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head. He pushed down. "Yes!" In his pleasure, he slammed his fist into the bed then pushed upward to his knees. Race simply shoved against his ass and dove in to feed from his hole again. Laird felt it the moment his eyes rolled back into his head and his body shook violently under the delicious assault. Every slide of Race's tongue drove him farther and farther to the edge.
    The idea Race hadn't freaked out with his roughness but had simply played around tore at his very core, and he pressed his eyes shut. He whimpered, clutching the sheets in both fists, and rode back against Race's tongue.
    "Are you going to come for me, Laird?" Race asked, his voice a low, husky drawl.
    Laird couldn't reply; he couldn't think.
    "Come on, Laird," Race baited. "Speechless are we?"
    Laird was too far gone to say much. All he could do was lay there, twitching, moaning, trying to think. A long, thick finger slid into him.
    "Race…" he pleaded helplessly before his toes curled.
    His body went stiff, and then suddenly he was
    trembling. He had no power to open his eyes. His mouth opened in a silent O before his cock pulsated and erupted against the bed beneath him. His orgasm was so good it was almost painful. He rode it out, with Race's finger deep within him.
    "Shit… damn, Race!" He finally found his voice before pressing his face into the bed. Race slipped from him, caressing up his back before he felt Race's weight laying atop him, pressing him sweetly into the bed. Laird moaned, accepting Race's kisses against the back of his neck and the side of his head.
    "See, Laird? It's not that I don't want you. I can't seem to control myself around you. Like I said last night—
    we have to take this slow, because once you find out what I've done, you'll never be able to forgive me."
    "That's a way to throw cold water on a buzz," Laird moaned. "Why don't you stop saying that and tell me what happened."
    "Because I need the perfect words."
    "No, Race," Laird replied, rolling over. He turned his head in time to watch Race fall on his back to the bed beside him. "You don't need the perfect words—just the truth."
    Their eyes met again and Race inhaled. Laird closed his eyes, pressing his face shamelessly into the cowboy's hand as Race reached up to caress his cheek and dragged a thumb over Laird's lips. "Always the truth, Laird." Race's voice hitched as he said his name. Opening his eyes, Laird bowed his head and kissed Race's bare shoulder.
    "So tell me…"
    "I—ah… can't."
    Laird sighed. "You know, guys always say stuff like that—trying to be ominous. Then when they finally reveal what they were hiding it's not that horrid at all."
    A sad smile traced Race's succulent lips—the same lips that had just done so many wonderful things to Laird's body. "Trust me, Laird. This is horrid. But I know your secret."
    "You do?"
    "You like it rough… rough in ways you think I don't understand and will never accept. Am I right?"
    Laird bowed his head, feeling the wind fall from his sails.
    "And I think if you could, you would have bitten me. I think I'd let you try."
    Laird thought about it, and the idea of sinking his teeth into Race turned him on again. His aroused cockhead brushed the sheet and he groaned.

Chapter Five
    Laird sat on the windowsill and watched Race as he looked around the home. For a moment, he disappeared into another room and Laird tilted his head trying to catch a glimpse of the cowboy. But all he heard were footsteps.
    Smiling, he turned and looked out the window at the rolling waters of the ocean off in the distance. He could hear the water crashing into the rocks, and periodically a seagull would screech. Other than that, it was quiet, peaceful; precisely what Race had asked for.
    "This is perfect," Race's voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked around to see Race leaning against the doorframe of the living room. "After all the searching, I think this one is perfect."
    "Do you want to put in an offer?"
    Race smiled, walked over