Bulldozed (6 page)

To Trey’s surprise, Smoke reached up to pinch his nipple. The unexpected stimulation shoved him over the edge, and he let go. His heart beating hard enough to fly out of his chest, and still quaking with the aftershocks, Trey opened his eyes, proud to see the white pearls of his come gleaming on Smoke’s dark skin. He collapsed onto the mattress beside Smoke, too drained to remain upright. The way his heart was beating, he was sure Smoke could hear it too.

He became aware of lips soft against his throat, an arm around his waist, Smoke’s scent in his nostrils, and the warmth and silkiness of his skin. Eventually Trey managed to wobble to the bathroom to wash. When he returned, he curled up around Smoke’s body and held him close.

“Is it that you don’t trust me?”

Trey jerked in shock at the question. “What?”

“You always pull out when you come.”

“It’s not you… I guess I just… can’t….”

Smoke lifted his hand and kissed it. “I want you to come inside me next time… if you ever want to….”

Trey didn’t know what to say. Eventually he realized that Smoke’s breathing had evened out and his body was limp in his arms. He’d fallen asleep, relieving Trey of the need to answer. At least for right now he could simply enjoy holding Smoke.

All the times he hugged his pillow at night, pretending it was Smoke keeping him warm, couldn’t compare to this. Fantasizing about how it might be between them next time paled in the face of reality. Sex with Smoke was so much better than he remembered.

Only with Smoke could he connect this deeply without a word being spoken, but that was his dirty little secret. Holding and being held happened to Trey only on the rare nights he spent with Smoke, but it was just sex. A relationship didn’t fit in with his plans right now, especially with someone as out of his league as Smoke. He had to keep his eye on the prize, and bull riding was the only way to get to his ultimate goal of buying his own ranch. The only way to lead his own life his own way was to get as far from his family as possible.

But at least he had another night to store away and dream about. His last conscious thought was that he’d better check the sheets for scorch marks in the morning. Smoke was just that hot.

WHEN THEY
shared a room, Trey secretly treasured the illusion of domesticity. He enjoyed the serious ritual Smoke made of his morning shave. Ever since Trey had found out what was under his clothes, watching Smoke put them on was almost as arousing as watching him take them off. He allowed Smoke to take the first shower simply for the pleasure of fantasizing about licking every drop of water off his skin.

However, today Smoke was annoying the hell out of Trey by snickering softly to himself and then humming loudly as he prepared his bag for the event. Strategically, he blocked Trey’s view to hide whatever he was packing into his bag.

In amongst the ropes, gloves, tape, helmet, and his protective vest, Trey knew Smoke was trying to camouflage his costume for the Hoedown Showdown. And that Smoke was just dying for Trey to ask what he was doing.

Two could play at that game. When Trey smuggled his own gear into his bag in the same surreptitious way, it was his turn to smirk when he saw Smoke trying to sneak a peek. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine, or no dice.”

“You’ve seen mine.”

“Not enough,” Trey muttered. “Let’s go see what Dolly and Alex are wearing.”

Smoke laughed and opened the door for him. “Why? You and Dolly never win any prizes.”

“We never wear costumes,” Trey retorted. “Until now. Prepare to meet your doom.”

“Doom. Right. I’ll get ready.”

Trey led the way to Dolly and Alex’s room and knocked. Smoke burst out laughing when Alex flung the door open.

Her towering blonde wig made her at least a foot taller, and her cleavage was on conspicuous display in a blue blouse tied just under her breasts. Her white hot pants, vest, and boots were all adorned with blue stars.

“Give me an A for awesome!” She pranced and struck a cheerleadery pose.

“Serving up Dallas Cheerleader realness, Miss Alex,” Trey said.

“Big hair and big tits,” Alex said proudly. “Everything’s bigger in Texas, girl.” She fluttered her ridiculously long false eyelashes at Trey.

“This is true.” Trey shot an involuntary glance at Smoke’s groin and then prayed nobody noticed.

“You do put the ho in hoedown, missy.” Smoke appeared mesmerized by Alex’s boobs, even starting a hand forward before snatching it back. “Okay, I gotta ask, are those real?”

“Hell yeah! As real as money can buy,” Alex said smugly. She turned sideways to show them off. “Don’t they make my waist look small?”

“I guess that would be one use for them,” Smoke admitted. “Or maybe your waist makes your rack look bigger?”

“Well, do you like them or not?”

“Hot, hot, hot.” Smoke grinned.

Dolly came into view behind Alex, wearing her usual plaid shirt, jeans, and hat.

“No fair! I said I’d wear a costume if you would,” Trey exclaimed. “Where is it?”

Dolly pointed at her red lips and glared. “This is as girly as it gets for me, bitch. Lipstick lesbian for a day. I
could
have gone as a bear. Deal with it.”

“Oh, what a relief! Although if you were trying for the Joker, you crushed it.” Trey grinned.

“Don’t even start up with me. For that matter, where’s your costume?”

Trey lifted his bag. “In here. Keep your eyes peeled when I ride.”

“It better be worth me having to smear on this lipshit,” Dolly grumbled. “What about you, pretty boy? Alex could turn you out real fishy if you wanted to go in drag.”

“I got something better than that.” Smoke lifted his bag and patted it. “Those straight riders are so damn proud of their ‘Dare to Wear Pink’ day. Like it’s daring to wear a pink shirt one time when everybody knows exactly why you’re wearing it. Queers got to show them how it’s done at the Gay Rodeo Hoedown Showdown. What do you want to bet I win this year?”

“No bet,” Alex said. “You always take the men’s division. I have to say, for a boy, you carry a lot of style.”

“Hey, I
am
a gay man. It’s inborn.”

“Bummer that Trey was born straight, then, judging by his sad ol’ shirts.” Dolly snorted at her own joke.

“Bummer that you buy the same ones,” Trey retorted.

“And double bummer for you that those same shirts look better on me,” Dolly said smugly.

Despite himself, Trey laughed. “Did someone open an umbrella? It suddenly got very shady around here.”

“Thank you.” Dolly grinned as if finally getting her due.

ONLY THE
gay rodeo would dare host a Hoedown Showdown along with the actual competition, and almost everyone showed up in costume. Bears dressed as lumberjacks in plaid shirts and knit caps, twinks dressed as queens in ball gowns and tiaras, and hordes of cops and bikers dressed up as Village People, but nothing could top the drag queens with their glamour, charisma, and balls. Miss Demeanor took the stage in her airy-fairy costume complete with seven-foot-tall light-up wings.

Trey couldn’t wait to see what Rowdy Stetson had cooked up. No doubt it would involve the legal minimum for coverage.

Usually he ignored the Hoedown Showdown, but this year Trey was determined to give Smoke a run for his money. After all, he was feeling lucky.

Bull riding was the last event of the day, and Trey could tell it chafed Dolly almost as much as it did him having to wait through the bareback riding, breakaway roping, and steer wrestling. Not that nerves ever seemed to give Smoke any trouble. He even watched the goat dressing event with interest, though Trey seriously doubted Smoke was truly fascinated by the latest in goat fashions.

“Who’s ready for some buuuuuull riiiiiding?” Miss Demeanor drew out the last two words, evoking cowboy whoops from the audience.

“Out of all the rough-stock events, bull riding is the most exciting,” she continued. “And the most dangerous sport there is. These good ol’ boys who love to ride bulls are no pansies—oh wait! Yes, they are. Apologies to all the straight riders attending the event, but no one will ever know you’re straight if you’re here.” A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. “Gay for a day! Don’t
blow
your chance to jump the fence, boys. We’ll never tell.

“Now this is the event that separates the bulls from the steers and the boys from the men. Wait a second, we certainly don’t want to do that, providing they are all above the legal age of consent!” She preened as another round of laughter started. “Just a quick reminder, to get a score, a rider has to stay for a full eight seconds, with the rope still in his or her hand when the whistle blows. And when I say whistle, it’s just an old, traditional expression going back to the early days of rodeo. You’ll actually hear this buzzer—” She paused for the sound effect. “—when the eight seconds are up. The rider can’t touch the bull with their free arm. We call that a slap, and it’s a no-no. The bull always gets a score, no matter what, but the rider has to make the eight to earn the points. Fifty points are available to be awarded to the bull, and 50 points to the rider, for a possible score of 100.”

While she was talking, Trey was already in the chute getting ready. He hated the added stress of riding first, but that was the luck of the draw. His string of buck-offs lately made it even more urgent for him to post a good score and go home with a check.

Smoke usually rode last. The event organizers knew very well the audience would stay until the end to watch such a dynamic rider. Trey envied him that position. His stomach was busy doing flip-flops. He didn’t want to be that guy, first out and first down.

Today Trey had to smuggle his entire bag into the chute so as not to give away the effect of his special helmet too early. Before he started wrapping his rope, he ducked down to put the helmet on in secret. The gateman and stock handler couldn’t help chuckling when they saw it.

Laughter spread through the audience when he popped up wearing a helmet covered with faux fur fashioned to look like a bull’s face and sporting a long, handsome set of stuffed bull horns. The DJ started Trey’s song, “Pump It” by the Black Eyed Peas.

Miss Demeanor caught on immediately. “Looks like our first rider, Treyvon Stuart, is feeling really horny tonight, or maybe he thinks this disco bondage headgear will snare him some action.”

Women in the audience groaned and booed, but the men laughed.

“In the
ring
,” Miss Demeanor said. “Horny or not, Trey will need to stay on for eight seconds to earn a check today. This is a game of inches, and every move counts if you want to be on top and not on the bottom.”

Loud groans and laughter greeted her puns. The Rainbow Drag Queen Cheer Squad gave a hearty bass cheer and shook their shiny pom-poms to amp up the audience.

“I meant proper positioning, of course,
on
top. Of the
bull
, people! And now please welcome Jordan Lee, a four-time World Champion Bull Rider in the Gay Rodeo Association. He will provide expert commentary and hopefully give me some pointers on
riding
.” Miss Demeanor’s voice rose to a squeak when Jordan Lee kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, Miss Demeanor.” A masculine voice took over, booming over the laughter and groans. “The bull Trey Stuart is paired with is Perfect Storm, and he’s got horns like baseball bats. Perfect Storm likes to get a cowboy stretched back on his arm and yank the rider down over his head right into those horns. Looking at the recent stats, I see that Trey’s been having a little trouble lately. If the ride was only 7.6 seconds, he’d be golden, but he has to last the full eight. I bet he’d like to get some of those chances back now. Let’s hope that horny helmet helps Trey score.”

Sternly, Trey told himself to forget the comedy and focus on the ride. He started his wrap, pounding his gloved hand shut around the rope and flipping the tail end over. He shifted forward on the bull’s back, inching up closer to the rope. Finally he gave the nod. “Let ’er buck.”

As if on wings, the bull soared out of the gate and immediately went into a manic right-hand spin, bucking and kicking with every jump. Perfect Storm whipped its head around and feinted to the left, sliding Trey to the inside. Trey flung his free arm over to the right in front of his chest and tightened his abs to catch up with the bull. He managed to yank himself back to center without overcorrecting, bending forward at the hips to relieve the drag on his riding arm. Changing it up when that strategy didn’t work, the bull jumped up high and twisted its back legs into a wicked belly roll, trying to kick the lights out. Trey managed to force his chin down, and stared at the bull’s shoulders, staying glued to his seat. When it landed, Perfect Storm changed direction into a left-hand spin.

This bull knew a lot of sly tricks, throwing its head left to signal a move but then turning right instead. Trey had no time to think; all he could do was react. Perfect Storm got stronger the longer the ride went on, the mark of a tough, rank bull. The speed and intensity of the spin made Trey a little dizzy, but he was grinning like a loon. He
had
this—he was living in the moment.

His timing was dead-on with the bull, forward on the jump, back on the kick. His confidence building, he worked his outside leg to show the judges control. The dreaded time of 7.6 flew by without Trey even noticing until the buzzer sounded. Adrenaline pumping through his system, he yanked his hand loose. Before he could jump off, the bull slammed him down hard into the dirt, but he was so high on success he didn’t even feel the impact. He’d made the whistle! Trey rolled backward over his shoulder and jumped up onto his feet.

He ran for the fence without checking where the bull was. When Trey leaped up and grabbed the rails, he felt the fence shudder under him from the force of the bull’s head as it bashed into the steel. To his surprise, the crowd cheered and started chanting his name. Before he could jump down, a big sexy bear with a beard and a flannel shirt wrapped his arms around Trey and planted a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek.