Free Karen Mercury by The Wild Bunch [How the West Was Done 5] Page B

Chess. “And try these. Let’s go over here.” Taking Chess by the arm, they took their armloads of items into a back storeroom, where they shoved out a clerk. Spenser rolled a barrel of raw beans in front of the door.
    Chess frowned. “What’s wrong?”
    “Bullet Bob. You know that fellow I mistook you for, that gambling frog, that theater manager? Well, for some bizarre reason, he offered me the part of Hamlet’s father but only if you show up with me.” Spenser didn’t want to tell Chess he’d been given the boot at the Wavy Stick. It might look as though he was trying to get a new job out of Chess.
    “What? That dandy’s got some sort of case on for me. Well, I’d like you to get the part, of course. But he gives me the creeps.”
    “Well, I don’t think that’s what he wants, actually. He seems to…to worship you in some strange way. He called you Zeus. He gives me the creeps too, Chess. But yes. I do want that part.”
    Chess’s mouth turned up at the corners, which was as much of a smile as Spenser had ever hoped to get. “Maybe he’d like to suck your cock.”
    “He doesn’t seem to be interested in me, other than to get to you. Here. These chaps should be much better. Protect you from thorny bushes. Once you decide on your cattle brand, you can stamp it onto these washers.” Spenser dropped to his knees to assist in fastening the washers with thongs all down Chess’s leg, and Chess fondled his head.
    “You’re so good to me,” said Chess, with a hint of wonder. As though no one had ever fastened up his chaps for him before.
    “No big deal,” said Spenser curtly. “It’s not difficult to be good to you.” It really wasn’t. He got a chance to put his hands around the powerful thighs, and his face was practically shoved in the bared crotch between the chaps. Chess’s cock bulged proudly in his denim pants, pulsating at the proximity to Spenser’s face.
    Chess toyed with the other items Spenser had thrown onto the pile. “What’re these leather cuffs for?”
    “They protect your shirt cuffs against reins and ropes—if you choose not to wear gloves.” Spenser did up the washer at Chess’s hip, giving him a chance to cradle the full ballsac in his palm and gently squeeze. Yes, the cock elongated at his touch. Spenser was filled with a proud sense of power, to be able to manipulate such a virile buck like this, to get such an immediate reaction. He could easily just pop those buttons and swallow the cock whole, but Spenser had other ideas in mind.
    He wanted to be spanked, bound, toyed with, and whipped by a brawny stud in chaps and spurs. That was his fantasy since that older vaquero had convinced the bunch of hands to masturbate on his writhing, bound body. The older vaquero had later drained Spenser’s eager penis with his mouth, but it was Spenser’s dream to be dominated by a masculine stud in chaps and spurs.
    “Let’s try them.”
    That had been Spenser’s perverted hope, of course, and Chess now yanked him to his feet. He stood obediently as Chess laced the cuffs at Spenser’s wrists.
    “Have you seen Fidelia?” Chess asked casually.
    “Yes. And her brother, Ulrich.”
    Chess’s fingers stilled, and only his eyes moved to glance up at Spenser. “Brother? He’s dead. Fact, she thought I was his murderer until I showed her my train ticket.”
    “Oh, he’s dead all right.” Chess went back to his lacing. Spenser tilted his hips toward the other man, displaying his desire. “He’s back in spirit form.”
    Chess really did chuckle now. It was a magnificent sight in the rugged, handsome face—a sight Spenser didn’t see in Chess often. Chess glanced about, easily finding a reata he could thread through the cuffs, and tossed the ends expertly over a beam. As though he did this every day. Which he probably did.
    Yanking on the reata ends so Spenser’s bound hands lifted in the air above his head, Chess said, “Spirit form, eh? Perhaps he’s the one who’s been