The men from Wild Ride are back!
The holiday season has rolled around and, with fond memories, Mica Kettrick retrieves his little fake tree from the attic. But his husband of only a few months, Forrest, refuses to have such an unnatural thing decorating their house, insisting their tree be real.
With a little outside help, the boys soon discover love is about more than the branches of a tree.
More From Stocking Stuffers
He had nearly reached the stable, a comfortable space fit for man and beast, no expense spared, when the door slid to the side. A scruffy gray terrier barked and ran in Mica’s direction. The wiggling ball of fur jumped into his arms and proceeded to cover his chin in kisses. Mica laughed. Tin Can, a name earned by where he’d been discovered as a puppy, always seemed to be bursting with energy. Mica watched as Forrest Kettrick sauntered out of the barn, a smooth coated Collie at his side.
And his train of thought jumped tracks, right back to the barreling down the path of sensuality.
Mica put Tin Can down, never taking his eyes off of Forrest.
The cowboy looked good enough to eat, even decked out in his worn plaid jacket, bits and pieces of hay stuck to his clothing, the cuffs of his blue jeans damp and darkened by traipsing through the snow. In the way that all cowboys do Forrest adjusted his black hat, a grin breaking out on his lips as he spotted Mica. With eyes an alluring shade and a day’s scruff Forrest could have easily graced the cover of one of those hunky cowboy calendars Mica spotted in a few of the local shops.
Would you want to share him that way? Then again, he’s your pin up all year round. Yum.
“Something wrong?” Forrest asked, narrowing the gap between them.
Mica shook his head, currently unable to form words. It baffled him that after nearly a year Forrest still possessed the power to leave him tongue tied. On one hand he found it a little embarrassing, on the other he hoped it never stopped.
Forrest wrapped his arms around Mica’s waist. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He kissed the tip of Mica’s nose.
Heat sprung up in his cheeks no doubt coloring them red and his stomach experienced that odd flip flop-butterflies sensation. “I was looking for you.”
A twinkle appeared in Forrest’s eyes. “Oh, whatever for?”
“We ... we ...” It was hard to form a proper sentence with the way Forrest moved the fingers of one hand in slow circular motions over his lower back. Even through the layers of his jacket and sweater Mica felt the blissful burn of his husband’s touch. He swallowed. What would it be like to have him right here in the snow? The heat in his cheeks intensified.
Clearly Forrest figured out was going through his mind, chuckling lightly as he crooked a finger under Mica’s chin and prompted Mica to look him in the eye. Then their lips met in a feathery teasing kiss. Mica moaned, melting against a body born of years of hard work. Arousal set his nerves on fire, Forrest using his tongue to trace the curve of Mica’s mouth. The dance between their lips made promises of more intimate, pleasurable moments to come. And when Forrest pulled back Mica found himself fighting for oxygen, to orient himself back in the present.
“So what were you trying to say?”
Mica blinked. “Um ...”
