Page 6 of His Big Hometown Cowboy (Bigger Is Best #1)

CHAPTER THREE

Wyatt

The familiar shape of the ranch house rose against the night sky, silhouetted and solid.

But pulling into the driveway with Timmy beside me, his hand resting high on my thigh like he belonged there… everything felt different. Sharper. Like seeing it for the first time through his eyes, wondering if this place, my life, was something he could ever truly fit into.

I cut the engine, the silence suddenly loud.

His hand squeezed my thigh, a gentle pressure that sent a jolt straight through me. “Well, here we are.” His eyes found mine in the dim light filtering from the porch. “I love this old place.” A pause, loaded with meaning. “I’m glad I’m here, tonight, with you .”

I reached across the seat, my hand cupping the back of his neck, pulling him toward me.

His surprised sound melted into a low groan as my mouth found his.

He pressed closer, fingers digging into my shoulders, returning the kiss with an urgency that matched my own.

Years of pent-up longing ignited between us, fierce and immediate.

“Inside,” I managed, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak.

We practically fell out of the truck, hands finding each other, bodies bumping as I steered him toward the porch steps. He’d crossed this threshold countless times, tracked mud across this floor, raided this fridge.

But never like this. Never as mine.

The thought tightened my chest, and I was rock hard.

My hands shook, fumbling with the damn keys. Timmy pressed against my back, his lips a searing trail along my neck, teeth grazing my earlobe.

“Hurry up, cowboy.” His breath hitched. “Or I might have to take you right here on this porch.”

The key finally slid home. I shoved the door open and spun, scooping him off his feet in one fluid motion. His startled laugh morphed into a moan as I backed him against the entryway wall, kicking the door shut behind us. The solid thud echoed the finality of this moment. No turning back now.

“You like that?” I growled, hoisting him higher until his legs instinctively wrapped around my waist. He felt solid, clinging to me. “Being manhandled?”

His pupils were blown wide in the dim light filtering from outside, hands fisted tight in my shirt. “God, yes.” His voice was thick. “You have no idea how often I’ve thought about your strength.”

Felt easy carrying him. Easier than carrying the weight of wanting him all these years, hiding it behind jokes and distance. I navigated the darkened house by memory, moonlight spilling through the tall living room windows my only guide.

Didn’t need lights. Knew this house blindfolded. Timmy’s mouth worked magic on my neck, distracting, making it hard to focus on anything but the feel of him in my arms. Finally, here .

My bedroom door banged against the wall as I shouldered through. Timmy laughed against my skin, the sound vibrating through me.

“Eager much?”

“You have no idea.” I set him gently on his feet by the king-size bed, my hands lingering at his waist. Need pulsed through me, sharp and demanding. “Been thinking about getting you in this room, in this bed... like this... for years.”

His eyes widened at my raw confession. Something vulnerable flickered across his face before desire surged back, hotter than before.

I stepped back, needing a breath, needing to see him.

I flicked on the bedside lamp. The soft glow spilled across his skin, highlighting the flush spreading down his neck, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He looked like every fantasy I’d ever had, standing there in the middle of my room. Mine.

“Strip for me,” I said, the words dropping into a lower register, rougher. A command born of years of denied want. “Want to see every inch of you. Naked. Ready for me.”

Timmy didn’t hesitate. Not a flicker of uncertainty.

He met my gaze, a spark of challenge in his eyes, as he pulled the henley over his head in one smooth motion.

The lamplight sculpted the lean muscle of his chest, the flat stomach, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Beautiful. More beautiful than I remembered, than I’d allowed myself to imagine.

“Your turn.” His voice was steady, but his hands trembled slightly as they moved to his belt buckle.

I took my time. Let him watch. Each pearl snap came undone with deliberate slowness. My eyes locked on his. His gaze followed my fingers, licking his lips.

When I finally shrugged the shirt off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, his sharp intake of breath was pure satisfaction. A primal surge of pride went through me.

“Fuck, Wyatt.” His voice was a ragged breath, eyes sweeping over my chest, my shoulders.

A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. “Like what you see?” I rolled my shoulders slightly, the muscles flexing under the skin. Couldn’t resist.

“You know I do.” He kicked off his shoes, eyes never leaving my body as he worked on his jeans. “Always have.”

We shed the rest of our clothes, the air crackling with a strange mix of urgency and charged awareness.

Every revealed inch of skin felt like a promise.

When Timmy stood before me, clad only in snug black boxer briefs straining against his obvious arousal, I had to clench my fists at my sides.

Just to keep from grabbing him. Just to prolong this moment of seeing him, finally seeing all of him after years of stolen glances and suppressed thoughts.

“These too.” I nodded toward his underwear, my voice hoarse. “Want you completely naked for me. Nothing between us.”

The command resonated in the tense silence. His breathing quickened, eyes darkening as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband. Slowly. So damn slowly, he pushed the fabric down his thighs, over his knees, letting it pool at his ankles.

His cock sprang free, hard and flushed. Perfect. Even more perfect than the countless hazy images conjured late at night in this very bed. My throat went dry.

“Christ, Timmy.” The words were a low growl, torn from somewhere deep inside. Hunger clawed at me. “Look at you. Fucking beautiful.”

He stepped out of the underwear, standing proud. Not a hint of shyness. Just open desire. “Your turn, big guy.” A challenging glint entered his eyes. “Let me see what you’ve been hiding in those jeans all these years.”

My boots hit the floor with heavy thuds. Jeans followed quickly, pooling around my ankles. My boxers were dispatched with less ceremony, my cock springing heavy and thick between us, already slick with need.

Timmy’s eyes widened, tracking the length of me. His tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip. “Holy shit, Wyatt. That’s... impressive.”

A wolfish grin spread across my face, pure dominant satisfaction mixed with something softer, something reserved just for him.

I closed the distance, looming over him, savoring the way he had to tilt his head back to meet my gaze.

The power dynamic shifted, fueled by years of unspoken yearning. “Get on your knees.”

The command hung in the air, rough as gravel.

His pupils dilated, the immediate surrender in his eyes hitting me harder than any resistance could have.

He sank down slowly, deliberately, eyes locked with mine the entire way.

Until he was kneeling before me on the worn rug, hands sliding up my thighs, his touch sending fire through my veins.

“Been dreaming about this cock for years,” he confessed, his voice thick. He leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the shaft, right below the head. The wet heat nearly buckled my knees. “Used to jerk off thinking about how it would feel. In my mouth. Stretching me open.”

His filthy, honest words slammed into me. Blood rushed south so fast I felt momentarily dizzy. “Jesus, Timmy.” My voice was strained. “That mouth of yours…”

He looked up then, through thick lashes, one hand wrapping firmly around the base of my shaft. That knowing look, the one that always felt like he saw right through me, was back, but now it was laced with pure hunger. “You like my mouth?” His lips quirked. “Wait till you feel what else it can do.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Leaned forward without warning, taking the thick head of my cock between his lips, sucking hard.

Immediate. Intense. My hips jerked involuntarily.

His tongue swirled around the sensitive ridge, slicking away the bead of precum before he sank lower, taking me inch by painstaking inch down his throat.

“Fuck. That’s good,” I groaned, fingers threading into his soft hair. Need clawed at me, raw and sharp. “Look at you. Swallowing my cock like you were made for it.”

His eyes, locked on mine, darkened at the praise. His free hand found my balls, cupping them, rolling them gently as his mouth worked me deeper. The sight of him… his stretched lips tight around my thickness, the slick, wet sounds echoing in the quiet room… it was almost too much. Overwhelming.

“That’s it,” I encouraged, voice ragged. My hips moved without conscious thought, small thrusts meeting his rhythm. “Take it deeper. Want to feel the back of your throat.”

To my amazement, he relaxed, taking more of me than I thought possible. His throat contracted around the head of my cock, a tight, wet pressure that sent stars exploding behind my eyes. Pure sensation. Pure friction. Pure Timmy.

“Christ,” I panted, cradling his head, needing that connection, needing to feel him surrounding me. “Your mouth is fucking perfect.” I let him pull back slightly, needing air myself. “Sucking my cock like you’ve been starving for it.”

He pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen, glistening. A satisfied smirk played on his mouth. “I have been.” His voice was wrecked, rough in the best way. “Wanted to taste you for so fucking long, Wyatt.”

Possessiveness, sharp and fierce, surged through me. No more waiting. No more distance.

He was mine.