Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

“Why the blindfold?” Ash stood and waved his arms around, trying to get his balance. “This another game?”

Slate smoothed the blue T-shirt over Ash’s stomach, unable to resist touching him once more. Wouldn’t be the last time that day, he was sure. While he was there, he went for broke, cupping Ash’s erection through his jeans. “You sure you want food to eat?” he crooned. “I could give you something else to eat.”

Ash chuckled. “I bet you could, and I bet you will. But first, I’m starving, Slate. Feels like I haven’t eaten in—”

Slate held his breath.

“Months,” Ash finished. “Breakfast wasn’t all that long ago, was it?”

“Just about four hours,” Slate lied. It pained him to do so. He just hadn’t thought. Moving fast, and he prayed, mostly soundlessly, he folded the fragile spell parchment with a wince and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll undo you when we get back to the house.”

“So you have to lead me?” Ash grinned, almost a leer. “I like this kind of game. You want me to call you ‘Master’, now? I could go for that.”

“No! No, babe, don’t do that.” Slate cupped Ash’s cheek. Ash pressed a kiss against his wrist. “Just be yourself, all right?” The Ash I want. “Play along with me until we’re inside. That’s all I ask.” It had been a crazy idea, but the best he could come up with on short notice.

“Yes…Master,” Ash said wickedly. He grinned like a devil caught mid-dance and waggled his tongue in Slate’s direction. “You just get me in, feed me up, and I’ll do anything you say to do.”

Slate shut his eyes tight for a brief moment. Talk like that shouldn’t go straight to his cock, but damned if it didn’t. “Follow me.” He took Ash by the hand, the warm, dry hand, and led him toward the entrance of the barn.

“Hey,” Ash asked, “where’s Brown Sugar? Thought she was down here in her paddock.”

“Zillah took her out for some exercise.” It troubled Slate, how easily the lies were coming to him, but like everything else in the world, practice was making perfect. “Marianne’s busy glazing this afternoon.”

“Since when does Zillah know how to ride?”

“Where have you been?” Slate swatted the back of Ash’s head, glad he couldn’t see how he winced. Truth be told, Zillah had bought the filly, saying she’d learn how to ride the sweet old girl and warning him that the second Slate wanted her back, she’d sell back at a loss. At the time, he’d thought he’d never want to see the horse again. Idiot. He hadn’t thought. He should have thought.

He led Ash carefully through the yard, avoiding any upturned clumps of earth he might bump into. Ash sniffed cheerfully. “I smell leather,” he said. “Did you sneak in some work on your projects for the arts fair while I was asleep?”

“You know me. Work, work, work.”

Ash managed to elbow him. “We’re gonna have to teach you how to relax.” He breathed in again. “My herbs. God, they smell sweet. I must be downwind of them. Remind me to go check the violets later? They’re delicate as hell. Gotta be careful of them.”

Slate flinched. “Delicate, you said? And do you have to check them today? You can’t do that tomorrow, maybe?” Tomorrow, when it would be too late.

“Oh, maybe.” Ash shook his head. “It’s all so clean. And I don’t hear any animals. Not the nanny goat, not the hens. Did something happen to them?”

“Nothing at all. They’re just napping. It’s high noon, when all God’s creatures should be asleep.” Except us. Slate nudged Ash to get him moving again. “Inside, you. I’ve got a good mess of stuff to feed you up with.”

Did he? His mind raced. Eggs, they had eggs. He’d bought a carton. There would be frozen sausage patties. Some bacon a neighboring farmer had dropped by, fresh and thick-cut in peppered slices. Did he have biscuit makings? Enough coffee to make the old-fashioned way Ash loved?

Oh, God, the coffee pot! It’d have a year’s worth of dust inside it, and none of the leavings. Ash had always sworn that you had to start with the last bits of an old pot to make it the right strength and texture. Thick enough to chew, and it would—Slate almost laughed out loud—wake up a dead man.

They had reached the back door. Time to go inside and find out what was what. Either Ash would believe his storytelling and think nothing had changed at all. He’d stuff the man with food, then take him upstairs to bed and fuck away the day and the night, with breaks for holding one another and for conversation.

That, or Ash would suss out something had gone wrong, and he’d demand answers. Oh, God, Slate didn’t know what to say if Ash started to questioning him. He couldn’t tell the truth. Ash wouldn’t understand. Would he?