Don't Fight It (Sample Chapters Only)

Chapter 3

"Night, Papa." Arianna kissed Tuck's cheek, after he'd squatted down for her.

He hugged her tightly before releasing her. "Night, pumpkin. Don't forget to brush your teeth."

"I won't."

Tuck watched her skip out of the extra-large kitchen and head for the stairs, before turning back to the dirty dishes piled up in the sink and on the counter. It was his night to clean them, while Shane read Arianna a few bedtime stories, and Tuck would rather be doing anything else but the dishes. The two men had been swapping the cooking and cleaning chores since Hannah had left for Oklahoma two weeks ago, and Tuck hoped his husband found someone to replace her soon. For the past fifteen days, breakfasts on the ranch had consisted of cold cereal, followed by fried bologna or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, and steak or chicken and baked potatoes on the grill for dinner. That was the extent of the culinary talents of any of the men who lived and worked on the Red River Ranch. The one woman they'd hired to replace their elderly housekeeper had lied about her cooking skills, which they'd discovered during the first meal she'd attempted to prepare. Tuck had thought the fried pork chops she'd made couldn't get any worse than looking like burnt hockey pucks, until everyone tasted them. Apparently, she'd mistaken a bag of powdered sugar for flour. That, topped off with raw potatoes, which she'd forgotten to turn the oven on for, had been the dinner from hell. Needless to say, she was fired, but not before she'd come on to both Tuck and Shane.

Rolling up the sleeves of the long-sleeved T-shirt he'd donned with sweatpants after a shower before dinner, he turned on the faucet, grabbed a sponge and the bottle of dish soap, and began scrubbing. As he worked his way through the dirty dishes, utensils, and glasses, he thought back to when Sarah had been alive and doing the dishes hadn't felt like a boring chore. Every night, after Arianna had gone to bed, Sarah had washed the dishes while Shane and Tuck had dried and put them all away. They'd chat about how their day had gone, what was new in the small-town rumor mill, and any other topics that came up. More often than not, the work had turned into play. Sometimes Sarah flicked water and suds at her husbands, or one of them snapped a towel at someone's ass, or any other silliness, and it wasn't long before they moved the fun into their huge master bedroom.

Damn, he missed Sarah. Two years felt like two months to Tuck. He didn't think he'd ever get over the loss. If it hadn't been for Shane and Arianna, he doubted he would've gotten out of bed those first few months, and then he probably would have drunk himself to death, like his grandfather had done years ago.

After forcing the depressing thoughts from his mind, Tuck was scrubbing the last of the forks and knives when strong, masculine arms wrapped around his waist, and he felt a hard, sculpted chest against his back. Goosebumps pebbled over his skin as his husband kissed and nibbled on his neck. Tuck's arms went slack, his hands dropping below the waterline in the sink, as he tilted his head to the side, giving Shane better access. Moaning, he shifted his hips, rubbing his ass on Shane's stiff erection and wishing there weren't two layers of clothing between them. The two men were the same height and general weight, but that's where the similarities between them ended. Tuck's longer, dark-brown hair and hazel eyes were courtesy of his British and Canadian heritage, while Shane's dark Irish and Greek DNA gave him his black hair and chestnut eyes.

Grasping the hem of Tuck's shirt, Shane whispered, "Lift your arms." When he followed the directive, Shane pulled the shirt up and over his head, then tossed it onto the counter next to the sink. Arianna must have fallen asleep during story time—she was a deep sleeper—because Shane pushed Tuck's sweatpants and briefs down to his knees. Letting his husband take the lead like he preferred, Tuck stood there. As expected, Shane knelt behind him and kneaded his ass cheeks before separating them. Tuck's eyes fluttered shut, his hands gripping the edge of the sink for support when Shane's tongue rimmed his asshole. A hand snaked around Tuck's hips and grabbed his stiff cock, pumping it in time to the wet, thrusting tongue.