Free The Cowboy Poet by Claire Thompson

Tyler‘s hands were free, and he brought his arms around Clint, whose rough, calloused fingers were moving over his body, soothing the skin he‘d struck a moment before.
Tyler couldn‘t remember feeling more aroused in his entire life, or more…grateful. Still trembling, he sank to his knees. With shaking fingers, he tugged at Clint‘s belt buckle and pulled at the buttons of his jeans. Clint didn‘t stop him, nor did he help. He put his hands on Tyler‘s shoulders, staring down at him with that wolfish smile.
Tyler pulled at Clint‘s underwear and Clint‘s cock sprang free, erect and dripping. Hungrily, Tyler closed his mouth over its girth, taking it in as deep as he could before sliding back, his tongue dancing along the smooth, taut flesh.
He sucked with abandon, as if he could take the whole of Clint into himself, as if they could become one person. Lust, gratitude and a curious, powerful joy threatened to overwhelm his senses. He forced himself to focus on pleasing the man standing before him, aware of his own cock rubbing against Clint‘s denim-clad leg with each deep-throated kiss.
It wasn‘t long before Clint was coming, shuddering and arching against Tyler, his hand on the back of Tyler‘s head as he climaxed. Tyler sucked and licked, eagerly swallowing Clint‘s cum. He turned his head so his cheek rested against Clint‘s bared thighs, his heart beating in time to the throb in his cock.
Clint reached down, stroking Tyler‘s hair, pushing the matted, sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead. Tyler felt he could stay there forever, his arms around this amazing man. He felt a tenderness that was new to him, especially in the context of the kind of sex he had just shared with Clint. When Wayne had used him and roughed him up a bit, Tyler had been exhilarated, frightened, even thrilled. He‘d been grateful for whatever Wayne cared to toss his way, while also deeply ashamed that he craved it so bad. But this was different, so different. He looked up at Clint, making sure he was really there, and not just some much longed-for dream.
My, oh my, Clint said, looking down at him with a smile. That was amazin‘ boy. Now it‘s your turn. I want to make you come.
Uh, looks like we might be a little late. Embarrassed, Tyler looked down at his gooey cock and back up at Clint with a sheepish smile. Sorry about your boots, Sir.
Not to worry, Ty, Clint laughed. You‘ll be lickin‘ em clean.

Chapter 5
    This here‘s where we keep our tanks. Lucky Harding, a tall man with a bald head and a long, drooping gray mustache, led Clint and Tyler into a small building off the main barn. The door was padlocked, and they waited while he dug into his pocket for the key.
    Clint and Tyler had awoken early, setting the mattresses back in their frames and taking turns in the tiny shower stall before heading into town for breakfast. Upon their return to Harding‘s ranch, they‘d been greeted by the owner, who apologized for being absent the day before. They exchanged the requisite small talk before getting down to the heart of their visit.
    I can‘t believe the day‘s come where I got to lock stuff up, but that‘s the modern world for you. Lucky frowned and shrugged as he opened the padlock. He moved toward the large study metal shelves where several rows of semen tanks stood. He pointed to a medium-sized tank labeled Mama’s Boy . This one here‘s worth quite a pretty penny. That bull‘s sperm has impregnated half the cows this side of Abilene. We sell in New Mexico and Colorado too. Lucky patted the canister with a look of satisfaction.
    We had a tank go missin‘ too, with prize quality semen, same as Mama‘s Boy there. Clint nodded toward the shelf. The odd thing of it is, we keep a watchful eye back at our place. Ain‘t no one comin‘ or goin‘ that we don‘t recognize on sight. How about you? You had any strangers millin‘ about the place? Anything unusual you can pinpoint during the time your tanks