Robby Riverton: Mail Order Bride by Eli Easton

Author:Eli Easton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pinkerton Road LLC
Published: 2018-04-23T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

The river had looked so crystal clean and welcoming on Robby’s walk. He was anxious to get in it. The icy cold shocked his body but there was only a moment’s breathlessness before the slick felt wonderful against his naked skin. It was like a baptism. When he submerged and rose up again, he was 100 percent Robby Riverton and no one else. Dear God, he needed that.

The river’s surface was mostly calm here, dotted and dimpled with the current. It had enough force to drag against his skin, but not enough to knock him off his feet. He swam, broad, overhand strokes, first with the current, then against it. All the while he was aware of Trace watching him, treading water up to his shoulders. His expression was melancholy.

He looked so good though, with those bare shoulders, his stubble-roughed jaw, and his sandy hair darkened and slicked back. Robby was no saint and his willpower was in short supply. Suddenly he couldn’t swim toward Trace fast enough.

He stopped an arm’s length away. His feet found pebbled ground. He dug in his toes—smooth-hard rocks, the squish of mud. Every sensation was heightened today, every feeling magnified, echoing around in his chest, in his soul.

He didn’t want to feel fatalistic. But the resignation that had taken root inside him made every breath feel important, something to be appreciated and savored, something that might never come again.

He watched Trace, memorizing the sight of him standing in that river. The water lapped at Robby’s shoulders. His legs were going numb. His genitals felt floaty and shy in the cold. His toes got slimed in the riverbed.

“So. Do you like me without the dress?” Robby asked, smiling in invitation.

“You’re about the best-lookin’ man I ever saw,” Trace said seriously, his eyes still sad. “Hell yes, I like ya like this. I’d also like ya done up in nice trousers, and a vest, and a shirt pressed so crisp it’d cut, like they do in the laundry in Santa Fe. I will see you like that someday, Robby, and take ya out to a nice dinner. Or I’ll be damned.”

The words were meant to reassure him. But Robby didn’t want promises right now. He craved oblivion in the form of rough hands and a hard cock.

“We have time. This afternoon, I mean,” Robby said firmly.

But Trace didn’t attempt to argue. When Robby pressed forward, closing the gap between them, Trace opened his arms and pulled Robby in. He crushed Robby to his chest like he was extracting the essence from an herb, one arm a band across Robby’s back, and the other gently cupping one cheek of Robby’s ass. His kiss was hot and wet and filthy. And, thank God, this was going to happen.

The kiss went on and on, as hot as the water was cold. It was dizzying and desperate. In the same way he’d been aware of the muck between his toes a moment ago, Robby now was hyperaware of the

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