Chapter 1: Licking Clean, A Himbo's Devotion
The heat in the hayloft was thick, trapped under the slanted roof where dust motes swam in the bars of late afternoon sun cutting through the cracks. It smelled of dry rot, old sweat, and the sweet, dry scent of trampled straw.
Kaidan shivered, the tiny bell around his throat giving a feeble tink as he tried to press his knees together.
“Blade, don’t,” he whispered, his voice barely a thread of sound. The rough wood of the feed bale dug into his bare back. The stupid cow-print bikini top they made him wear felt tighter than a rebuke.
But Blade wasn’t listening. He never really listened to words, only to the language of body and need. His huge, calloused hands, gentle as they were implacable, wrapped around Kaidan’s pale, trembling thighs and pressed them apart again. The resistance was nothing to him; Kaidan might as well have been trying to hold back the tide.
“Gotta clean you up,” Blade murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate up through the floorboards. He’d shucked his vest, his tan skin sheened with a light sweat. The worn cowboy hat they gave him was tossed aside, his brown cow ears twitching forward with focus.
Kaidan squeezed his sky-blue eyes shut, humiliation burning his cheeks. He could still feel the sticky, cold trickle on his inner thighs, the evidence of his failure. The overseer’s sneer was like a brand in his mind. Useless. Not even a full ounce. Pathetic. The punishment had been swift, clinical, and cold—a hose-down in the milking stall while the others watched. Blade had watched too, his big green eyes wide with confusion, not cruelty. He just didn’t get it.
“It’s not… it’s dirty, Blade. It’s punishment.” Kaidan’s words hitched.
Blade just nuzzled the soft skin of Kaidan’s thigh, his coarse hair tickling. “Ain’t dirty. It’s you.”
And then his tongue, warm and broad, swept a firm, wet stripe from knee to groin.
Kaidan gasped, a jolt going through him that was equal parts shame and shocking, unwelcome pleasure. His small tail gave a frantic swish against the straw. “Stop…”
Blade didn’t stop. He lapped with a slow, thorough dedication, like he was savoring something precious. His tongue cleaned away the salty, bitter residue, but he didn’t stop at clean. He pressed closer, his breath hot, his nose bumping against Kaidan’s small, soft dick. Kaidan whimpered, fingers scrabbling in the straw. He wanted to push that big, stupid head away. He wanted to arch into that mouth and beg for more.
“See?” Blade lifted his head, a simple, sunny smile on his face. His lips were glistening. “Tastes good. Tastes like you. Sweet.”
“You’re an idiot,” Kaidan breathed, but there was no force behind it. The heat in his gut was coiling tight, shamefully responsive. Blade lived in a different world, one where a taste was just a taste, where love was this simple, physical act of consumption. He didn’t see the degradation, only the closeness.
“My idiot,” Blade corrected easily, and dove back in.
This time, he took Kaidan fully into his mouth. Kaidan cried out, a sharp, broken sound lost in the dusty loft. Blade’s mouth was searingly hot, unimaginably soft. He suckled with a contented, humming patience, his massive hands stroking the outsides of Kaidan’s thighs, holding him open and still. He was terrible at this, by design—all instinct, no technique. It was overwhelming. It was everything.
Kaidan’s horns knocked back against the wood as he trembled. He tangled one hand in Blade’s thick brown hair, not to guide, just to hold on. The other hand clutched at the itchy straw beneath him. The world narrowed to the wet heat of Blade’s mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the absolute, unquestioning devotion in the act. He came too fast, with a choked-off sob, his body bowing up off the bale.
Blade swallowed, easy as taking a drink of water. He rested his cheek on Kaidan’s thigh, nuzzling there. His green eyes, half-lidded and happy, gazed up. “Better?”
Kaidan couldn’t speak. He was floating, shattered, the aftershocks mingling with the dread of the evening headcount. He slid a trembling hand from Blade’s hair to cup his jaw, thumb stroking over his full, damp lower lip. Blade turned his head and kissed the palm, a slow, damp press.
A heavy boot crunched on gravel outside, far below. They both froze. The overseer’s voice, a cigarette-roughened bark, carried on the still air. “…check the loft later. Might be rats.”
Another voice, laughing. The footsteps faded.
The moment shattered. Reality seeped back in, cold and sharp. Kaidan pushed weakly at Blade’s shoulder. “Get up. They’ll come.”
Blane stood in one smooth, powerful motion, pulling Kaidan up with him. He righted Kaidan’s bikini top with a clumsy tenderness, his fingers fumbling with the tiny tie. He picked up his hat and settled it back over his horns, the gesture making him look heartbreakingly young.
“Tonight?” Blade asked, his voice a low rumble. He meant their secret, silent nights curled together in Blade’s assigned stall, a fortress of limbs and shared warmth.
Kaidan looked at him—at this beautiful, simple, massive creature who saw love where there was only ownership, who tasted punishment and called it sweet. He adjusted the bell around his own neck, the cold metal a familiar weight.
“Yeah,” Kaidan whispered, forcing a small, shaky smile. “Tonight.”
But as he followed Blade toward the loft ladder, his bare feet silent on the warped wood, a cold certainty settled in his gut. The overseer hadn’t been talking about rats. They were the rats. And the trap was always, always being set.