nights the bull won. Same for the bucking horses.” Tossing his hat on the nightstand, he dragged his fingers through his hair. He reached for another beer and twisted off the top. “I knew what I had to do and what I had to get the bull or horse to do, and I did it. Simple as that. A hell of a lot easier than this competition shit. Or at least it had been.”

“So why do you do it?” In his alcohol-fogged mind, Andreas sensed Rock getting at the heart of the matter. “Why do you do this if you don’t like it?”

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Stretching out on the bed, Rock crossed his feet at the ankles and stared at the television. “That’s a young man’s sport. Too many broken bones, and even the Justin Sportsmedicine Team was starting to give me those pitying looks. You know it’s bad if the sawbones think you’re crazy.” He snorted. “Besides, working cattle, reining—it’s all cowboy work, ain’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Andreas admitted. He finished off his beer, pausing for a moment to count the empty bottles. He picked up his sixth and vowed that it had to be his last.

Rock put back his second beer quickly and reached for a third. “I’ll have to get the next case,” he said. “So why do you do what you do? Prance around in a dressage ring and all.”

The smile behind Rock’s words kept them from being a taunt. “Because I can. Because it’s perfection.”

“Perfection, huh?”

Andreas nodded and stifled a yawn. “Yeah, perfection. Like good sex.”

The words hung between them. Knowing he was too tired and too drunk to be any good kept Andreas from crawling over to the other bed and showing Rock just how good it could be. Instead, he flipped off the television. “Reining, dressage, rodeo—it’s all the same feel. You just have to find your zone and trust yourself.” Not even bothering to undress, he settled down on the comforter.

In the bed next to his, Rock snorted and kept on drinking.

* * * * *

Holding Checkers’ reins loosely in his hand, Rock squinted against the mid-morning sun. His head pounded. Although he’d ridden with far worse hangovers, he knew last night’s drinking hadn’t been smart. In the outdoor arena next to him, Andreas worked Prince, and the dressage rider gave no indication he’d overindulged.

“Here we go, boy,” Rock muttered under his breath as he checked the girth one final time and swung into the saddle. Checkers shifted his weight and the duo entered the arena.

In spite of his pounding head, Rock held his training plan firmly in mind as he flexed the horse’s neck to the left and to the right, checking for suppleness and responsiveness. Checkers responded flawlessly, bending his nose to touch the toe of Rock’s cowboy boot on both sides. Rock grinned.

The slow jog showed much the same, with Checkers listening to his commands. Andreas’ words flowed through Rock’s mind. It’s all about the feel. Well, things felt damn good at the moment, the horse’s legs moving in a slow, steady beat. Rock asked for more speed and Checkers responded exactly how a well-trained cow horse should. A huge grin covered his face, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Andreas nod as he directed his horse on a diagonal track across the arena next to him.

Rock relaxed into the ride, his cowboy hat shielding his face from the worst of the sun. Heat radiated into his bare arms and through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Heavy chaps hung on his legs, the fringe swishing with the ride. The scent of horses and leather filled his nostrils, an earthy aroma that had him recalling his days on the circuit. A slight movement of his legs, and Checkers loped in a large circle.

Yeah, this was exactly how things were supposed to be—perfect. Speed, direction, everything under his and Checkers’ control worked well, so well in fact that he brought his horse into the center of the arena, did a series of quick spins then rode out to the edges to run through a pattern. Minutes later he finished, feeling far more in control than he had yesterday.

All about feel. From the leather reins in his hands to the thousand pounds of horse flesh beneath him, Rock felt. Air filled his lungs, adrenaline and pride combining to make him a veritable mountain on horseback. At the moment there wasn’t anything Checkers and he couldn’t do, including win the North American Cup. Yes sir, Rock was on top of the world and liking it.

He slowed Checkers and leaned forward to rub the horse’s sweaty neck. Checkers snorted as Rock rode him on a loose rein.

“Good ride,” Andreas called out as he dismounted from Prince. “Checkers looked better today.”

“He felt better too. Thanks!” Rock replied. He patted the horse’s neck again then halted. An easy swing of his leg over the saddle and he dismounted. Rock led Checkers over to Andreas and Prince, and the two men walked their horses to the barn in companionable silence.

After grooming his horse and putting him in the stall, Rock stepped from the tack room to find Andreas saddling his alternate mount. Rock watched the economy in Andreas’ movements, from the tightening of the girth to the easy way he slipped the bridle over the horse’s head. “Mind if I watch?” Rock asked, thinking he could do a hell of a lot worse than watching Andreas school his younger mount.

“Not at all.” Andreas grinned as he paused at the mounting block and swung onto the saddle. “Want me to talk you through what I’m doing?”

“Sure.” Rock walked outside and leaned nonchalantly on the fence. He watched Andreas ride around the arena, his admiration for the man’s horsemanship growing. With firm, consistent cues, Andreas directed the younger horse to perform many of the same maneuvers he had with his older, more seasoned competition horse. Encased in dark blue breeches, his muscled legs helped the horse to balance. Gentle fingers on the reins sent requests to the horse’s sensitive mouth. Andreas talked Rock through the maneuvers, explaining how-to and theory on everything from the extended and collected trots to the shoulder-in and side pass. Andreas took his mount through the dressage levels and educated Rock throughout the entire practice on how he got the horse to do what he wanted.

Rock’s breath slowly became more and more labored as he watched. What he wanted rode in the arena not far from him. His cock tightened thinking about Andreas stroking his shaft, the way he took control, firmly and masterfully leading them both to release. His breath grew harsh, his fingers curling into the top rail on the fence.

“Like what you see?” Andreas asked as he slowed the horse to a walk and approached the fence.

“Yeah,” Rock replied, catching a whiff of Andreas’ sweaty skin as he passed close to him. “You start him yourself?”

“Almost. A good friend of mine owned him as a foal. I liked the look of him so after letting my friend start him and work him up through second level, I bought him.”

“How long did that take?” Rock asked, hoping he didn’t sound like a complete and total idiot.

“About six years,” Andreas replied.

“Looks good.” The timeframe involved in such levels of training boggled his mind. He came from the world of quarter horses where futurities were won when horses were two, and the important competitions were all for three-year-old horses. After a few years, horses were retired to breeding. The fact that the governing body for international equestrian sports required horses to be at least seven years of age to compete made it interesting for western riders whose horses usually peaked earlier.

“Hey, I don’t want to keep you from your training. Why don’t we go have supper later? My treat.” For once Rock didn’t glance around to see if anyone overheard the offer. At the moment he was simply a horseman, not a gay man, speaking to another horseman. It felt really good.

“Great. Five o’clock okay?”

Rock nodded. “See you then.” He rocked back on his heels and released the railing. He watched for a moment longer as Andreas took the young horse into the center of the arena before heading for the barn to see to Checkers and his other mount. Dinner tonight would be the perfect place to start fresh, and maybe, if he were lucky, he’d get lucky. Whistling a jaunty tune, he finished in the barn then headed for his truck to go prepare for his date with a dressage rider.

Dining out turned into eating in when Rock called the restaurant and they had an hour wait to be seated. Andreas didn’t mind, though he suspected Rock wasn’t happy with the change in plans. The cowboy sat at the small table in their room, drinking a soda. He’d polished off the hearty steak dinner room service had brought and now, with his long legs encased in indigo jeans complete with a crease, polished ostrich boots and a crisp western shirt, he looked as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Andreas grinned. He too had finished off his meal. He wordlessly got up and placed the tray with the empty dishes outside the door. “So you had a good ride today?” Andreas hated the small talk at the moment, the questions to which he already knew the answers. The idea of peeling the cowboy out of his jeans and boots, unfastening those pearl snaps on his shirt and stripping him naked held an appeal that hardened his cock. Turning from the door, he paused between the beds.

Awareness flared in Rock’s blue eyes. He looked Andreas over from head to toe, from the open collar of his polo shirt to the jeans and paddock boots on his feet. Andreas wondered what the cowboy saw. His cock hardened beneath the heat in Rock’s gaze.

Rock licked his lips with a lazy swipe of his tongue. “I’d like to hope that all my rides today are good ones.” He rose to his feet. “You want to test that theory?”

“On one condition.” Andreas strode forward, devouring the vision of prime male standing before him. Reaching out, he flicked open the snaps on Rock’s shirt with gentle flicks of his fingers. The lapels gaped open to reveal a large swath of tanned skin.

Rock’s breath caught in his throat.

“That I get to taste you.” Andreas flattened his palms against Rock’s chest and shoved the shirt from his broad shoulders. It caught on his arms, his hands in his pockets keeping the garment from falling to the floor. Heat radiated into Andreas’ palms as he stroked the strong lines of Rock’s clavicle. Defined pectoral muscles called to him, hard, pointed nipples begging his fingers to caress and tease. He stepped forward.

Deep breaths brought Rock’s scent to Andreas and he relished the cowboy’s earthy smell. Grazing Rock’s nipples with his fingers, Andreas grinned at his harsh breathing. His abs fluttered, enticing Andreas’ fingers lower, but he remained focused on the planes of Rock’s pectoral muscles. Leaning forward, he licked the rise of a shoulder.

Rock groaned. Yanking his hands from his pockets, he shoved his shirt to the floor. A quick tug pulled Andreas’ polo from his jeans and Rock flattened his palms across rippled abs. He forced Andreas to remove his hands long enough to pull the fabric over his head and toss it to the floor somewhere behind him.

Strong hands on his waist propelled him toward the bed. Andreas had just enough presence of mind to stop and twist Rock toward the mattress. A gentle shove sent Rock tumbling to the comforter. Andreas straddled his legs, pinning him down. “I said I want to taste you,” he said a moment before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss along Rock’s clavicle.

The flavor of hot, clean man burst on his tongue like an expensive wine or a decadent desert. Swirling his tongue along the intent of Rock’s collarbone, Andreas licked him like an ice cream cone. Nips and tastes took him along the width of his chest over to one nipple so he could wrap his lips around the hard nub and suck.

“Oh yeah,” Rock growled.

Andreas wiggled on him, feeling the length of Rock’s erection through his jeans. His mouth watered just thinking about having that heavy rod between his lips. “You want me, don’t you? You want me to fuck you.” He nipped lightly, laving the red marks his teeth left with his tongue.

Rock grabbed his biceps. With a twist he flipped himself from underneath Andreas and straddled him. “Maybe I want to fuck you,” he breathed. “Maybe I want to finish what you started in the barn.” He licked the arrow of hair bisecting Andreas’ abs, easing himself down, the button on his jeans his destination.

Andreas lay there, letting the cowboy take the lead. After all, he’d had his taste and suspected that Rock would have more than that before the night ended. Andreas lifted his hips to allow Rock to pull his jeans and briefs down. Boots hit the floor and his socks were removed, then Andreas lay naked to Rock’s heated gaze. He waited to see what the cowboy would do.

Rock moved to kneel between Andreas’ thighs. Leaning forward, he nipped the muscled ridge of one abdominal muscle, drawing a groan from the dressage rider lying naked beneath him.

Andreas reached for him.

Easily Rock captured the man’s wrists and held them pinned to the bed above his head. “This is my ride,” he said, his husky voice creating warm puffs of air. Broncs, bulls, leaping off a galloping horse to tie a calf—Rock had done it all. And yet, in this moment, nothing thrilled him as much as the prospect of having sex with Andreas. The man’s cock jerked, the head so full it nearly touched his navel. His own balls ached and Rock relished every sensation. His fingers tightened around Andreas’ wrists.

The need to finish what had begun in the barn drove him down. Releasing Andreas’ wrists and following the line of dark brown hair down to the curls surrounding a rampant cock, he inhaled deeply, drawing the musky scent of aroused male into his nose. When he suggested they go out for dinner he’d thought of a meal, maybe some conversation, a chance to get to know Andreas better. Although his body ached for it, he hadn’t expected sex so quickly. That Andreas trusted Rock with his body, trusted the mutual pleasure they could bring each other—that was the icing on a pretty damn fine day. Teasing the head of Andreas’ cock with his warm breath, he reached between the man’s legs to fondle his balls.

Rock laved the length of Andreas’ cock with his tongue, starting at the base, working his way to the sensitive knot of nerves just beneath the head. He nibbled and sucked that sensitive place, toying with it, feeling Andreas’ balls grow tight in his hands.

“You know, I think I should call you Andy,” Rock said, his lips hovering over the plum crown.

“What?” Andreas asked. “Never.”

“Andy…” Rock licked him from base to tip.

Andreas groaned.

“Andy…” Rock wrapped his lips around the shaft and sucked him deep into his mouth. Humming, he sent vibrations along the length of the cock in his mouth and he grinned as he heard the catch in Andy’s breathing. Hips lifted, pumping the shaft deeper into his mouth until it bumped against the tight ring of muscles at the back of Rock’s throat. He relaxed and took him deeper.

All teasing faded away until they were simply two men enjoying each other’s bodies. Fisting his hands in the comforter, Andy held his body rigid. Husky groans and harsh breathing filled the hotel room. Rock savored the scent of Andy’s musk, the feel of his thick shaft filling his mouth. He worked up and down, pausing to swirl his tongue over the head, eliciting another moan from Andy. The man made no attempt to hide the sounds of his passion.

Rock envied him that freedom. On the rodeo circuit, he’d been discreet. Never quite in the closet but never fully out of it either. He’d played both sides of the fence until he’d found a calf roper whose desires mirrored his own. Even though the aftermath of that relationship created a scandal that had pushed him firmly out of the closet, old habits died hard. But here within these four walls, with Andy so open and trusting beneath him, he realized he was tired of hiding, tired of running—especially when he knew it was, really, only from himself.

All about feel. Yeah—the feel of hair-roughened skin, the feel and taste of pre-cum on the end of Andy’s shaft. Rock began to deep-throat him, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin behind his balls, working higher until they pressed against the puckered muscles of his anus. Pleasure, pure and simple, shot through him at the rough sounds of Andy’s breathing. Grazing the cock with his teeth, Rock drove Andy right to the edge of release—and then held him off. Fingers clamped around the base of the cock in a vise-like grip, Rock kept his partner from coming.

“Damn you,” Andy snarled.

Still holding him, Rock moved back slightly. “Hold that beautiful cock and kneel for me. I want to take you.” He released Andy and reached toward the nightstand for a bottle of lube, stroked a generous amount of the liquid languidly over his cock while he watched Andy rise to his knees before him and take hold of his own erection. His large fingers squeezed the base, pumping once, twice.

Rock feasted on the sight of his partner. Pleasure was etched on his face, his lips drawn tight, eyes closed, lashes fanned against his cheekbones. Muscles trimmed his body into a picture of masculine perfection, the raw curve of biceps, veins bold against tanned skin. From the curves of his abs down to the fist around his cock, Andy gave an image to everything Rock had ever wanted in a man and more.

Andy turned, presenting the curve of his tight ass. Reaching back, he gave it a light slap. “You want this?”

“Oh yeah.” Grabbing Andy’s waist, Rock hauled the other man’s buttocks against his lubed shaft. The sweet friction sent sparks along the length of his cock. Balls tight, he rubbed his flushed head against Andy’s tight hole.

“What are you waiting for?”

Andy’s bold words served to fan the flames of Rock’s arousal. He pressed his cock against the tight ring of muscles, feeling them relax and soften against his intrusion. A quick thrust of his hips had his crown inside Andy’s furnace-hot body, and Rock worked his way deeper. He moved slowly, savoring every moment until he was flush inside Andy with their balls touching. Rock released a sigh of pure bliss. His hand smoothed around his roommate’s side to flatten on his abs, caressed lower until he wrapped his fingers around Andy’s fist and squeezed.

Andy released his hold, letting Rock’s fingers slip around his shaft. Rock stroked the sinfully hard rod, drawing his hand from root to tip and back again. With a low groan, Rock eased his cock out until his crown once more rested at Andy’s back entrance. He stroked his hand in tune with his cock as he plunged over and over oh-so slowly into Andy’s body.

Making love to another man had never felt this good before. He’d had plenty of partners, men who knew exactly how to obtain a release as fast as possible, but that was all it had ever been—a release. With Andy, Rock felt as if he were having the perfect ride, their hips moving in counterpoint, fingers stroking, husky murmurs and deep breaths providing the cadence for their union. His hips began to pump faster, the slick slide of muscle against muscle bringing his balls tighter against his body.

Sweat covered Rock’s skin. He leaned forward, nuzzling Andy’s neck, tasting the man’s heated flesh. Licking and sucking his way to the shoulder, he bit hard enough to leave a red mark where only they would see. He drew the skin into his mouth, sucking until Andy sported a hickey on the top of his shoulder.

Branded. His. A fierce possessiveness prompted him to reach briefly with his other hand to cup Andy’s balls. Fondling them, imagining the other man’s hands on his own testicles, brought him closer to the edge. The base of his spine tingled. Behind his ribs, his heart thudded. Blood whooshed through his veins, centering on his turgid cock.

Their movements became harsher, faster. Breath whooshed in and out of Rock’s lungs. His world narrowed down to the feel of slick cock in his hand, the way Andy’s body swallowed his own shaft and the endless drive for release. Over and over again he plunged into Andy’s body, faster now, harder, their bodies slapping together…but it was more than just flesh meeting flesh. In his mind, Rock merged with Andreas. He stroked Andy’s cock faster, the memory of the dressage rider’s fingers on his own shaft enflaming him. Burying his rod inside Andy called to mind how good it felt to be impaled on the other man’s pole. A muffled groan ripped from his throat, his balls tightening against his body.

His fingers tightened on Andy’s shaft, sensing the man neared release. He pumped faster, drove his rod deeper into the man’s body, rocking them back and forth, the bed creaking under their exertions. The smell of sex and sweat filled the hotel room, and Rock struggled to draw air into his lungs.

He plunged a final time into Andy. Stiffening, he shuddered as his orgasm rocketed through him. Seed built in his balls, surging forward until it erupted from the head of his cock to splash Andy’s tight passage. Rock struggled to muffle his grunts of satisfaction, his lips buried against Andy’s neck. Breath billowed in and out of his lungs. His fingers tightened on Andy’s shaft a moment before the dressage rider came. Sticky, hot seed burst from the end of his cock, covering Rock’s hand, adding lube to each stroke. Andy’s long, low moan of completion filled the room, his body rigid within Rock’s arms.

Locked tight, the two men shuddered through their releases together. Rock’s hand loosened on Andy’s cock, the other arm wrapped around his waist with fingers splayed over Andy’s stomach. His cock softened and slowly, he let it slip free. Still holding Andy, he tumbled them to the mattress.

Neither man said anything for long moments. Normal hotel noises—the whirring of the air conditioning, water running from a nearby room, footsteps in the hall—seeped into Rock’s consciousness and brought home the fact that once this training session ended, each man would go his separate way. Rock had a show down south. He thought Andy would go somewhere in upstate New York. They’d converge for the North American Cup and then who knew where their paths would take them?

A shiver darted down his spine. Could he really be thinking about something more? His hands slipped from Andy.

“Cold?” Andy asked. He sat up and flipped back the cover. “I’ll warm you.” A teasing glint Rock didn’t return danced in Andy’s eyes.

“Thanks.” He scuttled under the covers.

Andy slid beneath the covers and tucked Rock against his side. He flung one arm over Rock’s stomach, the other beneath his head and simply held him.

The tender gesture unnerved Rock and made him think of things he considered forbidden. Things like settling down away from the open road. Weariness, emotional and physical, tugged at him, and he let his eyelids drift closed. Tomorrow they’d run a mock trial and he’d see where he and Checkers stood. Tomorrow he’d have to make some hard decisions.

Andreas ignored the tingling in his hand that threatened to travel up the arm beneath Rock and watched him sleep. The rest that so easily claimed Rock remained elusive for him, and Andreas thought about heading down to the pool to swim laps. He felt terrific, his body humming after the sex, and for the first time in a long time he felt as if things might finally be coming together. A chance at a second consecutive medal at the North American Cup, almost a sure spot on the Olympic team, a horse he’d pretty much trained himself and the possibility, if last night’s talk at the bar was correct, of heading to Germany to do some additional training there. Andreas couldn’t think of another thing he could want.

Except maybe a cowboy who called him Andy while they were having sex.

Andreas snorted, unable to stifle the outburst of sound. Andy. In all his years he’d never had a nickname, and yet, to hear the cowboy say it, especially in the heat of the moment, it felt…right.

Andreas quietly eased his arm out from under Rock, stood and grabbed a pair of gym shorts, all the while grinning like a fool.

Chapter Five

Rock learned long ago to control his nerves at a competition. But the fact that today’s runs were only a rehearsal did little to stop the flutters of apprehension sitting in his stomach. Feet in the stirrups, reins loose in his hands, he and Checkers stood off to one side of the in-gate watching the competitor before him go through the trial. A nearly flawless run with a bit of an over-spin on the turns to the right, but all in all, something that would go over well in the preliminary rounds of an event, and keep the horse and rider placing well. Rock’s guts churned.

Checkers stood like a rock, four feet square, not even swishing his tail or chewing on the bit. Born and bred for this, the horse knew exactly what he needed to do, and do it he would. Earlier in the day Andy had ridden his tests and both his horses did well. Rankings would be posted after everyone finished, and Rock wondered how he would be able to finish his ride and wait until the four riders after him were done to learn his placing in the mock reining competition. A wry smile crossed his lips. He’d done it before, had scores into the nineties on rank bulls only to watch his placing fall as cowboy after cowboy bested his score. He’d wait. He had to. It was part of the game.

In a plume of dust the rider in the arena finished his run with a long sliding stop. As the rider rode from the arena, Rock drowned out the claps and cheers. Somewhere along the fence Andreas watched. Rock hoped he wouldn’t let his friend down. He had no doubts about Checkers. The horse would perform as flawlessly as his rider would let him.

Rock loped into the arena, starting the sequence of smaller and larger circles that began the reining pattern. Large circles at varying speeds helped determine the horse’s suppleness and control. Making the circles smaller tested horse and rider. Just as with dressage, the goal was invisible communication. With his ears perked forward, Checkers knew the drill. He made perfect circles, two smaller ones followed by a large one. A minor release of tension on the rein, a subtle shift of Rock’s weight in the saddle and Checkers sped up.

His left shoulder drifted out, turning the circle into a slight oval.

Rock cued him back into place, the slight bobble taking only a couple strides but in a competition, those two steps meant the difference between first place and no place. Rating Checkers’ speed by sitting a bit deeper in the saddle, he brought the horse back to a gentle rocking gait and decreased the size of the circles.

The side of one circle flattened out into a straight line and eagerly Checkers raced ahead, anticipating the next maneuver. The pounding of hooves mingled with Rock’s heartbeat, a rhythm that bound man and beast together. Snorting breaths, the creak of leather, it fused Rock into the moment in a way nothing else save the touch of Andy’s fingers could manage.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Andy leaning on the fence, his gaze fastened on them. Rock dared not nod or make any signal that he noticed, but knowing that Andy watched made him try that much harder. He cued Checkers into a sliding stop that went a good forty feet. The other reining riders whooped and hollered.

Rock grinned as he performed a rollback, a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn with the horse balanced over his hindquarters. Checkers obeyed, no hint of resistance in his supple body as he ran down the long side of the arena. Another sliding stop, his hindquarters planted deep beneath him. No sooner had the motion ceased than Rock asked the horse to back up several steps. They halted, poised, horse and rider ready for action.

Spin. Beneath him, the cadence of Checkers’ hooves pounded out the quick four-beat gait, the right hind foot moving up and down in place as a thousand pounds of horse flesh pivoted rapidly around it. Focusing his attention on the fence post directly in front of him, Rock counted each circle.

One. Two. Three. Four. Stop.

When the fourth spin ended, Rock stared three feet to the right of the post. Shit. Checkers had overshot. With no time to ponder his mistakes, he directed the horse to whirl in the other direction, this time the left hind foot moving up and down. Again four spins, and again, Rock stared about two feet away from where he wanted.

Get it together! His mental snarl and subtle cues sent Checkers racing to the other end of the arena to repeat the series of circles, this time going in the opposite direction. These maneuvers felt more controlled. He rode into the center of the arena, where he spun four more times in each direction. Both stops were perfect. He rode straight out of the last spin toward the far end of the arena, sliding to a stop. He felt the power in Checkers’ body, Newton’s laws making them skid down the arena with the horse’s tail dragging in the dirt. Another line of backing steps, a test of suppleness and obedience that Checkers always did well, and then horse and rider returned to the center of the arena for the last set of spins and a final long, sliding stop down the center line of the arena.

Checkers stopped, blowing hard. Rock sat there, going over the run in his mind, each second feeling as if it had taken hours. He started to make the points deductions he knew the coach and judge would make. Way too many to stay on top of the game. Way too many to even dream of a medal in the North American Cup. Rock shook his head and made his way out of the arena. He’d had a chance to impress his coach and Andy, and like getting bucked off the last bull at the National Finals Rodeo, he’d blown it. He might as well have landed flat on his back staring up at the sky as the clock ticked the tenths of a seconds by, because whether he’d lost it at the beginning or the end, he’d still lost. And it sucked either way.

After a break for lunch, Rock leaned on the fence and stared at the empty arena. Scores had been posted and he didn’t like what he’d read. Hoof prints marked the tracks of the riders, including him, and he stared at them, mentally rehearsing.

Andy approached silently and leaned on the fence next to him. The late afternoon sun threatened to slip toward the horizon and some invisible person flipped on the lights in the indoor arena.

“I screwed up,” Rock said. “All I can say is, thank god I did it now and not at the North American Cup.” He shook his head.

“Hey, we all have bad rides. And you weren’t at the bottom of the list,” Andy offered.

“Yeah, there’s that at least.” Rock barked a self-mocking laugh and quickly sobered. “But we’ve got to get our shit together if we’re going to medal at the Cup.”

“That’s important to you, isn’t it?” Andy asked.

Rock turned to face his friend and lover.

Lover…

Where had that come from?

Rock tried not to think about it, and instead focused on the dressage rider who knew what it meant to be at the top of his game and stay there. “Yeah, it is. I’m a competitive bastard. Hell, you don’t survive on the rodeo circuit without being that way.” Rock touched the belt at his waist, the all-around buckle he’d worn for luck. “I’m working my way back up again, trying to prove that I’m the cowboy I used to be.” He shrugged. “This North American Cup is my chance at that.”

“What happened? How come you have to prove yourself all over again? You know you’re a damn good horseman. I’ve seen you ride and you have the medals to prove it. I’ve seen you take falls that would put lesser men in the emergency room. So who exactly are you proving yourself to? I’ve heard the rumors…but not your side of the story. What happened, Rock?” Andy asked softly. His gaze held no pity, nothing but concern and friendship.

Rock released a heavy sigh. “After I won the all-around title, I had an affair with a calf roper. We competed against each other. What started as a friendly rivalry turned into a way to release tension after a rodeo. I was better than he was, pure and simple. And after he got tired of me winning more often than he did, well—let’s just say he wasn’t a graceful loser. Some of the guys…” Rock swallowed hard.

“Didn’t like the fact you were successful and gay,” Andy said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yeah. Only they didn’t just not like it, they hated it. I had my ass beaten so many times…most days the injuries I rode through hadn’t come from the rank horses and bulls, but from one or two of my fellow competitors. It was too much. You can only ride with broken ribs and bruised muscles so many times before your body catches up with you and you lose.

“I made one final run at it, came in third in the world in bareback riding, beating the two main instigators of the abuse…but I still let myself down. Then I left. I was an old man on the circuit anyway, had enough money to buy my ranch in Oklahoma and some good breeding stock. Decided I’d go live the life I had always dreamed, where people cared more about my skills than who I slept with.” A weight lifted from Rock’s shoulders. Outside of his mother, who even now watched over the broodmares on his ranch like they were her own babies, he’d never shared these details with anyone else. Telling them to Andy seemed right.

“They were just jealous that you were better than they were,” Andy replied with a grin. “They felt threatened. Not only were you at the top of your game, but you refused to apologize for who you were.”

Rock grinned back. “I couldn’t stay out of the competitive arena for long though. So I did some cutting competitions before deciding I was done with smelly cattle. Then I went into reining. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I could possibly ride in the Olympics, something those rodeo guys could never do. Las Vegas and the National Finals Rodeo is one thing. Representing your country, well…it’s a whole new ballgame.”

“That it is. Look, this may sound odd, and you may think I’m a fool, but I think I can help you fine-tune Checkers. We’re doing preliminary runs again in about two weeks. Why don’t you see how many places you can move up?” Andy offered.

Rock sensed only a willingness to help. The other man’s life seemed cut and dried—no torrid tales of past affairs or emotional baggage to weigh him down, as far as Rock knew. That seemed like a breath of fresh air to Rock at the moment. He nodded. “I’d like that. Thanks.” Stepping away from the fence, he went to the barn to saddle Checkers. Andy saddled his backup horse, a young gray that went by the barn name of Sterling, which seemed fitting for the huge seventeen-hand warmblood with feet the size of small dinner plates. The horse gleamed as if he’d been molded out of silver, and he waited patiently.

Together, the men led their mounts to the arena and swung into their saddles. Soon Andy was directing Rock through various exercises, many of which were pretty similar to what he normally did but slightly different in approach. Rock listened and did as he was told and, by the end of the evening, when the arena lights gleamed against the darkened sky, Rock felt as if perhaps he’d come a little closer to perfect harmony between man and horse. He knew he had between him and Andy.

Hot and sweaty after their rides, they tumbled into their room where Rock plucked at his shirt. “I don’t know about you but I’m taking a shower.” Before Andy could reply, he swept his shirt over his head. His long strides carried him into the bathroom and as he ran hot water for a shower, he hoped like hell Andy would follow.

Andreas stood in the hotel room listening to the patter of the shower against the tiled wall. An image filled his mind of Rock standing there, bent over the tub, testing the water with his hands. The firm globes of his ass made a mouthwatering mental picture, one that propelled him forward and had him shedding his clothing until he opened the bathroom door.

Steam buffeted him. For a moment Andreas stood there, letting the hot, moist air surround his naked body. Behind the shower curtain Rock moved, just the barest hint of a silhouette of his body visible behind the shower curtain. Andreas’ mouth went dry. He quietly pulled the door closed behind him and strode forward on silent feet. Curling his fingers around the curtain, he pulled it aside.

“Room for two?” he asked.

Rock’s fingers stilled in his hair. Soap suds ran down his neck, over his chest, caught in the curls surrounding his erect cock and traced his muscled thighs and calves. Damn, Andreas envied those bubbles. Rock presented a succulent specimen of a man, hard and perfect. Letting his gaze linger on the cowboy’s erect cock, Andreas stepped into the back of the tub.

Rock grinned. “I think there might be room.” He widened his stance, rolling his hips in Andreas’ direction. “Of course, it might mean that we’ll have to get real close.” He waggled his eyebrows in a lewd parody that had Andreas laughing out loud.

Andreas pulled the curtain closed, thinking the hot sting of the spray would feel good on his aching muscles. He enjoyed training camps, more so this year because of Rock’s presence, though his muscles certainly protested the extra work. Just standing in the steamy shower felt heavenly, never mind Rock flattening his soapy hands across Andreas’ pectorals. He swirled his fingers around Andreas’ nipples, working the tiny points into hard buds.

Rock leaned forward. He stepped aside slightly to allow water to splash over Andreas’ chest before giving his left nipple a big, long lick. “Mmm, nothing better than a clean man.” He swirled his tongue around the other nipple before drawing it into his mouth and sucking hard.

Andreas groaned. His cock jerked to life. Reaching out, he cupped Rock’s ass and drew their hips flush. Shallow thrusts had soapy, slick flesh sliding together, the gentle friction enough to draw Andreas’ balls tight. This was what he missed, the camaraderie of having someone by his side, training, fucking, loving.

He sought and found Rock’s mouth. Andreas let his tongue delve inside, tasting the fruity sports drink Rock had downed on his way from the barn. Andreas took his time, coaxing Rock to return the kiss. Gently, as if reassuring a skittish horse, he invited Rock to deepen the kiss. The cowboy responded enthusiastically, and Andreas’ tongue stroked the length of Rock’s, probing deep into his mouth as if he wanted to swallow the cowboy whole.

And maybe he did. Squeezing Rock’s ass, he pulled him even closer, fingers moving between his legs to find the delicate tissue behind his balls. Flicks of his fingers drew moans from Rock and he thrust restlessly against Andreas, the full head of his cock sliding along Andreas’ abs. Big hands splayed on Andreas’ back and crushed him against Rock until the two men twined in a wet, soapy tangle of limbs and lips and tongues.

The water ran in rivulets over their bodies. The need for air parted them, and Andreas grinned. His panting breaths mingling with steam-filled air, Andreas pressed his lips to Rock’s throat. He kissed along the heavenly column of tanned flesh, dipping into the hollow of Rock’s collarbone then down the line bisecting his flat pectorals. He hummed in the back of his throat, enjoying the expanse of tanned flesh revealed for his carnal delight. The line marking the center of Rock’s abs deserved a tiny flurry of love bites, his navel a swirl of the tongue. Until, on his knees, Andreas cupped Rock’s balls in his hand.

He fondled them, rolling the sac in his palm until Rock spread his legs. One strong hand curled around Andreas’ biceps, as if needing an anchor. Andreas looked up over Rock’s body, at the man’s head tilted back, revealing the corded muscles of his throat. The sight of him, water running over his chest, his cock rampant between his thighs, took Andreas’ breath away. He lowered his mouth to Rock’s cock.

Andreas breathed a puff of air onto the tip of Rock’s penis and watched as a drop of fluid seeped from the eye. Making an oval with his lips, he made a production of slipping just the head into his mouth. He flicked his tongue across the head and tasted Rock’s salty pre-cum. Pure ambrosia.

He rolled the head around on his tongue, savoring the heavy weight in his mouth and the way Rock’s balls tightened in his hands. Closing his eyes, he worked his lips bit by bit down Rock’s turgid length until his nose rested against Rock’s springy curls. Relaxing the back of his throat, he let the head slip past. Then, and only then, did he draw his tongue along his entire length.

Rock shuddered. “God yes!” he said, his voice little more than a strangled moan. He clenched the back of Andreas’ head, fingers finding purchase amid the slick, wet strands of his hair and holding him tight.

Andreas breathed through his nose and slowly, so slowly as to be nearly painful, pulled back until just the head remained in his mouth. Then he surged forward once more. Thrust and release, he used his mouth the way he wanted Rock to use his body. Flicks of his tongue traced veins and long fingers found his sac and the sensitive skin there. A slight hum in the back of his throat had Rock groaning in time to his movements.

Rock tangled his fingers in Andreas’ hair, tugging at the strands in time with his thrusts. His hips pumped, driving his cock down Andreas’ throat, and relaxing his muscles, Andreas took him deeper. A fierce, protective need welled from deep inside him over this intimate act. If only there were a way to tell Rock he didn’t have to worry about anything except his riding. On this circuit, man competed against himself more than he competed against others.

Lightly he grazed Rock’s shaft with his teeth, knowing on which side of the pleasure-pain line to stop. He tongued the weeping eye, tasting Rock’s salty essence, and willed the man to come.

Not yet. His thrusts grew shorter, as if Rock were trying to hold off the inevitable. Using water as his lube, Andreas walked his fingers between Rock’s legs to stroke his perineum. Just like coaxing a horse into the right maneuvers—a bit of pressure here, a subtle whisper of contact there and he received exactly what he wanted.

Rock shuddered. His breaths grew more ragged, his thrusts sharper.

Andreas pressed his finger against the cowboy’s puckered opening. Slick with water and the last remnants of soap, his digit penetrated easily. A bit farther and he curled his finger to stroke Rock’s prostate. The tiny walnut-sized bump would soon become the focal point of the cowboy’s world, and Andreas intended to rock it. He caressed the gland and forced himself to watch the emotions playing across Rock’s face.

Rock stiffened. Muscles rigid, head titled back, mouth open in a wordless cry. His body shuddered.

Andreas applied steady pressure to his prostate, trying to eke as strong a release from him as possible. Inside his mouth, Rock’s shaft twitched and seemed to grow. His balls tightened—and he came. Warm jets of come filled Andreas’ mouth and he swallowed greedily, using his tongue to gather every last drop of the precious fluids. He licked and suckled as Rock moaned, his orgasm seeming to last forever. Once the spasms ended, slowly, ever-so slowly, Andreas slid his finger from Rock’s anus. Tepid water pelted them now. Sliding his lips away from Rock’s softening erection, Andreas reached around him and turned off the tap before standing.

“Thanks,” Rock said, sounding out of breath. He leaned against the shower stall, his gaze dropping down to Andreas’ hard-on. “Looks like it’s your turn now.”

Andreas reached for the shower curtain, the rings rattling as he slid it open. Grabbing one white, fluffy towel from the rack, he handed it to Rock and took a second for himself. “Eventually.” Andreas grinned. He had no doubts once the cowboy regained his breath, he’d give Andreas everything he wanted and then some.

Rock forced air into his starved lungs. Damn, but Andy sucked cock like a god. Wiping the water from his eyes, he hurriedly dried off and stepped onto the bath mat. He watched as Andy dried off, heedless of the thick erection straining between his thighs. Rock licked his lips just thinking about getting a taste of that meat.

The competition, his past, his drive to win—everything fled from his mind just watching Andy. The man moved as if everything were choreographed, an economy that used every muscle to perfection. Draping the towel around his neck, he turned and faced Rock.

“If it’s my turn, can I call the shots?” Andy asked.

Without waiting for an answer, Andy swaggered his sexy ass out of the bathroom and went to the bed. Lying down on his back, he bent his knees and planted his feet flat on the comforter. Grabbing a bottle of lube from the nightstand, he poured a generous amount into his palm. He stroked his cock, coating it until it glistened.

Rock couldn’t tear his gaze away. The slick glide of flesh against flesh, the way the head flushed purple and the veins stood out along the shaft, it mesmerized him. He strode forward. Somewhere along the way he lost his towel and he knelt on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and drew his index finger along the length of Andy’s cock. It twitched and swelled beneath his touch.

Curling his fingers around it, Rock fisted him. Long strokes as he worked from base to tip, sliding his palm over the head and rotating it on his way back down. On the bed, Andy groaned and thrust his hips.

Rock straddled him. He leaned forward, brushing a kiss across Andy’s mouth as he grabbed the bottle of lube. Reaching behind him, he liberally coated his sphincter then slowly impaled himself on Andy’s rod. Kneeling on the bed, his weight braced on his thighs, he leaned back and rested his hands behind him on the comforter. His cock jutted toward Andy like a signpost, and Rock grinned. Finally, he had seated the dressage rider deep inside.

Andy thrust. This position let him control the depth and power, and Rock just supported his body while Andy fucked him. Long, slow strokes exactly the way he’d sucked his cock. Rock closed his eyes. “Yeah, just like that,” he breathed.

Andy shifted position beneath him. Sitting up, his cock still buried balls deep inside Rock, he curled his fingers around Rock’s thighs. “Time for you to set the pace.” Bending his head, he wrapped his lips around the head of Rock’s cock and sucked it deep into his mouth.

Rock groaned and fisted his fingers in Andy’s hair. He’d set the pace all right, and when he was done, they’d both be ridden hard and put away wet.

Chapter Six

Early morning sunlight slanted through the break in the curtains. A pink glow settled on an equestrian magazine and an empty beer bottle sitting on the table. Andy had been reading some article the evening before until Rock, his need building, had taken him despite their previous exhausting escapades shortly after dinner. Now the dressage rider lay sleeping beside him on the bed, one arm flung off the edge, blankets tangled around his bare legs. Rock stared at the sliver of light and debated facing the day.

The warmth radiating from Andy’s body kept Rock glued to the bed. Andy’s dark brown hair contrasted starkly with the white pillow. Before he could stop himself, Rock’s hand drifted to fondle the silken strands.

His fingers stilled.

What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t get used to this. Since the night Andreas directed him in the arena, they’d spent most every evening talking and making love. It had become a very comfortable routine and two weeks had passed in a blur.

Careful not to wake Andy, he pushed the covers aside, sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He snagged his boxers from the floor and, stepping into them, went to the window where the sunlight grew stronger in its promise of a new day. One of the remaining few of the training camp.

A notebook sat next to the magazine, dates and cities scrawled across it in Andy’s sparse script. East Coast cities, a tour around Florida, all of them big competitions on the circuit, a circuit that would take him far away from Rock’s western route. He swallowed hard.

There it was in black and white. Their paths diverged. The sooner he faced it now, the better off he’d be. Rock rubbed his hand across his face then turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom.

Showered, shaved and dressed in a pair of faded jeans, Rock didn’t feel much better. Sometime during his stint in the bathroom Andy had rolled onto his stomach, sprawling across the double bed. Arm outstretched as if reaching for someone, one lean leg free of the covers, he looked ready for loving.

Rock’s shaft hardened. He licked his lips, following the curve of muscles across a lightly furred calf, up a lean thigh to where it met hard gluteus muscle. A strong back, broad shoulders, hands with long, tapered fingers that felt so perfect circling his cock—Andy had a body made for riding and for sex.

Rock sank into a chair by the table, trying his damndest not to look at the man in the bed or the notebook on the table with his itinerary. He was falling for Andreas. Hard.

Shaking his head, he bolted to his feet, picked up his belt and threaded it through the loops in his jeans, fastening the all-around buckle in front. Boots, western shirt, even the Stetson on his head, none of the trappings of his career armored him against the naked man in his bed. His breath whooshed from his lungs.

His duffel with the worn atlas tucked into the side pocket mocked him. It sat next to Andy’s matching luggage, making it look like a garage sale reject. In the closet Andy’s garment bag hung next to his, the distinction between their two styles as clear as the difference between his utilitarian plastic bag and Andreas’ expensive cloth variety. Some differences just couldn’t be overcome.

Andy stirred with a low moan, rolling once more to his back. His erection tented the sheet tangled around his hips, the sight of his morning wood giving Rock a hard-on of his own.

Reaching down, Rock adjusted his jeans. Damn it. He didn’t need this. Not right now when his head spun in a million different directions, none of which he was sure would bring the dressage rider along with him. Their circuits, their careers, hell, even their riding styles took them in two different directions. This wasn’t the rodeo, where you traveled with your competitors for several months out of the year. Some days he cursed that fact, some days he welcomed it. This morning, he wasn’t sure which option to choose.

Rock snagged his truck keys from the table. Last night they’d spoken about traveling to the barn together. With his current state of mind, he feared sitting next to Andy in his truck and saying something he shouldn’t. Like those three words every man feared to say and hear.

He shook his head as if to clear it. Palming the keys in his hand, he checked his back pocket for his billfold and decided to head to the barn early. Checkers needed him healthy and in control. Thoughts of love, of Andy, even of the next show, only distracted him. And he’d proven time and time again that distractions were something he couldn’t deal well with.

* * * * *

The soft whinny Checkers gave him as he opened the stall door soothed his mind. Rock breathed deeply, drawing the aroma of horse and hay into his lungs. He led Checkers into the cross-ties, grooming him until his coat shined. He tacked him up, the smell of leather, the sounds of horses milling in their stalls reminding him of his days on the rodeo circuit. He could do this. He had done this, and he had won. With a grin, he led Checkers into the main area and mounted.

Basic flexing exercises centered Rock’s mind. He nudged Checkers into a walk, enjoying the solitude of the arena. He probably should have brought his second mount out here; the younger horse needed the work. But right now he wanted Checkers’ push-button movements. No worries. No problems. Nudging the horse into a lope, he circled the arena. Today he’d ride as if his career depended on it, and maybe, if he rode hard enough, he’d shove Andy from his mind.

Forty minutes later Rock knew he rode once more at the top of his game. Sliding stops and spinning turns fueled the adrenaline pumping through his body. Dismounting, he patted Checkers on the neck. The horse turned his head and snorted into Rock’s hair. He laughed, once more feeling as if years of weight had lifted off him.

“Good ride,” the coach said as they walked past him as they approached the barn. “A few more like that and you won’t have any problem at the North American Cup.”

“Thanks,” Rock replied. He nodded to another horse and rider pair, show jumpers from the look of their tack, as he led Checkers back to the barn. He removed saddle and bridle, giving the horse an extra-vigorous brushing before taking a few moments to clean out Checkers’ stall. He was one of the few on the circuit without a groom to handle all that work for him. As soon as the stall was clean, he checked the levels of hay and water and put the horse away. Immediately Checkers buried his face in his feed and ate.

Rock leaned on the bottom half of the stall door, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching his horse. He itched to get into the saddle again, his second mount needing much more schooling than Checkers. Fifteen minutes later he had his backup mount brushed, tacked up and led into the arena.

He waited for a break in the riders then entered the arena at a walk. Finding an empty corner, he began with simple flexing and counter-bending exercises, bending the horse’s nose around to touch the toe of his boot while he directed the horse to walk in circles first to the left, then to the right. When he felt the youngster was listening to him, he did the exercises at a trot and then a lope before steering into the center of the arena and working on parts of the pattern.

The younger horse responded like a seasoned veteran. Rock didn’t suppress the grin on his face as he spun the horse in a circle, first to the left, then to the right. The horse’s pivoting hind foot remained planted, moving up and down with cadence. A sliding stop took them a good thirty feet down the arena. Large circles, small ones, it didn’t matter—the horse remained at the same speed and guided himself in a perfect arc.

Rock slowed the horse to a walk. Leaning forward, he patted his mount’s sweaty neck. In two days the training camp would be over and he and Andy would go their separate ways. Rock couldn’t help but look across the white fence separating the two outdoor arenas and watch as Andy and Prince went through their movements like well-matched dancing partners.

Dismounting, Rock stood by the fence a moment longer. Loosening the saddle’s cinch, he let his horse lower his head and snort, thankful to be done with work for the day. He led his horse to the barn, where he completed the same ritual of brushing, untacking and stall-cleaning he’d gone through with Checkers. Then he returned to the arena to watch the other riders.

“You’ve made quite an improvement these last few days. I trust you’ve worked through what you’ve needed to,” his coach said. “Your last training run was excellent.”

Rock turned and looked at the man who hoped to guide his riders to gold medals. He’d been so intent on watching Andy he hadn’t heard his coach lean on the fence beside him. Rock nodded. “I think I have. Thanks.”

“Good. You’ve got potential, you know. You wouldn’t be here without it. Just need to focus some. Forget about what happened on the rodeo circuit. This isn’t the rodeo.” He grinned and motioned for one of the riders to circle at the far end of the arena.

“No sir, it isn’t.” Something cemented inside Rock as he spoke, as if believing his own words for the first time. “Appreciate the words of advice.”

“It’s my job to make sure you guys don’t disappoint us. Keep riding like you have been these last few days and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” With a nod of his head, he turned and strode toward the other end of the arena where some jumps had been set up.

Rock stood for a moment longer, absorbing his coach’s words. On one hand, Andy had helped his training and frame of mine. On the other, he still needed to focus further on his riding. He couldn’t do that and deal with a relationship. His guts twisted. Damn it, just when he thought things were going well, personally and professionally… With a shake of his head, he went to his truck. Minutes later, he was back at the hotel.

A shower and a change of clothes did little to soothe his mood. He sat in the chair, Andy’s itinerary staring him in the face. Where most of Rock’s events were at large shows and trade fairs, Andreas’ list included a who’s who of prestigious competitions. Even he recognized the names of the shows on the Florida circuit and knew a win there would permanently fix Andy as one of the top dressage riders of his generation.

Rock grabbed the atlas out of his bag with a snarl. Propping his feet on the edge of the bed, he leaned back in the chair, prepared to plot his route to the next show.

The hotel room door opened.

Andy entered, bringing with him the smell of sweat and horses. He grinned when he saw Rock. “You rode well out there. Looks like you’re ready for the Cup.”

Rock grunted.

“You don’t think so?” The door closed behind Andy as he strode across the small room and dropped his bag on his bed. Pulling out the remaining empty chair, he sat down, propping his feet on the bed next to Rock’s. “I heard what coach said to you, and he’s right. You’re ready.”

If he was supposedly ready, then why the hell wasn’t he grinning from ear to ear? Rock closed the atlas. Dropping it beside him on the chair, he let his feet ease from the comforter of Andy’s bed to settle on the floor. “I suppose so,” he said. Talking about the Cup only reminded Rock that in two days they’d go their separate directions. Maybe he put too much stock in their relationship. Yet watching Andy, something deep inside his gut told him that the dressage rider felt the same way. This was something more than a training camp fling.

Andy stood. “I think I know what you need.” Standing in front of Rock and bracing his hands on the wooden arms of the chair, he leaned forward, his lips tantalizingly close to Rock’s. “I think you need to get laid.”

Andy’s words started a chain reaction. Rock’s breath whooshed from his lungs. Behind the button fly of his jeans, his cock hardened, balls immediately full and tight in the confining denim fabric. He leaned forward, so close his lips might have brushed Andy’s mouth. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” The word emerged as a husky growl.

Rock clamped his hands around Andy’s waist and pushed. Hard.

The dressage rider stumbled backward. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he fell across the mattress.

Rock tumbled on top of him. Legs tangled, the air suddenly charged with sexual currents. Grabbing Andy’s hands, Rock pulled them over his head, arching the man beneath him. A thrust of his hips bumped his denim-clad erection against Andy’s package encased in tight white breeches. “Maybe you need to get laid.” He punctuated his words with a bruising kiss.

Lips plundered, demanding submission. Rock kissed him as if this would be their last time together, and who knew, with the hustle of the last couple days of training it might be. His tongue plunged into Andy’s mouth.

Beneath him the dressage rider moaned. Andy tried to pull his hands away.

Rock squeezed his fingers around Andy’s wrists, keeping them in place. Working his tongue like a miniature cock, he forced Andy to take it. In his mind, he imagined the dressage rider on his knees, his heavy lips wrapped around his shaft, watching as his tongue stroked the bundle of nerves on the underside of his cock. If they had time, that’s what he’d do. They didn’t have time. Not when the remaining minutes and hours of their training leaked away like sand in an hourglass.

Andy wrapped his legs around Rock’s hips. A twist of his body and suddenly, he straddled the cowboy. Rock looked up at him as Andy popped the snaps on his western shirt, baring his chest.

“Better. Much better.” Andy flattened one palm on Rock’s chest then made a production of licking his finger and swirling it around Rock’s nipple.

Rock groaned. Full to bursting, he needed to bury himself in Andy’s body. He tugged the man’s polo shirt from the belted waist of his breeches and slid his hands beneath. Clothes went flying.

Shirts fell to the floor somewhere beyond the bed. Andy’s belt went next, followed by breeches and briefs being shoved down his hips. Ignoring his own half-naked state, Rock circled Andy’s shaft with his fingers and stroked from base to tip. Andy’s hands stilled by the waist of Rock’s jeans. Head tilted back, eyes closed, he thrust his hips in time with Rock’s movements.

Rock sat up and licked the crown.

Andy groaned.

Grabbing the dressage rider’s ass, Rock wrapped his lips around the head of his shaft. If he remembered nothing else from their time together, he’d remember this, the salty taste of his lover’s pre-cum in his mouth, the heavy feel of his shaft resting on his tongue. Curling his fingers into Andy’s buttocks, Rock took him deeper.

He fucked Andy with his mouth. His own needs forgotten, Rock focused on pleasuring his partner. Let him remember, let him lie awake in some strange hotel room, fingers wrapped around his shaft as he stroked himself to completion with this memory. Rock swirled his tongue around the crown. He pressed his fingers against Andy’s puckered anus. In his arms, Andy stiffened.

“You have the lips of a god,” he whispered.

Rock grinned. He’d been called many things in his life—a god was never one of them. Relaxing his throat, he took Andy deeper. One finger penetrated his ass. With his other hand, Rock cupped the dressage rider’s balls. They tightened in his hand, drawing close to his body as his release neared.

Yeah, that’s what Rock wanted. The hot spray of seed against the back of his throat, the groans of his lover’s release echoing in his ears. He stroked the sensitive skin behind Andy’s balls, his finger moving back and forth with gentle strokes. His throat working, he laved the underside of Andy’s cock with his tongue. One lash, two, and a low rumble emerged from Andy’s throat.

He came. Wave after wave of come splashed down his throat. Rock swallowed convulsively. He relished the salty taste of Andy’s seed. Licking the shaft clean, he lay back on the bed. He stretched his arms overhead and smiled the smile of a well-satisfied man. His dick throbbed and yet, looking at the dressage rider’s sated expression, Rock didn’t care.

With a grin, Andy stretched out beside Rock. His fingers feathered light touches across the cowboy’s chest, each caress working closer and closer to the fly of Rock’s jeans. He flipped the button open and eased the zipper down, pulling the cock from beneath tight briefs.

Freed from its confines, Rock’s erection surged upward. Andy’s caresses carried his fingers back toward Rock’s pectorals. He ignored the thick shaft reaching toward his eager fingers. Roped with veins, the head flushed purple, it begged for a kiss, a caress, anything to stop this aching need.

Rock swallowed hard. He closed his eyes. Deep inside his body vibrated. Adrenaline poured through his veins and heightened his senses. Each touch, each whisper of breath, each husky moan rippled across his entire being. Rock lifted his hips, silently begging for Andy’s touch.

Andy leaned forward. “Do you want me to suck your cock?” His breath feathered across Rock’s lips.

“Yes.” Rock lifted his head, slanting his mouth across Andy’s. Cupping the back of his lover’s head, he pulled him down on top of him. Andy’s weight pressed Rock into the mattress. He welcomed the crush of flesh against his, the way his cock rubbed against the dressage rider’s stomach. Against his own stomach, the hard ridge of Andy’s arousal testified to how ready he was.

He plunged his tongue into Rock’s mouth. With a groan, Rock twisted from beneath Andy, straddling him. A thrust of his hips slid their shafts together, back and forth, delicious friction that hinted at things to come. Rock slid his tongue along the seam of Andy’s lips. The dressage rider moaned, mouth opening to allow Rock entrance. He plunged his tongue inside, drinking from him, tasting him to brand his flavor in his mind.

Andy pulled his lips away. “You have too many clothes on.” Trapped beneath Rock, he couldn’t do anything about it, but the gentle admonishment in his words made both men grin.

“Really?” Before Andy could reply, Rock slid from the bed. He stripped his clothes in record time then crawled back over Andy’s supine body. “So what were you saying about sucking my cock?” He cupped his balls, lifting them like an offering. Curling his fingers around his shaft, he stroked.

Andy followed the movement with his eyes. He licked his lips.

Rock moved up farther, stopping with his knees just beneath Andy’s arms. Leaning forward, he fed Andy his cock. Just watching Andy wrap his lips around the head of his erect flesh had Rock’s balls tightening. The dressage rider flicked his tongue over him, the flutter of sensation rocketing straight to his balls. He struggled to remain kneeling. The urge to lean over and fist his hands in the comforter, all the better to feed his cock to his lover, had him rocking forward.

Andy cupped Rock’s ass. He devoured the cowboy’s cock, taking all of it into his mouth. When his lips touched the base, he swallowed, working his throat muscles.

Rock moaned. His entire being focused on the length of his cock deep inside Andy’s mouth. He sucked and licked like the god he claimed Rock to be. Oh damn—he was going to come and come hard.

Andy swirled his tongue around the bundle of nerves just beneath the crown, nibbled on the flare of the head and then released the shaft with a pop.

Rock tangled his fingers in Andy’s hair, pulling the man’s head back to his cock. “I don’t think we’re done here,” he growled.

“Oh but I think we are.” Andy grinned. He pushed Rock off him, then turned and presented his ass. “Because I think you want in here.”

“Damn straight.” He grabbed Andy’s ass and positioned himself behind the other man. Running his fingers along his lover’s flanks, he ignored the pounding in his balls, taking his time…rubbing the head of his cock along the crease.

Slick with saliva, it bumped against Andy’s opening. He thrust his ass back and the flared head of Rock’s cock entered him.

“Yes,” Andy hissed.

Rock gritted his teeth, determined not to blow too soon. Surrounded by the fiery sheath of Andy’s body, he focused on keeping a tight rein on the pleasure blasting through him. His panting breaths hung in the air. Nothing felt so good, so goddamn right, as being buried deep inside the dressage rider’s body. Not even riding a bull made him feel like this. He shook with the sheer pleasure of it. He pulled back, his dick slipping out. For a moment he waited, the air chilling his overheated flesh.

A droplet of sweat rolled down Andy’s back. Leaning forward, Rock licked it away. He sheathed himself inside his tight ass once more then thought of nothing else but the surge and retreat of his body. Each stroke told him how lucky he was to find someone who understood his needs, who wanted the kind of sexual pleasure one man could give another. Swallowing hard, he drew in gulps of air.

Unable to stop the stampede of ecstasy through his veins, Rock concentrated only on making it as good for Andy as it was for him. He reached around his hip, long strokes of his fingers along the length of Andy’s cock bringing the man’s pleasure to a fever pitch.

He slammed home, his release bursting from his balls. It surged through his body, wave after wave of his seed filling Andy’s tight channel. The base of his spine tingled. His balls ached with the force of his release. His fingers tightened on Andy’s cock, and once again, the dressage rider came. Hot jets of come shot over his hands to splash against the bedspread. With a low groan, Andy lowered his head. His panting breaths matched Rock’s. Together they tumbled, still locked together, onto their sides.

Rock spooned him, fingers loosely caressing Andy’s cock, the palm of his other hand flattened against his heart. He just held him. They didn’t talk about the future or their plans. Lying there with his lover’s seed drying on his hands, Rock feared they didn’t have a future. And that thought shook him to the core.

Chapter Seven

Twenty hours of hard riding and even harder loving later, Rock stared at the bulletin board listing the rankings for the riders. Although not an official list—Rock was already entered in the North American Cup—the rankings indicated who would place where if the Cup was held today. The dressage list boasted Andy’s name at the top, a fact that didn’t surprise any of the riders. He took the first spot with Prince, his primary mount, and the third with his backup horse. A well-deserved honor as far as Rock was concerned.

Rock scanned the list of names under reining. As expected, he wasn’t listed first. Checkers had done extremely well, though there was room for improvement. Second place had gone to another rider as well. He and Checkers placed third, his reserve horse a few places lower. Not the best he could do, but certainly not the worst. Heck, there were still three people between him and last place. He grinned.

A strong hand clamped his shoulder and the scent of leather and horses surrounded him. He’d know Andy’s touch and scent anywhere. Pleasure zinged from the contact, straight to his cock.

“How’d you do?” Andy asked. He leaned forward to scan the list. A moment later he nodded. “Not bad at all. You came a long way. I’m sure you’ll take the Cup by storm.”

Hearty congratulations and sighs of dismay faded away around him until Rock heard only Andy. You have no idea how far I’ve come, buddy. He battled the stab of pain that reminded him he planned to check out in the morning and head west for another show. “Thanks.” The word rang hollow. “Congrats to you and Prince too. You guys make quite the team.”

“We do, don’t we?” Andy beamed. He accepted accolades from another team member. “You want to go grab something to eat?”

Rock’s stomach surged. He shook his head. “No, I’m going to make sure everything is ready for an early start tomorrow. Maybe dinner?”

Andy frowned. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “I’m heading out tonight.”

The words hit Rock with the force of a two-by-four. After all they’d shared, the dressage rider hadn’t thought to share that little tidbit with him. At least he hadn’t spread word of their affair all over the training camp. Not even their coach suspected. Andy had been that discreet. A fact Rock secretly thanked him for. “Well…if I don’t see you, drive safe. I’m sure we’ll meet up at the Cup.”

Andy nodded, staring at him. “I’m sure we will.” If a trace of sadness crossed his gaze, Rock chose not to focus on it. Instead, he watched his lover turn on his heel and follow their coach to the edge of the arena.

Rock backed away from the crowd. He tried to tell himself that things were better this way. He’d returned to the top of his game, or within reach of the top. He had a sport he loved and at which his horses excelled. No more worrying about broken rigging or losing his bronc rein because someone screwed with it in the chute. No more worrying about his reputation. These guys didn’t talk to rodeo cowboys.

He breathed a sigh as he retreated to the barn. Once inside the cool exterior, he leaned on Checkers’ door. The gelding placidly chewed his hay, completely unaffected by the pressure placed on horse and rider. He’d do as he’d always done, the best his rider would let him. Things like championships and winning didn’t matter to a horse.

Checkers raised his head. Three steps brought him to the stall door, where he blew grass-scented air in Rock’s face. He reached up and scratched the horse’s muscled neck. “Guess it’s just you and me again, buddy,” he said with an affectionate pat. As if he knew he had been left out of the conversation, his secondary mount pressed his nose to the bars separating his stall from Checkers’ and whickered.

Rock laughed. “Okay, it’s just us again.”

Satisfied with that response, the horse went back to his hay manger.

Rock watched them for a moment longer. Voices at the other end of the barn aisle had him turning and walking away. The need to be alone hammered at him, and the lot where their trailers were parked would be perfect. He jogged the short distance to his horse trailer and opened the tack room. Though not terribly messy, he had work to do before he went on the road tomorrow. Grabbing a dirty horse blanket, he decided laundry might be in order before they left.

Three hours and a roll of quarters later, Rock returned from the Laundromat. He had clean blankets and shipping boots. His saddle rugs had been washed and he even decided to do a load of his own laundry. Luckily, he had the place to himself and ran all his loads at the same time. He replaced everything in the trailer, noticing the glow of the lights in the lot. If there’d been a chance to have dinner with Andy, he’d missed that date.

Maybe it was for the best. His heart twisted to think that he might have fallen in love with the dressage rider. It was a foolish notion anyway. He knew his lifestyle didn’t lend itself well to long-term relationships. Hadn’t he seen enough broken marriages and relationships on the rodeo circuit? With a shake of his head, he closed the trailer door, satisfied that in the morning all he had to do was load his tack and grooming supplies from the barn, blanket and load his horses and be on his way to Colorado for a competition. He wished he could be happier.

The knot in his stomach tightened as he pulled into the hotel’s parking lot. Andy’s truck was gone. He’d indeed left tonight. And he hadn’t even said good-bye.

The tenor’s Italian love song on the radio clashed with the humming of tires against pavement as Andreas’ thoughts remained back at training camp. He knew he was driving away from his chance at something special. Coward! Getting a head start sounded like a smart plan, except he’d ridden at this venue before with much success, Prince never took long to settle in, and somewhere between the barn and the hotel he’d left his heart in the keeping of a gay rodeo cowboy. A self-mocking grin twisted his lips. The tenor’s operatic voice faded away, the strings dying along with it, and then a woman’s solo aria filled the cabin of the truck. Growling, Andreas punched off the satellite radio.

What the hell did he think he was doing? Raking his fingers through his hair for the thousandth time, he contemplated his usual strategy of keeping his lovers at arm’s length. His relationships were cool, calm and controlled, just like the perfect dressage ride.

Except dressage was all about the partnership between man and horse—the fluid joining of two beings into a single whole. Andreas frowned.

In the trailer behind him, Prince shifted his weight. Andreas compensated, easily steering the four-door pick-up with its gooseneck trailer along the crowded highway. He should have stayed. A glance at the clock radio showed it was nearly seven o’clock. He could be in his hotel room, feet propped up on his bed, spending time with Rock. He admired the cowboy, and yet he’d never said anything about his feelings. What he felt for Rock went beyond admiration. “Like” was too tame a word. For a moment, “love” skittered through his thoughts, quickly shoved aside. No, it was too soon to talk about love.

But too much restraint was never a good thing…

He shook his head, knowing his doubts would do nothing to further his goals of winning his next competitions, eventually representing his country and bringing home an American gold medal in dressage. From the young rider circuit all the way through the professional, he’d kept his emotions under wraps and his heart locked down tight.

He breathed a sigh and rolled his neck to try to ease some of the tension in his muscles—and grudgingly admitted he’d accomplished nothing by heading out so early except running away.

His stomach rumbled. The appetizers he’d shared with the other dressage riders before hitting the road were no substitute for a good meal. An empty bottle of water sat in the cup holder, a granola bar wrapper lay crumpled on the passenger side floor. He should stop for a meal. A meal I should be sharing with Rock…

Andreas signaled his lane change, easing the big rig into the right-hand lane. Signs announced gas and restaurants a few miles ahead. He squinted at the mile markers, not even sure where he was at the moment. His mental map slipped back into place as he eased onto the exit ramp and turned into a twenty-four-hour diner. He’d made good time.

Running from yourself was easy. It was the finding part that was always difficult.

Andreas turned off the truck. Snagging his itinerary to study while he ate, he stepped from the cab and walked around the trailer, checking on his horses. They stood placidly, seasoned campaigners. Their rider’s emotional turmoil didn’t affect them, not when they had food and water ready. They’d done this a hundred times before.

Even though the diner did brisk business, the waitress found him a booth where he could watch over his truck and trailer. She slid a menu in front of him, offered him coffee and a wink, then hurried away to take care of her other tables. Andreas didn’t even watch her go. The flirtatious attentions of women usually amused him. Not tonight. Instead, he imagined sharing a chuckle with Rock over the woman’s flagrant behavior. Undoubtedly the cowboy would get more play than he would from the waitress and the thought curled his lip into a half smile.

The waitress returned and took his order, once more leaving Andreas alone with his thoughts. He glanced at his itinerary. The overnight stable where he planned to board the horses was several hours away. He wished he’d waited with the other guys, but no, his damn need for control had him hauling ass out the door and onto the road.

His food arrived, banishing his self-recriminating thoughts, but not for long. Control. When he wasn’t around Rock, he craved it. The cowboy brought out a different, submissive side to him, one he tried to keep well contained.

He ate like a starving man, declining dessert when the waitress offered it. He slipped a ten and a five into the vinyl sleeve for the bill, then rose to his feet and hurried out. The open road called him. There, where tires hummed against pavement, he knew his destination. It was worlds away from Rock and his reining competitions.

Control. Behind the wheel of his truck, he had it. In the saddle, he had it. With Rock, he didn’t. It scared him. His thoughts churned in his mind like a dog chasing its tail. All his life his father instilled the need for control. “You won’t get anywhere if you cannot control yourself and control your horse,” he’d said again and again. A staunch German equestrian, his father believed in precision and perfection. Every day. All the time. No rests, no breaks, nothing that might indicate weakness.

Andreas pulled out of the parking lot. Maybe it was time he let go of all that stiffness. At the top of his game, surely he could take some time off to enjoy life. His words to Rock mocked him. Focus on the goal, the competition, the riding. No distractions. No worries. If he followed his heart, he’d return to Rock and find more distractions than he’d ever dealt with before. If his riding suffered, then so too would his carefully constructed goals. He shook his head as he merged back onto the interstate. In the trailer, Prince stamped his foot, as impatient as his owner to be back in the thick of things. Get through the next few weeks and the North American Cup then he’d see what life brought his way.

If it included a sexy Oklahoma cowboy, then all the better as far as Andreas was concerned.

Coming back to the hotel room to find Andy’s things gone still haunted Rock. He lay across the single bed in the bare living quarters of his trailer one night later. Lights from the rest area glowed through the window, reminding him of other nights he’d slept by the side of the road, only he’d been crushed into the bench seat of his truck. His two-horse stock trailer had barely held his horses and gear. At least in his current extended trailer he had a small living area complete with bed, where his feet didn’t dangle off the edge. He also had a bit more privacy, if not anywhere to cook a meal.

His stomach rumbled. The bag of chips and convenience store hot dog he’d eaten for dinner had long since disappeared. Stuffy air in the trailer made it hard to breathe, even with the windows open. The unceasing traffic created a drone, punctuated by laughs and the slamming of car doors. Just another night on the road. He should get used to it. After the Cup he had a demanding schedule, one that would take him all over the western states. Thinking about Andy and his East Coast circuit left an empty hole in the cowboy’s heart.

Damn. Why did he always have to tangle up his emotions with a horse that couldn’t be caught? He snorted at his mental question. His mother would tell him to follow his heart. The past was over and done with, nothing worthy of any more energy or time on his part.

His cock ached. Wearing a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms as his concession to modesty on the road, he lay bare-chested, his feet crossed at the ankles. His left arm was bent behind his head. His right hand cupped his balls. He stroked the length of his shaft, imagining Andy’s hand replacing his own.

Rock stifled a groan. A quick tug unfastened the drawstring of his pants and he shoved them down his hips. Curtains fluttered against the open windows, preventing anyone from seeing into his trailer, and right now, he wouldn’t care at all if the whole world watched. He ached for Andy. Heartbreak never felt this bad before, but then he doubted he’d ever been in love like this before.

Fuck. Why him? Why now? Circling the base of his cock with his fingers, Rock reached down to fondle his balls with his other hand. Eyes closed, he concentrated on the roughness of his calloused hands against his smooth skin. Some lube would be nice, the slick feel of wetness along his erect shaft inviting. He didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. Nope, just like it’d been on the rodeo circuit—just his fantasies in his mind and his hand on his cock.

An image of Andy hovered in the forefront of his mind. In his imagination the dressage rider dropped to his knees, lips parted in offering. Rock’s fingers tightened. Heat blazed through his body at the remembrance of Andy’s lips wrapped around his shaft, his tongue lashing him with each pump of his hips. His balls tightened.

The base of his spine tingled. Feeling Andy’s fingers on his buttocks, one thick digit pressing against his puckered hole, the tight muscles of his throat wrapping around his cock…just the memories had him ready to blow. Rock eased back on his strokes. Drawing out each one, he watched as images from their shared time flashed before his closed eyelids. Andy on horseback, his powerful thighs astride Prince. The delicate shift of weight and balance cued the horse, just as his gentle touch brought Rock to the heights of ecstasy.

Loss poured through him. It honed the edge of his desire to a keenness that sliced across his memories, making him hold onto every one as if they would somehow slip away. He summoned the strength to hold off his release. The Cup was only a few weeks away and might give him another chance to see Andy. As far as Rock was concerned that was too damned long. He drew a shuddering breath and quickened his strokes.

Why he even cared about a man who left without a word boggled Rock’s mind. He should get over him, not worry about such things. Then why did his mind continue to circle around to the dressage rider? Sex was just part of it, though he certainly couldn’t fault that part. Sex with Andy surpassed any he’d ever had before, because it was something different. It was making love.

Oh hell. With a groan, Rock ceased battling the orgasm rising in his balls. He felt the swell, his cock twitching in his grip. The base of his spine tingled. In his mind he saw Andy, always Andy. On his knees sucking Rock’s cock, bent over taking it up the ass…it didn’t matter so long as Andy brought him home.

He bit back a muffled shout as he came. Not just a physical release, though the residue of his semen across his hands and abdomen testified to that much. An emotional release raced through Rock. His eyes stung. His past didn’t matter, not with Andy. The dressage rider knew what happened, knew about the buckles and what they’d cost him, and yet he still wanted him. Beneath it all, Rock felt certain Andy cared for him. And when he saw him at the North American Cup, he’d do everything to make sure that Andy knew he cared too. He should have said something, should have tried to stop Andy from leaving. He hadn’t, and a monument to his loneliness lay drying on his fingers and stomach.

“Andy,” he breathed. One of the horses snorted and whickered in the trailer behind him, and Rock grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll see him again,” he said, and let the sound of the freeway lull him to sleep.

Two nights later and Andreas could still do nothing but think about Rock. On the road. In hotels. The small-town diners he’d stopped at made him wonder what Rock would think of the simple yet surprisingly good fare. Undoubtedly the cowboy had eaten worse on the road.

He missed his company.

Yeah, he admitted to himself, he missed Rock. In the end, all his hard-won control got him was an empty bed and too many nights spent on the road. He lay back on the motel bed that would be his home for the next few. A mattress as hard as a slab of concrete, a small non-smoking room with a bathroom barely big enough for him to turn around in—it would all be more bearable if Rock was there with him. Frowning, he shoved his hair off his forehead and stared at the cracked, stained ceiling. He licked his lips.

Sore from the hours spent behind the wheel, from loading and unloading horses and equipment, every muscle in his body ached. Just the thought of Rock’s name had his body hard with anticipation. “Deal with it,” Andreas muttered to his unruly cock.

If anything, the offending organ twitched and sat up straighter. Hell. Muttering curses under his breath, Andreas unbuttoned his jeans. He slid his briefs down and took his shaft in his hands.

He stroked the silky smooth skin, brushing his thumb across his cock and the knot of nerves on the underside. Lips parted, he closed his eyes, imagined it wasn’t his hand but Rock’s. His grip tightened.

He’d left Rock behind, and for what? A chance to chase his dreams, to firmly place himself at the top of his sport and ensure he’d never want for horses or students to train ever again. Stacked up against love it sounded pretty selfish.

It’s what his father would have wanted him to do. Andreas barked harsh laughter. Ignore the heart and go for the career, the almighty dollar or Deutschemark. Perfection. Control.

Drops of fluid emerged from the tip of his shaft. With his thumb, Andreas rubbed it into his skin, using the liquid to lubricate each stroke. He groaned and imagined Rock kneeling before him, hands digging into his buttocks while his mouth devoured his cock. Swirling his tongue around the slit in the head, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves behind the crown, leaving no inch, no millimeter of Andreas’ cock untouched.

Shivers raced through his body. His strokes grew faster, his breathing harder as he raced toward climax. “Damn you, Rock,” he growled. His hand pumped. The whirring of the air conditioning unit couldn’t drown out his husky breaths and low moans. He smelled his sweat, the fragrance of leather and horses clinging to his skin. The aromas served to remind him even more of Rock.

An image of Rock bending him over, taking him from behind and then being taken in turn. He groaned with the remembered sensation of the cowboy’s thick rod probing against his tight muscles. Each thrust filling him even more, stuffing him then pulling away to release the pressure. His throat convulsed. His balls tightened between his legs and the familiar tingling started. Damn—he was going to come hard.

Andreas eased off the pressure in an attempt to make it last. If he did meet up with Rock again at the Cup, and he figured he would in one capacity or another, then what would he do? After the Cup, the circuit took him down the East Coast. Baltimore. Boston. Washington, D.C. Atlanta. Florida. He had no idea where Rock was headed, but figured it’d be out west. Texas maybe or back to his Oklahoma ranch. Andreas shook his head.

He was chasing wild horses. Probably best to stick to the citified warmbloods he knew best. He and Rock rode two different breeds. In two different disciplines. Simply put, they were two different men.

His hand stilled around his shaft, fingers just brushing the flare of his crown. Thick veins roped his shaft, the head flushed purple with need. His wrist flexed, fingers flicking over the end of his cock just the way he liked.

Andreas gave himself over to the sensation. Thoughts about his drive for control, Rock, the Cup—they all fled beneath the onslaught of pleasure coursing through his body. He pressed his head into the pillows. Eyes closed, he sought only to come, he existed only for pleasure, lost in the simple euphoria his stroking caused. His fingers tightened on his base, palm swiveled over his head. His breath quickened.

He groaned low in his throat. His cock twitched. Balls pressed tight against his body as the tingling at the base of his spine burst through him. Pleasure erupted out his cock. Streams of white come coated his hands, his stomach. In the next hotel room a young woman laughed, the husky murmurs of her male companion audible through the thin wall.

His panting breaths stilled. Grabbing the T-shirt he’d pulled off as soon as he entered his room, he cleaned up. He’d found his release and it had been nowhere near as mind-blowing as the kind that Rock could give him.

So—what was he going to do about it?

A grin flittered around the corners of his lips as a plan formed in his mind.

Chapter Eight

The weeks passed and the North American Cup had arrived. Andreas pulled into the hotel’s parking lot and released a breath he hadn’t known he’d held. There, a few spaces from the door, sat Rock’s truck. Andreas grinned. His heart beat a little faster. Though he knew Rock had made reservations well before they’d met, he hoped by the end of the competition, they’d be sharing the room.

A brief check of his appearance in the rearview mirror showed he wasn’t too windblown from the drive. Grinning, he opened the door and stepped out. Long strides carried him across the parking lot. He stepped into the hotel’s lobby and female heads swiveled in his direction.

Andreas approached the counter and a young brunette woman looked up from her computer. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m hoping you can.” Andreas flashed his killer smile. “My friend Rock Brennan checked in earlier. Would you mind telling me what room he’s in?”

Her expression was immediately apologetic. “I can ring his room for you if you’d like, but I’m not supposed to give out that information.”

Andreas pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He slid his credit card across the counter. “Does it matter if I also have a reservation?”

“So you’re a guest as well?” she asked, biting her lower lip.

He sensed she was fairly new at the job. Leaning forward, he caught and held her gaze. “Yes. Andreas Thorpe.”

She looked away, a slight blush spreading across her cheeks. “One key or two?” she asked.

“One,” he replied. If his plans went well, he’d not need his room at all.

A few moments later she passed him a form to sign, a key card and his credit card. She flipped open the key holder. “This is your room number. I wrote your friend’s number here,” she said quietly, pointing to the numbers. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.” He replaced his credit card in his wallet and pocketed his key. Trying not to whistle a tune, he hurried back to his truck. A quick trip to a local store and a take-out order would give him everything he needed.

* * * * *

Forty minutes later Andreas returned to his room with his luggage, cold imported beers and steaming steak dinners. He arranged the food and drinks on a tray for easy carrying and headed to Rock’s room, conveniently down the hall from his own. In spite of the scrumptious aromas of perfect medium-rare T-bones, baked potatoes with all the trimmings and steamed vegetables, his stomach wobbled. He never got nerves this bad, not even before major competitions.

His heart had never been on the line before.

Balancing the tray, he knocked on Rock’s door.

Silence.

What if Rock was out? Andreas grinned nervously. Then I’ll have a second steak dinner, I suppose.

Movement sounded and the door opened slightly, stopped by the chain.

Rock looked around the edge of the door, surprise shining in his blue eyes. His gaze fell on the tray in Andreas’ hands. “That smells good. Didn’t think I’d see you again.” The chain rattled and Rock swung open the door. “Come on in.”

Relief flooded through Andreas’ veins. He stepped inside a room similar to his own and set the tray down on the desk. Mouth dry, he turned to face Rock. Just one look had his cock hard and aching with the remembrance of previous times spent making love to this man. Now, facing him, Andreas knew that’s exactly what it had been—making love.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. If I were in your shoes, I might not have been so generous.”

“Yeah,” Rock replied. His gruff voice rasped against sensitive nerve endings. “But you brought food. Can’t turn down a good steak.”

“Neither can I. Go ahead and eat.” He gestured to the tray.

“What about you?” Rock reached for one of the Styrofoam containers. Flipping it open, he grabbed a set of plastic silverware and sat down on the bed. He cut a generous hunk of meat and placed the tender morsel on his tongue. “Tastes as good as it looks.” He swiped a drop of juice from the corner of his mouth.

Andreas watched the movement of Rock’s tongue, remembering the feel of it swirling around his cock, drinking his pre-cum. Stifling a groan, Andreas picked up his own dinner and sat beside him. For long moments, both men ate in silence.

“So you leave without even a goodbye then show up all these weeks later with dinner. What do you want, Andreas? Another quick fuck while we’re both in town?” Rock asked abruptly.

Andreas flinched. He deserved those words, deserved them and more. “I’ll admit I’d like to have sex with you again,” he said slowly. “Though I’d like more.” He closed the lid on his half-eaten dinner. The food sat in his stomach like lead. Taking a sip of beer, more for courage than out of any thirst, he braced his forearms on his knees and stared at Rock. “Look, I’m sorry I left like that. I shouldn’t have. In the weeks we trained together, I came to respect you…care for you. And I’d like a second chance.” He swallowed hard. Things he wanted to say lodged in his throat. Words like “love” and “future” stuck there, hung on the impact of Rock’s silence.

“I see,” he replied after long moments. “So why did you leave?” He put the remainder of his meal on the table and leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows, giving Andreas a good view of the thick bulge in his jeans just below his belt buckle.

The physical evidence of his arousal gave Andreas hope. “All my life I’ve been taught to be in control. The precision of dressage means physical, mental and emotional control. You shatter it, Rock,” he said simply. “When I’m around you, I can’t think of anything but burying myself in your body and loving you until we’re both exhausted. And if you want to know the truth…it scares me.” He pressed his lips together, hesitant to say anything more.

“So you ran.” Rock’s dead voice might as well have been a bullet that shot him dead.

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Andreas repeated. It sounded lame and he knew it. If their roles were reversed he might not listen to what Rock had to say. Hell, he might not have even let him into the room. That Rock had, and still listened, boded well, even if his tone didn’t sound encouraging. Whatever happened, Andreas knew he was at fault. He was sorry. He just hoped that Rock could forgive him.

“Running away never accomplishes anything,” Rock replied. He sat up. Shaking his head, he looked tired. “I learned that long ago. Besides, if you ran away once, what’s going to stop you from doing it again? Damn it, Andy! Just as I think I’m starting to get over you, you show up with a dinner and apologies. For someone who told me to focus on my riding, you’re sure trying to mess with my head.” The force of his words propelled him to his feet. He paced with angry strides.

Andreas watched him walk the length of the bed and back again. The cowboy showed no signs of stopping. Andreas didn’t blame him for his anger. Not only had he directed the same emotion at himself, he knew he’d feel the same way had Rock been the one to run.

Finally, Rock stopped. He slumped to the end of the bed. Reaching across the space separating them, he touched Andreas’ knee. “I know way too much about running away. It never ends well for the person doing the running.”

“How does it end for the other person?” Andreas asked. “I don’t want it to end badly for you.”

“It already has.” Rock shook his head. “Look, when I returned to the hotel room I had two things on my mind. Dinner and sex with you. Except you were gone. What the hell was I supposed to think? You’d gotten what you wanted—a little dalliance while you waltzed your way through training camp and then you left. Simple as that. What did you expect me to think, Andreas? We never talked about the future, and I suppose that was my fault as much as yours. But what kind of future can we have?”

“The one we make.” Listening to Rock twisted a knife deep inside Andreas’ gut. He expected the cowboy to be angry, maybe even hate him. But the pain. He never expected the anguish that laced Rock’s words, and for a moment, Andreas wondered if Rock loved him.

Just the thought whooshed the air from his lungs.

“How can we make a future, Andy? Your circuit runs mostly on the East Coast and mine on the west. When would we get together? You spend your winters in Florida. Your farm is several hundred, if not thousands of miles away from mine.” Rock’s eyes fluttered closed.

Andreas leaned toward him. He had no answers for Rock, hadn’t even thought as far as how they’d make it work. Others did. Surely he and Rock could as well. Instead of offering assurances without answers, he leaned closer still and did what he’d wanted to do ever since he’d seen Rock standing at the door. He kissed him.

The first hesitant brush of lips tore a groan from Andreas. A swipe of his tongue asked for, and received, entrance to Rock’s mouth. Cupping the back of the cowboy’s head, Andreas deepened the kiss. He tasted a hint of the steak dinner they’d shared and the bitter hops from the beer. A faint aroma of horses clung to Rock. Andreas drank it in.

Rock curled his fingers around Andreas’ biceps.

Andreas stiffened, half afraid the man he loved would push him away. The need to brand himself on Rock had him flattening his palm on Rock’s lower back. They moved closer, chest to chest, thighs and calves tangling.

Rock pulled him back to the bed. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. Drawing in a long breath, he resumed the kiss, this time his tongue plunging into Andreas’ mouth.

Andreas sprawled on top of Rock. The cowboy’s hard muscles aligned perfectly with every plane of Andreas’ body. Legs tangled, denim-clad cocks brushed. Even through the layers of fabric Andreas felt Rock’s hard shaft. He reached for the cowboy’s shirt.

Snaps popped open with a tug of his wrist. Running his fingers through springy chest hair, he stroked the length of Rock’s sternum. He drew his lover’s lower lip into his mouth, suckling gently. He’d missed this. The long weeks between the training camp and the Cup had stretched like an endless desert he’d finally crossed. His sexual drought ended, he delighted in the cowboy’s virile body. Sliding his hand out from beneath Rock’s head, he used it to tug his shirt free of his jeans. “When I’m done making love to you, I guarantee you won’t think about any other man ever again,” he growled.

“Too late,” Rock replied. Grabbing Andreas’ biceps, he reversed their positions. Fabric tore as he pulled off Andreas’ T-shirt. He made quick work of the button on his jeans before lowering the zipper. Blue silk confined Andreas’ cock. Rock arched his eyebrow.

“It feels good. Try it sometime,” Andreas replied.

“I’d rather try you.” He caressed the edges of the opening in the front of his boxers.

Rock’s touch made silk slide against aroused flesh and drew a shuddering breath from Andreas’ lungs. Gently, so gently Andreas thought he’d shatter, Rock teased his cock through the opening. The cowboy grinned as he wrapped his fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft. He stroked, his touch sure, his grip firm, from base to tip and then back again. Along the underside, then on the sides and finally the top, until he’d given featherlight caresses to Andreas’ entire cock.

Andreas shuddered.

Rock rolled away long enough to shed the rest of his clothing. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

Andreas nodded as he disrobed then lay back on the bed. Rock straddled his head, facing his long and lean body as he dangled his cock over his eager mouth.

Grabbing his hard ass, Andreas arched his neck and took Rock’s shaft between his lips. He sucked on it, drew it deep like a popsicle until his lips nestled against the base. Relaxing his throat, he let the crown slip past the muscles for a moment. Then he pulled back, savoring every inch of Rock’s magnificent cock as it slid through his lips. The feel of the cowboy’s hard buttocks beneath his fingers had Andreas arching his hips, wanting a completely different kind of ride than those in an arena.

Rock didn’t disappoint. With a moan of pleasure he leaned forward and tongued the head of Andreas’ cock.

Andreas’ hips jerked. He strained toward the hot, moist pleasure of Rock’s mouth. With his lover’s thick shaft in his mouth, he and Rock completed a circuit. A burning circle of flesh.

Rock braced his weight on his elbows and knees. Looming over him, he controlled the motion, the depth of his cock in Andreas’ mouth, how deep he took Andreas’ cock, everything.

Andreas released control to him. It was exquisite freedom, like the most beautifully performed dressage test of harmony between horse and rider, to allow Rock to have the reins. Though he wanted more—his balls ached with the need for more—Rock didn’t give it to him. Instead, with lashings of his tongue and tiny noises in the back of his throat, Rock kept him hovering on the edge. A scrape of his teeth sent shudders through Andreas.

He’d been looking for this all his life and yet before now, if anyone had asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to accurately describe it. Now he knew. A partnership.

Fluid leaked from the end of his shaft. A flick of Rock’s tongue caught it. The salty taste of Rock’s own pre-cum filled Andreas’ mouth. He groaned as the salty bead worked its way along his tongue and into the back of his throat. He’d needed this, missed this, and the fact that he’d almost lost Rock made his relief that much more acute. Whatever happened, he refused to leave the Cup without working through some sort of plan for the future.

Right now, gentle lashes of Rock’s tongue short-circuited the synapses in his brain. Andreas couldn’t think of anything but how good this felt, how right. They fit together like two halves of a whole.

Rock relaxed the muscles of his throat and took Andreas deeper.

Forcing his panting breaths through his nose, Andreas struggled to hold onto some semblance of self. He focused on Rock’s curly hairs tickling his nose, the musky scent of his balls. Anything to ground himself in this moment, in his body.

Long, talented fingers teased his balls.

Andreas groaned. The need to come pulled his sacs tight against his body. The base of his spine tingled, all coiled anticipation and the blinding rush of seed. A long digit swirled around his anus, sparking sensitive nerves.

Please! He mentally whimpered, unwilling to release the shaft in his mouth for even a moment.

Pulling back, Rock used his lips to hold the tip of Andreas’ cock. Chill air hit his wet flesh and Andreas squeezed his fingers tighter. With the tip of his tongue, Rock sampled the head of his cock, swirling his tongue around the tiny slit then toying with it. All the while, he held back Andreas’ impending climax.

Two could play at that game. Using the sensitive bundle of nerves behind the head to his advantage, Andreas tongued it, drawing a strangled groan from Rock. He traced the vein on the underside of his cock with his tongue before drawing it all the way back into his mouth.

Rock slid his mouth down Andreas’ shaft. No more time to savor, not as each man worked to drive the other to release first. Fingers caressed sensitive tissues, tongues worked, throats tightened. The wet sounds of dual blowjobs filled the hotel room.

Above him, Rock stiffened.

Yes! Andreas redoubled his efforts, wanting the cowboy to come first. He reached between Rock’s legs and fondled the sensitive skin behind his balls. His other hand rolled the furred sac in his hand.

Rock tightened his lips on Andreas’ cock.

Andreas knew the feeling, the need to hold the other man’s shaft in his mouth while he struggled not to come. Sliding his tongue along the slit in the head then dipping around to stroke across the knot of nerves, he grinned around the rod in his mouth as Rock bucked his hips. They were almost there. Ragged breaths filled the air, a back and forth of desire strung like a live wire between the two men.

And then Rock’s hips jerked again. He stiffened, Andreas’ cock sliding from his mouth. A low, guttural roar filled the air. Hot splashes of seed rolled across Andreas’ tongue, the salty flavor better than hot buttered popcorn. He swallowed it, using his tongue to clean Rock’s softening shaft. Finally, it slipped from his lips.

Rock bent his head and lowered his weight to Andreas’ body. With studious attention, he focused on Andreas’ cock. Cupping its length in one hand, he used the other to tease the skin between his balls. His fingers moved restlessly against his flesh, soon to be replaced by his mouth.

Fisting his hands in the comforter, Andreas arched his back and moaned. Pleasure shot from his buttocks all the way to his head, exploding along his spine in a series of mini fireworks. He closed his eyes, all sense of place and time lost. Nothing mattered except Rock’s mobile lips on his cock, the swipes of his tongue and the knowledge that he’d come hard very, very soon.

Rock gave no quarter. He used everything he had to tease Andreas up to the pinnacle…and over.

Andreas came with a shout. Pulses of semen erupted from the end of his shaft and Rock licked every single drop. Muscles twitching, Andreas forced himself to look down his body to see Rock’s light brown hair against the pale skin of his thighs.

His lover raised his head. He shifted position, moving his legs to one side and turning to align his body with Andreas’. A satisfied smile covered his face. For a moment their gazes locked. Dreams, lifetimes, wants, desires—they all flowed through that current of blue eyes to gray. Rock propped his head on one hand, the other reaching across Andreas’ chest to brush lazily across his pectorals.

“I don’t think you know how many times I lay in my trailer, my fingers wrapped around my dick, wishing it were you,” he said.

Andreas licked his lips. “Probably no more than I,” he replied with a soft grin. Reaching over, he ruffled his fingers through Rock’s hair, still not quite believing the cowboy had let him into the room. “I guess the question is—what are we going to do about it?”

Rock swallowed hard. The moment he’d been waiting for. Lust drove the anger from his veins, Andy’s apology and talk of running away stirring something deep inside. He licked his lips and looked down at his lover. Emotion swelled within his chest. “No, the question is the one I’d asked before we made love. How can we make this work when your circuit is on the opposite coast and our farms are on different ends of the country?”

Worry sat like a knot in his stomach.

“You know, there’s more to Oklahoma than just cowboys,” Andy grinned. “I’ve been doing some research. There’s an active dressage society with several chapters in Oklahoma. You’re right when you say it’s a long way to the big shows. But then again, with the Florida circuit, most of the damn country is a long way away. I’ve been thinking about retiring after the North American Cup and moving into a training role. I bet I could find some nice colts and start training them in Oklahoma. What do you think?”

Shock rendered Rock mute. He stared at Andy, suddenly seeing his hopes flash before his eyes. Riding together, training together, loving each other…

“I didn’t move too fast, did I?”

Rock brushed his fingers across Andy’s cheek. “Not at all. I’m just shocked. I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘yes’? I love you, Rock. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us together. I promise I won’t run again.”

Rock released a whoop. His grin split his face. Reaching over, he crushed his lips against Andreas’ in a quick kiss. “Yes! I love you, Andy. I don’t want to take you away from your dreams. But if this is what you want, then I damn sure want it too.” He chuckled. “In fact, I’m thinking I better cowboy up if I’m going to keep up with you.”

Andy laughed. He trailed his fingers down the arrow of hair bisecting Rock’s abs. “Or maybe I’ll have to cowboy up to keep up with you.” His fingers stilled at the root of Rock’s shaft.

Rock looked down at Andy’s…at his own rapidly swelling cock. “Maybe so.”

Then strong fingers circled his cock, and for Rock, all thoughts of the future fled until there was only this moment…and Andreas.

About the Author

Mary Winter began writing when she was sixteen, using it as an excuse to skip gym class. She currently lives in Iowa with her pets and dreams of writing full-time. Her advice to anyone is: “Persistence pays off. Don’t ever give up on your dreams!”

Mary welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at Comments@EllorasCave.com.

Also by Mary Winter

Au Naturel

Bjorn’s Mate

Ellora’s Cavemen: Dreams of the Oasis III anthology

Ghost Redeemed

Ghost Touch

His Magical Student

Once Upon a Prince anthology

Pleasure Quest anthology

Polar Heat

Prodigal Son

Revealing Photos

Riding Partner

Snowbound

Treaty of Seduction

Water Lust

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

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