"I thought you said this place was clothing optional?" Owen tugged at his stiff collar, sweat already pooling at his temples despite the early hour.
The ranch manager, a silver-haired man with laugh lines etched deep around his eyes, slid a laminated map across the polished cedar counter. "Son, 'optional' means exactly that." His thumb tapped a dotted line labeled 'Creek Trail'. "Sunrise Meadow's got rules though. No fabric beyond this point after 10 AM. Lets the skin breathe proper." Outside, distant laughter tangled with the scent of sagebrush and horsehide.
Owen’s knuckles whitened around his duffel bag strap. He’d packed three flannels. Two pairs of jeans. Zero preparation for this. The brochure mentioned horseback riding and stargazing, not … liberation. Dust motes danced in the sunbeam slicing through the lodge window, illuminating a framed photo behind the counter: silhouettes of naked men leaning against a fence, sunset painting their bare backs copper.
Beyond the lobby’s screen door, the world unfolded in baked earth and bleached grass. A man trotted past bareback on a dappled grey, his tanned legs hugging the horse’s flanks, a water canteen slung over his shoulder and nothing else. The sight punched Owen’s breath away – not from shock, but from the startling, unselfconscious grace of it. Heat flooded his cheeks. He’d never even skinny-dipped. His last boyfriend complained he slept in socks.
The manager chuckled softly, reading Owen’s frozen expression. "First-timer jitters. Common as cactus spines out here." He nudged a brass bell toward him. "Ring this when you’re ready for your cabin key. Or just stand there turning purple. Your call, handsome."
A breeze swept through, carrying the sound of splashing water and someone’s off-key humming. Owen stared at the bell. Its curved surface reflected the warped outline of a man walking toward the lodge, whistling, towel draped casually over one shoulder. The towel looked terribly thin. Owen swallowed. His watch read 9:47. Thirteen minutes until the fabric rule kicked in. His flannel suddenly felt like chainmail.
The whistling man pushed open the screen door. He was maybe forty, lean muscle carved by sun and work, entirely nude except for sturdy leather boots. He nodded at Owen with an easy grin, droplets of creek water gleaming on his collarbone. "Morning, Hank." The scent of clean sweat and river moss filled the small space. Owen fixed his gaze on the map, tracing the dotted line with a trembling finger.
Hank chuckled again, softer this time. "Jasper here’s our wrangler. Looks like he found his morning swim refreshing."
Jasper leaned against the counter, unselfconscious. "Water’s perfect. Clears the head." He glanced at Owen’s clenched fists, the starched collar. "First day? Don’t sweat the small stuff. Literally." His voice was warm, inviting, with no trace of mockery. "Just ditch the threads when you’re ready. Ain’t nobody judging but the bluejays."
Owen’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He could feel the heat radiating from Jasper’s bare skin, smell the damp earth clinging to him. It wasn’t sexual, just profoundly present. Like the horse and rider earlier – a simple, unapologetic belonging.
Hank slid a key across the cedar. "Cabin seven. Shady spot by the aspen grove. Quiet." His eyes held a knowing kindness. "Take your time. Breakfast buffet’s open till eleven. Or..." He gestured vaguely westward. "...the creek’s always open."
Jasper clapped Owen lightly on the shoulder – a brief, grounding touch – before heading out, whistling resuming. Owen flinched, then inhaled sharply. Jasper’s palm had been dry, rough, real. The screen door slapped shut behind him. Silence pressed in, thick with sagebrush and possibility. Owen stared at the brass bell, then his own reflection in its curve: pale, wide-eyed, impossibly clothed. Outside, a horse snorted. The Meadow awaited.
He snatched the key Hank offered. "Seven," he mumbled, fleeing past the counter. Cool air hit him outside. Sunlight hammered down, bleaching the dirt path leading through a cluster of log cabins. Ahead, Jasper strode toward the corral, towel now slung low on his hips, the lean muscles of his back shifting. Owen forced his gaze down.
Wildflowers pushed through gravel: purple lupine, orange paintbrush. Their scent mingled with horse manure and sun-warmed pine. His own cabin sat tucked under rustling aspens, screened by ferns. Inside smelled sweetly of cedar and lemon oil. Spartan: a wide bed layered with a faded quilt, a rocking chair, hooks on the wall. No closet. No hiding place.
Owen dumped his duffel. He stripped mechanically: boots, socks, belt buckle clinking loud in the quiet. Jeans pooled at his ankles. The flannel peeled away slowly. Pale skin prickled in the cool air drifting through the open window. He stood shivering in briefs, staring at his watch. 9:58. Two minutes. His heart thundered. He imagined Hank’s amused eyes, Jasper’s easy grin. The brochure photo of the silhouetted men against the fence flashed in his mind. Freedom. Terror. Slowly, deliberately, he hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his briefs. The cotton slid down his thighs, catching briefly on one knee before falling soft to the worn wooden floorboards.
He stood naked. The sensation was immediate, overwhelming. Air flowed like cool water over every inch of him – the slight dip of his lower back, the backs of his knees, places fabric had shielded since childhood. Sunlight streamed through the window, painting his torso gold. He felt exposed, ridiculous … and startlingly light. Like shedding armor he hadn’t known he wore. Tentatively, he took a step. The wood felt smooth and cool under his bare soles. His reflection in the small cabin mirror caught him: ghost-pale against the dark logs, eyes wide with disbelief.
A laugh bubbled up, shaky but genuine. He’d done it. He was here. Now. Naked. Outside, a burst of male laughter echoed, clear and unashamed. It sounded like sunlight. Owen’s watch clicked over to 10:00 AM. Time to breathe. He pushed open the cabin door. The world rushed in – blinding sun, pine scent, distant creek murmur – and met his bare skin. He stepped onto the porch, squinting against the glare, blinking into the vast, bright openness of Sunrise Meadow.
The path was warm gravel underfoot, surprisingly comforting. A dragonfly darted past his hip, iridescent blue. He focused on the textures: the tickle of long grass brushing his ankle, the yielding softness of sun-baked earth where the path widened near the main lodge. He kept his gaze resolutely forward, past clumps of whispering sagebrush, toward the distant hum of voices near a low stone building.
A breeze swept across his chest, lifting goosebumps, carrying the rich aroma of coffee and frying bacon mingled with something earthier, muskier – pure, unadulterated man and sun and horse. It wasn’t intrusive; it felt elemental, grounding.
He rounded a bend flanked by juniper bushes. Ahead sprawled a flagstone patio shaded by cottonwoods. Men lounged at wrought-iron tables – reading newspapers, sipping coffee, talking animatedly. All naked. The sheer casualness of it struck Owen harder than any overt sexuality. A man with a shock of white hair gestured broadly while explaining something, his lean body relaxed against the chair back. Another leaned over a map spread on the table, tracing a route with a sun-browned finger. Skin, everywhere – shades of tan and burnished gold and pale pink, scarred knees, hairy chests, smooth backs. Owen’s own pale skin felt intensely visible. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides.
A figure moved toward him from the patio’s edge. Jasper, towel long gone, balancing two steaming mugs. Beads of water still clung to his shoulders from his swim. His easy grin widened as he approached.
"Air feels good, doesn't it?" he called out, his voice cutting through Owen's nervous haze. He stopped a respectful arm's length away, holding out a mug. The scent of strong, dark coffee hit Owen’s nose. "Sunrise blend. Best way to kickstart the day." Jasper’s eyes held no judgment, only warm appraisal.
Owen felt the flush creeping up his neck again, but he reached out. His fingers brushed Jasper’s rough, calloused ones as he took the hot mug. The contact was brief, electric. Jasper nodded toward the patio buzzing with low conversation and clinking china. "C'mon. Hank saves the crispy bacon for early birds." He didn't wait, turning back toward the group, utterly at home in his skin.
Owen took a shaky breath, the ceramic mug hot against his palm. He took a step forward, then another, following the wrangler toward the sound of clinking forks and easy laughter, leaving the ghost of his flannels behind.
The patio hummed with conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter. No one stared as Owen approached, though a few friendly glances drifted his way. He focused on Jasper settling onto a bench beside Hank, who winked over his coffee cup. Owen perched on the edge of an empty wrought-iron chair, the cool metal pressing against his bare thighs. He kept the mug clutched in both hands, shielding himself slightly.
A plate piled high with bacon strips appeared under his nose. "Fuel up," said a cheerful voice. Owen looked up to see a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache holding the platter. His belly curved comfortably, his stance relaxed. "Name's Ben. Head cook. Grab a slice before Hank hoards them all." Hank chuckled, snagging a piece with deliberate slowness. The scent of smoky pork fat mingled with the coffee steam Owen inhaled. He tentatively took a piece. The bacon was crisp, salty, perfect. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.
"Trail ride heads out at eleven," Jasper announced, stretching his arms overhead. Muscles shifted fluidly across his sun-darkened shoulders. "Easy loop today. Good for finding your saddle legs." He nodded toward a cluster of horses tethered nearby, tails swishing lazily at flies. One chestnut mare tossed her head, her bridle jingling softly. "That's Daisy," Jasper added, catching Owen’s gaze. "Gentle as a breeze. She’ll take good care of you."
Ben slid a plate of scrambled eggs and toast toward Owen. "Eat," he urged gently. "Sun’s climbing. Burns energy faster than you’d think out here." Owen picked up a fork, the metal cool against his fingertips. He took a bite of eggs, fluffy and rich with butter. As he chewed, his shoulders began to loosen. The breeze brushed his skin, carrying the tang of pine resin and the distant nicker of a horse. A dragonfly hovered near his knee, wings iridescent in the sunlight.
He glanced around. A man nearby leaned back, eyes closed, face tilted to the sun, utterly at peace. Another debated fishing spots with Ben, gesturing with his coffee cup. Jasper’s gaze met Owen’s again, warm and steady. Owen managed a small, tentative smile back. His heart wasn't hammering anymore; it was settling into a steady, unfamiliar rhythm. He took another bite of toast, the crunch loud in his ears but lost in the easy murmur of the patio. The meadow stretched wide and golden beyond the shade of the cottonwoods. Eleven o'clock felt both impossibly close and strangely exciting. Daisy waited.
The clatter of dishes signaled the buffet winding down. Jasper stood, stretching languidly. "Alright, riders! Saddle up in ten." He gestured toward the corral. Men rose smoothly, conversations shifting gears. Owen watched them move – bare feet padding on warm flagstones, lean bodies navigating chairs and tables with unconscious grace. He felt clumsy suddenly, acutely aware of his own paleness against the seasoned tan of the others. Jasper paused beside his chair. "Ready to meet Daisy?" The question wasn't probing; it was an invitation.
Owen nodded, pushing back his own chair. The metal scraped faintly. He hesitated, then set his mug down decisively. The cool air kissed his skin anew as he walked beside Jasper toward the corral fence. Sunlight glinted off sweat-streaked flanks and polished leather tack. Daisy stood patiently, her chestnut coat gleaming, her dark eyes soft and intelligent. Jasper handed Owen a worn leather bridle. "Hold this. Talk to her a bit. Let her get your scent." He moved off to check another horse.
Owen stood close to the fence rail. Daisy turned her head, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring gently as she sampled the air – his scent, unfamiliar and human. He lifted a hand slowly, palm flat. Her velvet muzzle brushed his fingers, warm and whiskery. The contact was unexpectedly grounding, a simple, earthy connection. He murmured nonsense, feeling the rough wood of the rail beneath his other hand.
Jasper returned, swinging a saddle blanket onto Daisy’s broad back with practiced ease. "See? She likes ya." He flashed that easy grin. "Now, let's get you up there."
Owen watched Jasper position the saddle, tighten the girth with smooth efficiency. Daisy stood rock-solid. Jasper held the stirrup iron steady. "Left foot here. Grab the horn. Swing your right leg over." Owen hesitated, acutely conscious of his nakedness in the act of mounting. Jasper’s gaze held only encouragement. "Just like stepping onto a stool. She won't mind."
Taking a deep breath, Owen placed his bare foot in the stirrup, gripped the saddle horn, and pushed off. For a heart-stopping second, he wobbled, suspended, before landing firmly in the saddle. The leather was warm beneath him, smelling richly of oil and horse. Daisy shifted slightly beneath his weight, then settled.
Jasper adjusted the stirrup leathers. "Perfect." He patted Daisy’s neck. "Welcome to Sunrise Meadow."
Owen gripped the saddle horn, knuckles white. The horse shifted beneath him, a powerful ripple of muscle. The height felt dizzying. Below, the earth seemed impossibly distant. Jasper swung effortlessly onto his own mount, Raven, a sleek black gelding. The wrangler’s bare thighs gripped the saddle with practiced ease. "Relax," Jasper murmured, guiding Raven alongside. "Daisy feels every muscle you tense. Breathe deep."
Owen inhaled sagebrush and saddle leather. He loosened his grip. Daisy’s ears flicked back toward him, a quiet acknowledgment. Around them, other riders mounted up — bare skin gleaming, laughter low and easy. Hank, surprisingly agile for his years, hopped onto a sturdy bay. Ben waved from the lodge porch, coffee mug raised. The group coalesced, a loose formation of flesh and horseflesh moving toward the trailhead.
Jasper took the lead, Raven stepping out with fluid grace. Owen nudged Daisy’s flanks gently. She ambled forward, her gait rocking Owen in the saddle. The rhythm was unfamiliar but soothing — a slow, deep sway that resonated through his hips and spine. He leaned into it, feeling his tense shoulders unlock.
They passed beneath a canopy of ancient cottonwoods, dappled sunlight painting shifting patterns on sun-browned skin. The coolness under the trees contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from Daisy’s body beneath him.
Ahead, Jasper guided Raven through a shallow creek crossing. Water splashed against the horse’s legs, droplets spraying onto Jasper’s calves. Owen followed, the creek’s icy shock kissing Daisy’s hooves and sending a fine mist up Owen’s bare thighs. He gasped — a sharp, involuntary intake of breath — then laughed softly. The chill was bracing, exhilarating.
Jasper glanced back, his grin catching the light. "Wakes you up better than coffee, huh?"
Beyond the creek, the trail climbed into open hillsides thick with golden grass and purple lupine. The breeze intensified, sweeping across Owen’s chest and back, carrying the sweet smell of wildflowers and the richer musk of horses. He watched Jasper ahead — the play of sunlight on the wrangler’s shoulders, the easy way he moved with Raven, a harmony of muscle and motion. Owen felt a flicker of something deeper than admiration — a yearning for that same unselfconscious ease.
Daisy plodded steadily upward, her breathing a rhythmic huff. Owen tentatively released the saddle horn, letting his hands rest lightly on his thighs. The sun warmed his palms. He felt the vastness of the sky pressing down, the endless sweep of the meadow below. For the first time since stripping off his clothes, he wasn’t thinking about his nakedness. He was simply … riding. The wind whispered through the grass, a hushed counterpoint to the steady clop of hooves on packed earth.
Jasper slowed Raven, falling back beside him. His eyes, crinkled against the sun, held a quiet approval. "See?" he said, his voice low and intimate despite the open space. "The Meadow knows how to hold you."
They crested the ridge. Below, the valley unfolded — a tapestry of golden grass, dark juniper thickets, and the silver thread of the main creek glittering under the noon sun. A hawk circled overhead, its shadow gliding silently over their bare shoulders. Jasper pointed toward a distant stand of ponderosa pines clinging to a rocky outcrop. "Lunch spot. Bit of shade, bit of view."
The descent was steeper. Owen leaned back instinctively in the saddle, the shift pressing his bare thighs firmly against Daisy’s warm, sweat-dampened flanks. The friction was new, intimate — not sexual, just profoundly tactile. Daisy’s muscles bunched and released beneath him with each careful step.
Jasper rode close, his knee occasionally brushing Owen’s calf as Raven navigated loose scree. Each accidental touch sent a jolt through Owen — not unwelcome, just startlingly present. Jasper’s scent, amplified by the sun — leather, horse, clean sweat, and something earthy like sunbaked stone — filled Owen’s senses.
They reached the pine grove. Coolness enveloped them, thick with the resinous tang of needles. Jasper dismounted first, landing softly on the pine-needle carpet. He held Daisy’s bridle as Owen slid down, his bare feet sinking into the soft, cool earth. His legs felt strangely shaky, muscles humming from the ride.
Jasper’s hand steadied him briefly at the elbow, a fleeting, grounding touch before letting go. "Hungry?" Jasper asked, pulling a waxed-paper parcel from Raven’s saddlebag. Ben’s sandwiches — thick slices of roast beef, horseradish, and crusty bread. He spread a blanket on a flat, moss-covered rock overlooking the valley.
Owen sat beside him, acutely aware of the scant inches between their hips, the way Jasper’s thigh rested warm against his own as they leaned back against the sun-warmed rock face. Silence settled, broken only by the tearing of paper and the distant cry of the hawk.
Jasper chewed thoughtfully, gaze fixed on the valley below. Owen watched a bead of sweat trace a path down the wrangler’s temple, disappearing into the stubble along his jawline. The intimacy was vast and quiet, amplified by their nakedness — no barriers, just sun, wind, and shared space. He bit into his sandwich, the sharp bite of horseradish clearing his head, the simple act of eating feeling strangely primal. Jasper passed him a canteen. Their fingers brushed again, longer this time, lingering against the cool metal.
Jasper’s eyes met Owen’s, holding a question Owen wasn’t sure he could answer yet. The valley stretched below, timeless, waiting. The silence deepened, filled only by the sighing pines and Owen’s own thrumming pulse.
Owen took a long pull from the canteen, the icy water sharpening his senses. He felt Jasper’s gaze linger—not demanding, but curiously open. "It’s ... immense," Owen managed, gesturing weakly at the panorama. His voice sounded rough, unfamiliar in the stillness.
Jasper nodded, tearing another bite of sandwich. "Gets bigger the longer you look." He shifted slightly, his shoulder pressing warm against Owen’s. The contact was deliberate, testing. Owen didn’t pull away. He felt the sun-baked rock beneath him, the cool sweat drying on his back, Jasper’s solid presence anchoring him in the vastness. Daisy snorted nearby, lipping at sparse mountain grass.
A breeze lifted, carrying the scent of pine resin and Jasper’s warm, sun-soaked skin. Owen’s breath hitched. He glanced down at Jasper’s hand resting casually on the blanket between them — calloused fingers curled loosely, dusted with trail dirt. The intimacy was terrifying, exhilarating. He traced the line of Jasper’s forearm with his eyes — corded muscle, faded sun-bleached hairs, a thin white scar near the elbow. Details he’d never noticed clothed.
"The first ridge ride’s always the hardest," Jasper murmured, his voice low, almost lost in the wind. "Your body remembers every bump." He flexed his thighs unconsciously, the movement drawing Owen’s attention to the defined muscles, the faint chafe marks from saddle leather. Jasper caught his look and smiled — small, private. "Yours’ll ache tomorrow. Good ache, though."
Owen swallowed. "Yeah," he breathed. He wanted to touch that scar, to feel the proof of Jasper’s history beneath his fingertips. Instead, he brushed crumbs from his thigh, his knuckles grazing Jasper’s hand. The jolt was instant — electric and warm.
Jasper’s fingers twitched, then stilled. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his palm upward on the blanket, an invitation etched in sun-darkened skin. Owen stared at it — rough, capable, utterly vulnerable.
Wind rustled the pines overhead. A bead of sweat trickled down Owen’s temple. Below, the hawk screamed again, riding a thermal into the blinding blue. Owen’s hand moved — a trembling, inevitable slide — until his palm settled against Jasper’s, fingers interlacing. Jasper’s grip tightened immediately, firm and sure. Heat bloomed where skin met skin, radiating up Owen’s arm, pooling low in his belly. Silence roared louder than the mountains.
Jasper’s thumb stroked slowly across Owen’s knuckles — a wordless promise, rough and real. The meadow held its breath.
"Been watching you," Jasper murmured, gaze fixed on their joined hands. "Since you stood frozen at Hank’s counter." His thumb circled Owen’s pulse point. "That flannel looked like armor." His smile softened. "Still does, in your head." He lifted Owen’s hand, pressing a kiss to the trembling knuckles. Sun-dusted skin, salt-tang scent, lips warm and dry — the kiss seared deeper than Owen expected.
A shiver raced down Owen’s spine. "I’m ... figuring it out," he admitted, voice thick. Jasper’s free hand rose, tracing the tense line of Owen’s jaw. Calloused fingertips rasped against stubble, igniting sparks.
"Don’t figure," Jasper breathed, leaning closer. His breath warmed Owen’s lips. "Just feel."
Then Jasper kissed him — deep, unhurried, tasting of horseradish and sun. Owen gasped into it, hands instinctively gripping Jasper’s shoulders. Muscle flexed beneath his palms, warm and alive. The kiss wasn’t tentative; it was a claiming, an anchor in the dizzying openness. Owen’s mind emptied of everything but sensation: Jasper’s calloused hand sliding up his spine, the scrape of stubble against his jaw, the surge of heat pooling low in his belly. He arched instinctively, pressing closer until their chests met, sweat-slick skin sliding together. A low groan escaped Jasper, vibrating against Owen’s mouth.
They broke apart, breathing ragged. Jasper’s eyes were dark, pupils wide and fixed on Owen’s. "Been waiting," he rasped, thumb brushing Owen’s swollen bottom lip. "Watching you unfold." His gaze drifted down Owen’s body — the pale expanse of his throat, the heave of his chest, the flush spreading across his belly. Owen shuddered, acutely aware of his own hardening cock pressing against Jasper’s thigh. The air crackled, thick with pine resin and raw want.
Jasper shifted, rolling Owen gently onto his back on the blanket. Sunlight dappled Owen’s skin through the swaying pine boughs. Jasper straddled him, knees bracketing Owen’s hips, his own erection heavy and flushed against Owen’s stomach. The weight was solid, grounding. Jasper leaned down, tracing Owen’s collarbone with his tongue — a slow, deliberate lick followed by a soft bite that drew a sharp gasp. His hands mapped Owen’s ribs, thumbs brushing sensitive nipples. Owen arched, fingers tangling in Jasper’s sweat-damp hair.
"Want you bare against the sky," Jasper growled against his throat, his voice rough with need. One hand slid between them, fingers wrapping around Owen’s cock. The touch was firm, knowing. Owen cried out, hips bucking helplessly. Jasper’s thumb swept over the slick head, spreading precome in slow circles. He kept his gaze locked on Owen’s face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every stunned gasp as he stroked him slowly, deliberately.
"Feel that?" Jasper murmured, his own breath ragged. "Just sun, skin, and you." His other hand cupped Owen’s ass, pulling him closer, grinding their hips together. The friction was electric, unbearable. Jasper’s calloused fingers tightened slightly, twisting on the upstroke. Owen’s vision blurred.
Jasper dipped his head, tongue tracing the frantic pulse in Owen’s throat. "Let go," he urged, lips grazing Owen’s ear. "The meadow holds you." His hips rocked harder, his own cock sliding hard and hot against Owen’s stomach. Jasper’s hand moved faster now, rough palm dragging delicious friction over Owen’s shaft.
Owen arched, fingers digging into Jasper’s shoulders as sensation coiled impossibly tight. He gasped Jasper’s name — a broken sound swallowed by the wind. Jasper kissed him again, deep and consuming, swallowing Owen’s moans as his hand worked relentlessly. The peak hit Owen like a thunderclap — a blinding, shuddering release that tore through him, leaving him panting and trembling against the blanket. Jasper groaned into his neck, his own hips stuttering as he followed Owen over the edge, warmth spilling between them.
For long moments, they lay tangled, slick skin pressed together, hearts hammering against each other's ribs. The scent of sex, pine, and sun-warmed earth hung thick in the air. Jasper nuzzled Owen’s temple, his breathing slowly easing. Below, the creek glittered like shattered glass. The hawk circled again, higher now.
Jasper’s thumb brushed a smear of come from Owen’s belly. "Still nervous?" he asked, voice rough but soft. Owen shook his head, a shaky laugh escaping him. Jasper’s smile was pure sunlight. He shifted, pulling Owen against his side, their bodies fitting together in the dappled shade. Daisy cropped grass nearby, the crunch rhythmic and soothing.
Owen traced Jasper’s scar with a fingertip. The silence wasn't empty anymore; it was full of warmth, skin, and the vast, golden quiet of the meadow holding them both.
"Still nervous?" Jasper asked, thumb grazing Owen’s ribs. Owen shook his head. The lie was soft, easy. Jasper chuckled, low and rich, and pulled Owen tighter against his side. Sunlight shifted through pine needles, painting Jasper’s thigh gold where it pressed against Owen’s. Daisy’s rhythmic cropping of grass nearby was the only sound.
Jasper shifted suddenly, rolling Owen onto his back again. His eyes darkened. "Missed a spot," he murmured, leaning down. His tongue swept a lingering trail up Owen’s sternum, catching a streak of drying come. Owen gasped, fingers tightening in Jasper’s hair. Jasper’s mouth moved lower, teeth grazing a hip bone, breath hot against Owen’s softening cock. Owen arched off the blanket, a choked sound escaping him.
Jasper paused, glancing up. His grin was wicked. "Ticklish?" Before Owen could answer, Jasper blew softly against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Owen jerked, laughing breathlessly. Jasper pinned his hips with strong hands, stilling him. "Hold still." He dipped his head again, this time kissing the hollow where thigh met groin, slow and deliberate. Owen trembled, the aftershocks of pleasure mingling with the new, electric sensitivity.
A distant shout echoed up from the valley — Hank’s booming voice, calling riders back. Jasper sighed against Owen’s skin, his breath warm. "Duty calls." He pressed one last kiss to Owen’s belly before rising fluidly. Sunlight caught the sweat gleaming on his shoulders as he stretched. Owen lay stunned, watching him — the effortless grace, the raw power in his movements. Jasper tossed Owen’s jeans toward him. "Better get these on unless you want saddle leather on bare skin all the way back." His smirk was knowing. "That ache I promised? It’ll be a lot more interesting now."
Owen dressed slowly, the fabric feeling strange against his sensitive skin. Jasper watched him, eyes hooded. As Owen pulled his shirt over his head, Jasper stepped close. He caught Owen’s wrist, stopping him. "Leave it," he murmured, fingers brushing the hem. "Sun’s still high." His hand slid up Owen’s bare back, possessive and grounding. "Let the meadow see you."
They packed the blanket in silence, the intimacy settling into something quieter, deeper. Jasper swung onto Raven bare-chested, muscles flexing. Owen mounted Daisy more smoothly this time, the saddle leather warm beneath his thighs. As they rode out from the cool pine shade, the sun’s heat hit Owen’s bare chest and shoulders like a physical embrace. Jasper fell in beside him, close enough their knees brushed with every stride. Hank’s distant call came again, impatient.
"Race you to the creek crossing?" Jasper’s eyes sparkled with challenge.
Owen grinned back, feeling the saddle leather grip beneath him, the sun on his skin, Jasper’s gaze hot on his face. "You’re on." He nudged Daisy’s flanks. Jasper’s laugh rang out, bright and free, as Raven surged forward beside him. The wind whipped past Owen’s ears, carrying the scent of dust, horse, and Jasper’s sweat. He leaned low over Daisy’s neck, feeling the powerful muscles bunch beneath him, his own bare back exposed to the vast, approving sky.
The creek glittered ahead, promising cool relief and Jasper’s laughter echoing beside him. The trail curved downward, sunlight blinding on the water. Owen pushed Daisy faster, the thunder of hooves vibrating through his bones. Jasper matched his pace, shoulder-to-shoulder now, their bare arms brushing. The creek rushed closer, spray already misting Owen’s cheeks. He glanced sideways, catching Jasper’s fierce, sunlit grin. Together, they plunged toward the icy water.
Hooves struck the creek bed, sending up shimmering walls of spray. Daisy surged forward, the shock of cold water hitting Owen’s calves and thighs, stealing his breath. Beside him, Jasper leaned low over Raven’s neck, urging him deeper. Water splashed Jasper’s chest, droplets catching in his chest hair, sunlight turning each bead into liquid gold. Raven stumbled slightly on a slick stone; Jasper corrected effortlessly, thighs clamping tight, muscles corded beneath sun-darkened skin. Owen gripped Daisy’s mane, leaning into the soaking spray washing over his belly and chest. The chill was exhilarating, washing away the sweat and dust, leaving his skin tingling and alive.
They emerged dripping onto the far bank, panting, horses snorting and shaking water from their manes. Jasper’s grin was triumphant. "Told you she’s fast!" He reached across the gap, flicking water from his fingertips onto Owen’s bare shoulder. The droplets felt like sparks. Below the creek bank, Hank waited atop his bay, arms crossed, mock-sternness belied by the crinkle at his eyes. The other riders straggled behind, their easy chatter drifting up.
Hank, glistening and bare-chested, raised an eyebrow. "Enjoying the view, boys?" His gaze swept over them.
Jasper laughed, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending droplets flying. "Just cooling off, boss." Owen felt a blush rise again, but Hank’s wink was warm.
The path widened, joining the main trail back to the ranch. Jasper nudged Raven closer until his knee bumped Owen’s thigh. "Tonight," Jasper murmured, low enough only Owen could hear. His knuckles brushed the inside of Owen’s elbow, a promise that sent a tremor through him. "Sunset ride. Just us." Ahead, the lodge roofs appeared, nestled among the cottonwoods. Smoke curled from the chimney. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with wet horsehide and Jasper’s damp, sun-warmed skin.
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