Do you think Rhett is the type to get angry or annoyed with his s/o? What about his s/o would frustrate him, and would he yell?
iiiiii got carried away with thiiiiis :D
Honestly, I think it takes a lot for Rhett to get angry with his partner, or anyone he loves in general. He strikes me as one of those guys who have a vastly different temper depending on who he's around. Rhett's pretty well known for diving headfirst into a bar fight with some noname fella who shoulder-checked him.
Local ranch hands whisper about how swift he is to bark at someone for fucking up, and there are a couple of bullriders who steer clear of him after a good old-fashioned argument behind the bucking chutes. With strangers, Rhett'll snap at the drop of a hat.
But when it comes to his partner? Rhett is damn near docile.
It's not that you never see Rhett mad; you've witnessed your fair share of his fights and arguments, what at the bar, or the rodeo, or that one time Trevor Tillerson started some shit in the shared driveway. You know that he runs his hands through his hair when he's teetering on the edge of exploding, and that he kicks the ground with his left foot when he's doing everything he can from opening his mouth. The difference is that he's mad at other people and not you.
That's not to say you can't get on his nerves. Rhett's human, same as you. He has his days. One of the quickest ways to frustrate him is to make him feel ignored or unwanted. If he tells you about his awful day at work, and you don't reply? He's peeved about it. You go out on a date and spend most of the time on your phone? He reaches a point where he makes a snarky comment about it.
There is one odd thing: the sound of a nail file will set him off when he's tired. You figured it out one day when he came home from a thirteen-hour job at his dad's. He was lying on the couch, you were absent-mindedly filing your nails, and the longer it went on, the more that vein in his forehead bulged. You were just finishing up your left hand when the stiffest, "Please, stop doing that," broke the silence.
It's painfully obvious when Rhett is angry; he wears his emotions on his face, you can read him from a mile away. He kicks his foot, runs his hands through his hair, and the veins in his neck rise; you know he's mad. If you're arguing, his voice raises a bit, but he doesn't reach that loud, over-the-top screaming level that he did with Perry during the kitchen scene.
The only way you can push him to reach that point is if you follow him when he tries to leave the room and cool off. Again, though, it's very obvious that he's about to explode; chasing after him is the equivalent of chasing a rabid bear.
All of that said, though, once he cools off, Rhett always comes moseying back to you. Regardless of who may be at fault, or who said what, you'll eventually hear the sound of his socked feet thumping down the hall as he comes looking for you.
It's so hard to be mad when he wraps his arms around you, buries his nose in your shoulder, and blinks up at you like a kicked puppy. If Rhett knows he's at fault for something, it's accompanied by a muffled, "I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing for me to do." Sometimes he'll apologize for things you both know aren't his fault; he just wants to make it better.
If you'll allow it, he prefers to settle disagreements and hurt feelings while you're resting somewhere. One of you cuddled against the other's chest in bed, lying on the couch with your legs on top of each other, or holding hands at the table. Rhett heavily relies on that bit of physical comfort to keep himself from spiralling as you talk it out; it's harder to convince himself that he's ruined things when you're playing with his hands or cuddling him.
Is Rhett a perfect partner with the patience of a saint? No. Does he have his fair share of moments? Yes. Do you have the occasional argument? Also, yes. But regardless of the fight, if it's a minor disagreement that leaves the air feeling too tense to remain in, or a blow-out argument, Rhett always makes his way back to you.
Thank you!! ^w^ 🎈 These getting caught prompts are so fun, hha
Moonlit Bull Riding — Send any kind of thought or request for your rider(s)
Rhett Abbott
"No, no, no, keep your lil legs up," big hands pull on your hips, drawing you away from where you've crumpled against the bed and forcing your legs to straighten once more. "There y' go."
You're trying. You really are, but his cock keeps rubbing against that little spot, and, and, and
"I can feel your legs shakin' baby," his tongue glides up your back, such a ticklish sensation that you squirm beneath him. "'s it feel that good?
Words form and vanish in an instant. Fuck, you can't...you can't...what did he ask you? You haven't got a clue; his words are nothing but senseless rumblings. Can't possibly think of anything that isn't the snap of his hips, the weight of his body on top of yours.
"Talk to me," he's murmuring directly into your ear, "c'mon, talk to me, sweetheart."
"Rhett if you don't quit leaving your junk in my passenger—shit!" The bedroom door slams. "Sorry!" Perry's muffled voice takes a moment to recognize.
Your legs slip out from under you, and once again, you're falling face-first into the bed. "I thought...you locked the door?"
"I thought I did, too," the roughness is lost from Rhett's voice, reduced to its usual rumble. He leans his weight into you, properly smothering your shaking body into the bed. Kisses pepper across your shoulder, working their way up the back of your neck. "Y' wanna keep goin'?"
You think you've got an answer for that one.
Bob Floyd
"I'm beginning to think," Bob gasps, a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead and onto your chest, "that you just like tormenting me every time I let you in my lap."
Your mouth opens, but his cock sinks back into you, and your words die on the spot. Regathering your thoughts...shit, regathering your thoughts takes a moment.. "What, mmh, what makes you say that?"
He groans, eyes rolling. "Like you don't know."
Yeah, you have no idea. Not as if you just spent the past hour wriggling around in his lap under the innocent guise of 'getting comfortable'.
He'd keep calling you out on it if not for your leg slipping off his shoulder, and of course, he can't have that. Diligently catching and dragging it back up, holding you there so he can press a kiss into your shivering ankle.
Obscenely innocent compared to the squelch of his thick cock sinking into you. Slow, heavy strokes, dedicated to nothing but unraveling you thread by thread, rubbing against a soft little spot that has you whimpering far too loud.
"Hey, did you guys mean to leave the door halfway—" Mickey's fallen face appears in your peripheral. "No, you didn't!" He spins. Already gone.
The door slams.
Blood drains from your face so quickly that it feels numb. Bob's eyes meet yours. His face is noticeably whiter than it was a moment ago, and the room is starkly silent.
"We didn't shut the door?" He breathes, a deer caught in the headlights.
"I guess we didn't."
For the celebration - Bob Floyd, Rhett Abbott and Robert Reynolds
Moonlight Bullriding - the boys cumming in their pants
👀 wow I haven't gotten a multi-character ask like this in forever
⭐Join my Starlight Stampede Event! ⭐
Moonlit Bull Riding — Send any kind of thought or request for your rider(s)
Bob Reynolds °.•☆
Your mouth flutters over the thick material of his sweatpants, pressing chaste kisses into the outline of his cock, only pausing long enough to mouth at the tip, wetting it with your tongue. Bob gasps, squirming out from under you and further up the bed.
"You're not getting away from me that easily," you murmur, speaking directly against him. The rumble of your voice sends his back arching up, babbling something incoherent under his breath.
Your hand rises to gently squeeze him, wrapping your lips around his cock head once more. Hands paw at your forehead, futilely trying to push you away. He's so cute, you're hardly even doing anything to him and here he is, wriggling like a damn worm.
"Does that feel good?" You already know the answer. He's so, so easy to read, but you want to hear him say it.
"Uhuh," whimpering under his breath, "feels...feels..."
A sharp whine cuts through the bedroom air, Bob's cock twitches beneath your touch, his hips rising up off the mattress. A familiar saltiness greets your taste buds.
"Already?" Giggling, you draw away and replace your mouth with your hand, rubbing firm circles into his tip.
A beat passes, and he gasps. "I didn't—I didn't mean to, oh my god."
He sucks in a breath, holding it for a moment. Then, sitting up, excitement glistening in his wide eyes."We can do that again, right?"
Rhett Abbott °.•☆
Between the low groan rumbling in your ear and the way he twitches against your thigh, you can do this all day.
Rhett's hand tightens on your waist, absolutely shameless about how he chases the pressure of your leg between his. Anyone can walk past and see you. This alleyway is only so remote, someone is bound to come walking down here and stumble across the sight of a cowboy grinding on your thigh.
"You're gonna get us caught," you warn, fully aware that he doesn't give the slightest damn about that. Not like this would be the first close-call, or the second, or the third.
"No 'm not," the heat of his breath burns right into your sensitive neck.
But that's not the answer you're looking for.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking his head back and—
"Shit," Rhett's eyes roll back, his mouth hanging open. And you can feel his cock twitching through his jeans, cumming without the slightest ounce of warning.
"I don't remember you being this easy," teasing. Has he always been this sensitive about having his hair pulled?
Teeth nip your ear, his breathy whimper sending a shiver up your spine. "Let's see if y' can last any longer than me, huh?"
Bob Floyd °.•☆
"You're not slick," Bobby's breath tickles your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "I can feel exactly what you're doing."
"Good," you hum. Your eyes remain glued to the television, remaining as casual as possible. As if you're not perched in his lap, lazily grinding your ass into him. "I want you to feel it."
His dejected huff is almost too loud, but nobody looks your way. Thank god Maverick likes his action films, your cover would have been blown a long time ago if this were a quiet, yearning romance.
Bob's head thumps against your shoulder, a faint noise bubbling out of him. The roar of the movie covers up the louder one that follows.
Frankly, that's the only thing fueling your to keep moving, grinding your ass into him in loose circles, in spite of the strain its putting on your thighs.
His arms curl around your waist, squeezing you as hard as he can, and you think that might be his teeth sinking into the back of your neck. Vaguely, you feel him twitch against your ass. Once, twice. A faint moan chases it.
You peer over your shoulder. "Did you just...?"
Bob's flushed face is the only answer you need. "I might've."
Thank you!! ^w^ This was so fun, haha
⭐Join my Starlight Stampede Event! ⭐
Moonlit Bull Riding — Send any kind of thought or request for your rider(s)
Bob Reynolds °.•☆
"Hurry up," you giggle into his mouth, clinging to his shoulders like a piece of Velcro. Every hesitant step backward feels like a risk, this is it, this is when the world spins and you fall right on your ass. As if the firm hands on your waist would ever let you—
You're falling.
The couch cushions greet you like a soft cloud. Until Bob's rock-solid body collapses on top of yours, knocking the air out of your chest.
"Robert!" You squeal, hammering a fist against his chest. He doesn't react.
Did he even feel that?
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," kisses flutter over your face, one after the other, far too sweet and chaste compared to the way his cock rests between your legs. "Are you okay?"
"Shockingly, yes," nothing feels broken, at least, otherwise you wouldn't be canting your hips up against him, unwilling to waste any more time than you already have. There's only so much time before his friends come knocking for a very, very scheduled movie night.
Friends who are more than capable of getting past a flimsy little lock.
But Bob is quick to kick back into gear, using his weight to smother you into the couch cushions and, in turn, dragging his weeping cock between your folds. His tip massages against your clit, rubbing back and forth in short little motions that have your knees fluttering, bumping against his hips.
"Bob," dragging out the vowel, you force your eyes to open, peering up at him. Pleading.
He reels back just far enough to catch on your entrance, pressing slightly, only to slip past it entirely and—
Cum spills onto your pussy without the slightest warning, his hitched moan breaking through the air like thunder after lightning. That's a sight you haven't seen in a while, his pretty cock twitching against you while his orgasm washes through him.
"Well, I didn't mean for you to hurry up like that," reaching up, you tap him on the nose. One, two, three times. He blinks with each one.
"Oops?"
Rhett Abbott °.•☆
There's a shiver in your hand as you draw his cock out from its confines, fueled on by the rumble of every car that drives past. The last of the rodeo crowd, heading off in their own directions, blissfully unaware that you're even here, wrapping your lips around the local rodeo champions dick.
"Fuck, that's it," Rhett grasps the back of your neck, gently squeezing, "'s your lil mouth always this fuckin' wet?"
It's a good question that you don't have the answer to. It feels like you're drooling, saliva spilling down the sides of his cock as you flick the tip of your tongue over his slit. There's only so much you can do to catch it before a mess begins to form, sinking down as quickly as you can.
"Shit, shit," he jumps, a spur chiming as he kicks his foot at the floorboard. It strikes the gas pedal; the engine roars.
Someone yelps. From the sidewalk, you think.
Drawing yourself back up to pay attention to his cock head, you can see Rhett fumbling around in the side mirror. He's tilting his head back, sliding that felt brown cowboy hat over his face, concealing his expression.
Muffled voices draw close.
You do the only thing you can think of.
You drop back down, urging yourself to relax as you take him further into your mouth. His tip brushes the back of your throat, sparking your gag reflex, spontaneously fluttering around him.
He gasps.
"Baby."
Cum paints your tongue. Flooding your mouth quicker than you can react, fighting to swallow it down without choking. Tears string at your eyes.
The hand on the back of your neck yanks you back up just as you begin to sputter, gasping for air.
"You," speaking in between breaths, your voice hardly audible, "are no better than a damn virgin."
And for once in his life, Rhett is too flustered to retort.
Bob Floyd °.•☆
Your mouth finds its way to the soft spot beneath his ear, sucking a light red mark into it before he has a chance to chastise you. Stupid Navy and their stupid, bone-headed need to keep him away from you for six whole months. Don't they know who he belongs to?
"Has anyone ever told you that you look hot in this uniform?" You muse aloud, half-assedly drawing him out of his slacks. This probably violates some kind of niche code, jerking off one of the Navy's best WSOs in his fancy little uniform.
"You," Bobby's groan is so much louder than it was over the phone, "every time I put it on."
A sloppy kiss lands further down his neck, not quite what you were going for. "Shhh, it was rhetorical."
His cock twitches in your hand. You've done something right.
The front door finally, finally clicks shut, effectively pronouncing Robert Floyd home for the first time in what must be a millennium. Such a return should at least warrant using the bed, but you're not suffering through another second without this, not after that excruciating drive home from the airport.
Bob's hands are on your face, drawing you to look at him. Eyes meet, and his lips crash into yours. Sloppy. No skill or technique to be found, burned away by the heat of the moment. Saliva drips between your mouths, his teeth nip at your bottom lip.
Your wrist twists, working just as recklessly as the rest of you. And maybe you would be able to find the reins of your compsure if Bob wasn't fucking himself into your fist, chasing you every step of the way. Sensitive. So, so, so sensitive. It's a wonder he doesn't—
He stills. Gasping into your mouth. Your hand is suddenly wet.
"Cumming already?" You tease, but you're already working him through it, flicking a thumb over his tip. Fuck, he just doesn't stop cumming, there's so much of it that it spills through your fingers as you spread it over his cock, makeshift lube.
"Oh my god," his eyes roll, lashes fluttering with an aftershock. "Give me...a minute. I don't want this to end, yet."
I've been thinking about this ever since you sent it 🥴
⭐Join my Starlight Stampede Event! ⭐
Moonlit Bull Riding — Send any kind of thought or request for your rider(s)
His shrill whine shatters the silence that has collected in the room. Box springs squeal as his hips jerk, chasing nothing but air.
"You stopped," he whimpers, like his whole world is about to end. "Why'd you stop?" And if you didn't know him any better, you would think Bob is genuinely upset about this crime you've committed against him.
Sweet blue eyes peer back at you, so wet that they glisten in the dull light pouring in through the window, courtesy of a streetlamp. Even in the dark, you can feel the weight of them tracing over your face, looking for a reason. An answer. Something he can fix.
They find nothing.
His foot kicks, grumbling low in his throat. Petulant.
Puppy eyes must be one of his superpowers.
Your hand wraps around his cock once more, returning to the lazy rhythm you'd built up prior to your little stunt, loose ups and downs, punctuated by the swipe of your thumb over his weeping tip. Fuck, he's so wet that you almost didn't need to tear open that packet of lube.
But you can still feel him looking at you. Waiting on the answer you've yet to give him.
"I was just messing with you," admitting it with a kiss on the tip of his nose, as if to atone for your crime.
Bob squirms closer, working his way up onto your pillow and pressing his forehead against yours. "Mean." The bridge of his nose wrinkles, his best attempt at showcasing his displeasure.
Your wrist twists. That expression dissolves from his face in a matter of milliseconds, eyes falling closed, sucking in a sharp breath.
"Like that?" You ask it like you don't already know what he likes.
"Uhuh," nodding, dumbly, a little noise slipping out of him. Its impossible not to repeat the motion, tightening your fist as it twists around his cock, jerking him off in earnest now.
His eyes roll, falling closed only for him to pry them open again, determined to keep looking at you. It's a losing battle, broken by the desperate twitch of his own hips. He just can't seem to stay still. He's wriggling like a damn worm, chasing your touch only to reel back from it, unsure of what he even wants.
Your thumb smooths over his cock head, rubbing one, two, three firm little circles into it. And oh, he gasps, keening all high and pitchy. Those thighs squeeze together, cock twitching in your hand.
"I...I'm..." Bob's mouth hangs open, tongue resting on his bottom lip, panting like a dog. His breath hitches, kicking his foot again.
"That's it," you hum; there's no need for him to finish his sentence, you already know. "Cum for me, baby."
His head tilts to the side, cheek squishing into the pillow, and your thumb swipes across his tip one last time, and—
Bob's body jerks, cumming with a drawn out whine that ought to wake whoever is sleeping on the other side of the wall. Whoever that is, you don't care. You can't think about anything other than this. The sight of his cum painting your hand, length twitching so hard that you reckon you can see the waves of his orgasm washing through his exhausted body.
"Shit," he's laughing through a gasp, cut short by his own moan. "That...oh my god."
"If you're not tired now," a yawn strikes before you can finish that thought, "then I don't know what to do with you."
Right on queue, a yawn wracks through him, so contagious that the mere sight of it sets him off. "I think I can sleep now."
For your celly…feeding the cows with Rhett Abbott. What’s a secret or hidden kink he has?
I had a little analytical response to this at first, but then I had a better idea 😇
🍑Come join the Fernwell Creek Farms Event! 🍑
Feed the Cows — Give me a prompt for your date(s) and I'll write a drabble with it
Features: AFAB! Reader
"What y' doin' here for, doll?" Rhett nudges his hat up, ambling through the long grass to meet you "Y' alright?"
Wordless, your hands flatten against his chest, the momentum of your body shoving his broad frame backward. His back hits the side of the truck, head thumping against the glass. Those thin lips part, sucking in a gasp.
"You can be a good boy for me, right?" You hum, reaching for his belt. One pinch, and it pops open.
His grimy hands reach for your waist, then jump away, held to the sky instead. "'m a damn mess, darlin'."
"Don't care," grinning, you fish him out of his jeans. Heavy, throbbing in your grasp. A pearl of precum already leaks from the tip. "I didn't drive all this way just to be scared of a little sweat and dirt."
And just like that, you're guiding his hands beneath your skirt. Rough fingertips wander over your ass, searching for the waistband of underwear that isn't there. Rhett's breath catches, a darkness appearing in those sky blue eyes.
For such a big man, he's easy to take to the ground, collapsing into the grass like an obedient puppy. You can't believe he even lets you do this, fucking him whenever you damn well please. He could stop you, but here you are, settling on top of him and guiding his cock into you, and he doesn't say a word to stop it.
"What—oh fuck, what made you want, mmh, made you want me so bad?" Rhett babbles, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle himself. It only lasts for a second, shattering into pieces the moment you begin to move.
"Spent too long staring at your new rodeo picture," pleasure fires through your nerves, fuck, he's the perfect size. Rubbing right against every little spot, cock head kissing that familiar bundle of nerves. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got a really nice ass?"
"Shit," his back arches up off the ground, eyes rolling. "I'll remember to start wearin' 'em more often then."
You laugh. "So you do like being used."
His whimper is the definition of guilty, high-pitched and drawling out of him nice and slow. Those hips buck up, bouncing you hard enough to feel like you're riding a damn bull. Strong. Another benefit from all those years of bull riding.
"Talk to me," grabbing him by the jaw, you lean closer, "or I might not let you cum."
DETAILS: THE SQUADROM MEETING YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME AT THE HARD DECK. and them also being super happy for bob after seeing how in love you guys are.
aaaa thank you! I'm having a lot of fun with this theme, I kind of want to use it again next year 🥰
⭐Join my Starlight Stampede Event! ⭐
Moonlit Bull Riding — Send any kind of thought or request for your rider(s)
"You made it!" Bob's arms are already around you, squeezing you into his chest, and suddenly, the excruciating drive to get here is worth it. But before you can fully sink into the hug, he's reeling back, warm hands cupping your cheeks. "Nobody gave you any trouble getting in, did they?"
"Nope," rolls off your tongue with such ease that you hardly realize you've spoken at all.
A kiss presses into the space between your brows, content with that one-word answer. "Good."
"Oh my god, you two are so cute!"
In a split second, the bar comes back into focus, nameless faces sipping on equally nondescript drinks, tossing darts in the back corner of the room. Pool balls audibly clack together, a cheer arises, then dies in the air.
…and this stranger's smile is unnerving.
Is this…Fanboy…?
"Now look what you did," a taller man emerges from the crowd, chewing on a toothpick. "They're getting shy!" Hangman. If the cracked helmet in his hand is anything to go by.
Another man appears to your left, offering you his hand. "Glad to finally meet you." His handshake is gentler than you anticipated, swift, too. He's there and gone in a matter of seconds, mouthing something to Bob that you don't understand, then vanishing back into the crowd.
"That was Coyote," Bob fills in, as if he could hear the question forming in your head. Then, turning toward a woman you hadn't noticed before, in the middle of tying her hair back into a bun. At least Natasha is easy to identify. "What's he doing again?"
"Something about stopping Jake from playing Slow Ride again?" But her attention is clearly locked onto one thing: getting this scrunchie wrangled around her hair.
You've got a sneaking suspicion this is related to the incident that gave Bobby a headache last night. Something something about the same song playing so many times that it began to feel like modern torture.
Natasha's eyes lock with yours. She freezes. "Wow, you are exactly how Bob described you."
"Oh?" This is news to your ears. How much has he said about you?
Bob is already shaking his head, reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if that will help him escape this newfound revelation. Guilty as can be.
"Oh yeah, he never shuts up about you," Fanboy chirps, before Bob can even begin to build his defense. "Do you know how long he can talk about one dinner date?"
All attention spins toward Robert himself, silent as a mouse as he continues shaking his head. His mouth opens, then closes. Building an argument, losing it in an instant. "I don't...do I...?" The longer he tries to talk, the redder his ears become, like something plucked straight out of a cartoon.
Another face steps forward, and the mustache is the only reason you know this is Bradley. "So this is the one Bob keeps going on and on about," he smiles, tilting his beer at you in greeting.
I'd like to request nebula bronc riding. Prompt: Pegging Robert Reynolds, Rhett Abbott
Thank you! ^^ I'm sorry that it took me so long to get to this one. I was saving my favorites for last 😔
Nebula Bronc Riding — Give me a prompt for your rider(s) and I'll write a drabble with it
Bob Reynolds
"There," pretty blue eyes widen like saucers. "There, there, there, ah—!"
His head falls back onto the pillow once more, legs shivering as you hoist them back over your shoulders. It's hard to believe he's even this flexible, knees to his chest, drooling cock trapped between his thighs.
And somehow, all six feet of him manages to look tiny.
"Are you sure you don't want the smaller strap, baby?" Tracing your fingers over his rim, stretched around a too-thick silicone cock. "You cute little ass can hardly take it."
He's whining before you've finished talking, his cock twitching. Your newfound theory is proving to be a little more correct than you initially thought.
"I want..." Bob gulps, squeezing his knees closer to himself, as if to try and fold himself in half. "I want it."
A shiver visibly ripples through him, meek little whimpers dissolving into something louder.
Now that you've found his prostate again, you're not leaving it alone, even for a second. Purposefully angling your hips to strike it, sacrificing the strength of your once carefully measured strokes. If the precum spilling onto his plush thighs is anything to go by, you reckon you can get him off from this alone.
But you're dying to see just how far your theory stretches.
Hooking your hands beneath his knees, you draw them apart. "Look," you coo, and there's something else you're about to say, a sweet little something to get him going, but Bob is already lifting his head.
You can see the moment his eyes land on it. The obscene sight of this thick pink toy, sinking into his cute ass, stretching him so fucking wide. You don't know how he's even gonna walk to the kitchen in the morning, let alone anything else.
A pitchy whimper falls off his tongue, and he's cumming without even a hint of warning.
So he does have a size kink.
Rhett Abbott
"Shit, shit," his hips buck like those bulls he rides for fun, damn near causing your strap to slip out of him entirely. "Just like that, fuck!"
Wind rushes past, your only reminder of where you are right now. Out here in the closed-off west pasture, miles upon miles of flat land and wire fences. There's nothing here to hide you. Just one person coming over that distant horizon is all it'll take to get caught.
But Rhett's babbling like he doesn't care if half the town is watching.
"Keep fuckin' me like that," his boot audibly kicks at the ground, stirring up another plume of dirt. "Keep...keep...oh."
"You're gonna get us caught, cowboy," squeezing greedy handfuls of his thighs, you lean forward, as close as you can get to his ear. Taunting. "You're supposed to be working, remember? Or do you want someone to see you getting bent over your own truck?"
Rhett glares at you from over his shoulder. Your hips snap back into him, and it dissolves, his eyes rolling as his mouth all but falls open. The groan rumbling out of his chest ought to be heard for miles.
His arms crumble out from beneath him, collapsing into the hood of his truck. He's clawing at it, searching for leverage that isn't there. The only thing it does for him is make more noise, a dull squeal of palms gliding over cool metal.
You draw yourself back, eager to get another look at the pale blue toy disappearing into his shaking ass. His favorite. Always a sucker for the long, oversized toys that leave him sore for days.
Something possesses you to seize one of his arms, forcing it back and between your bodies. And Rhett already knows what you're trying to do, sliding two fingers around the silicone, feeling where it disappears into him.
"I'm gonna cum again," he blurts, and his fist strikes the truck so hard that you worry it might leave a dent. "Fuck. Keep...keep..."
When did he cum the first time?
