Frog by Mary Calmes (read along books TXT) 📗

his head, and got comfortable. Both feet were on my thigh.

As I began rubbing, he purred.

“You sound like you’re gonna come.” I smiled at him.

“Are you kidding?” he whimpered. “Do you know how long it’s been since someone rubbed my feet?”

I chuckled, running my knuckles up under his arch, squeezing his heel firmly, digging my fingers into the ball of his foot. “How long?”

“Since the last time you did it,” he groaned, head back showing off the long, vulnerable line of his throat.

He looked so good at rest, sprawled out, arm flung over his eyes, moaning as I massaged the feet he’d been on all day and all night.

“You love the ‘Desperado’ guy, huh?”

It took him a minute. “What are you talking about?”

“You know that song by the Eagles.”

“I know the song. I just don’t understand the reference.”

What did I mean? “Like a cowboy.”

He moved his arm so he could see me. “You think I only love you because you’re a bull rider?”

“I don’t know.”

He sat up but didn’t pull his foot away, his eyes on mine, staring, and I noticed again, as I always did, how dark and deep they were and the ribbon of gold in them.

“You’re so pretty.” I smiled at him.

He growled at me. “Jesus, Weber, I did not fall in love with a cowboy.”

“But you call me cowboy all the time.”

“It’s a nickname. I’ll change it. God, I had no idea you thought something so stupid.”

I arched an eyebrow for him at the same time I rubbed hard on his left foot, and he jolted in my hands.

“Weber.” He sucked in his breath. “This guy, the guy rubbing my feet, the guy I just got to come home to… that’s the guy I want. He’s the one I love. I didn’t fall in love with a cowboy or a bull rider. I fell in love with you, just you.”

I pushed his left foot away and pulled his right into my lap.

“Fuck,” he moaned and fell back as I laughed at him.

“Man, I had no idea you were such a sucker for a foot rub.”

“Only from you cow… Web.”

“It’s okay.” I sighed, moving my hand up his calf, pushing hard on the knotted muscles. “You can call me cowboy now that I know it don’t mean nothin’,”

“Just believe me,” he whined, and I could hear the need in his voice. “I don’t care, Web, I don’t! The job you do doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you should stop caring what strangers think, or what people I know think, or what people you know think. What does it matter? What you do should only mean something to you, only make you happy.”

“But there has to be respect.”

“What respect? Me respect you?” he asked irritably.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, Weber,” he said, and his voice was broken and needy and surrendering. “Baby, I respect you more than anyone else I know. You have done everything you wanted, your way, and you went for your dream instead of just sitting on your ass and talking about it.”

“But I didn’t make it,” I reminded him. “I ain’t a professional bull rider.”

“But you tried,” he assured me, easing free of my grip, rolling to his knees, rising over me. I had to tip my head up to hold his gaze before he straddled my hips, sliding into my lap. “Most people never even have the balls to try.”

I grabbed hold of his ass, loving as always the feel of the firm round globes under my palms, and yanked him forward, his groin shoved against my abdomen.

“I will never, ever get tired of you or bored with you,” he promised. “Don’t you see, I have no desire to watch you ride off into the sunset. I want you here, at home, every night, waiting for me to get here. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to leave that fundraiser so I could get back to you?”

“How bad?” I asked, my voice low and husky.

“Let me show you,” he said seductively, hands attacking the buttons on my shirt.

But it wasn’t what I wanted, so I stopped him, covering both his hands with one of mine, flattening them against my chest, the other lifting to his face, his cheek.

“Web?”

“Get up.”

“What? Why?”

“Get up,” I ordered him a second time.

He stood, and I did as well.

“Go change into your pajamas and get in bed.”

“What? No, I want—”

“Just go do it. I’ll be right there,” I said, leaving him no time to argue with me before I walked away from him. “I’m gonna get the lights and check the doors.”

He left without another word.

I walked around and turned everything off, made sure the house was locked up for the night, and finally joined him in the bedroom. He was sitting up in bed, shirtless, bottom half under the covers, waiting for me. He said nothing as I stripped down, changed into sleep shorts, and walked around to my side of the bed, the left side, the one closest to the door.

“Get in bed,” he said, throwing back the covers in invitation.

I got in and turned off the light on the nightstand before lying down, arm under the pillow.

“Why don’t you want me?” he asked softly in the darkness.

“Idiot,” I said, reaching a hand for him. “I always want you.”

He was wrapped around me in seconds, his body plastered to mine, head under my chin as he pressed against me.

“But we’re both being idiots,” I said into his hair, inhaling him, my fingers sliding lazily up and down the smooth skin of his bare back. “You think if you don’t come home and fuck me that I’m gonna lose interest in you. And I think if I ain’t riding bulls no more that you won’t want nothin’ to do with me.”

His breath caught as he clutched at me.

“We’re both grown men, Cy, thinking such foolish things.”

He took another quivering breath. “All I want is for you to realize that what you do does not dictate the kind of