He Pinned Me to the Pickup After the Honky Tonk

I pushed through the swinging doors of the Rusty Spur on Sixth Street just after ten, boots sticking to the beer soaked floor while George Strait played loud from the speakers. The place smelled like whiskey and sweat, and I needed a drink after a long week unloading freight at the warehouse. I slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and ordered a Shiner. That was when he appeared beside me, tall with thick arms filling out a faded denim shirt, dark stubble along his jaw. "You new around here?" he asked, voice low and warm like Texas summer nights. "Name's Ryan." I told him mine was Cole and we clinked bottles, his fingers brushing mine on purpose.

We talked for two rounds about trucks and the heat wave hitting the Hill Country. Ryan leaned in close when the music got louder, his thigh pressing solid against mine on the stool. "You got that look like you want to get out of here," he said, eyes dropping to my mouth. I nodded once and followed him through the back exit into the gravel lot behind the bar. His black pickup sat under a flickering streetlight, the cab already warm from the day. He opened the passenger door and I climbed in, heart hammering when he slid behind the wheel and killed the engine.

Ryan turned toward me, one big hand cupping the back of my neck. "Been watching you since you walked in," he muttered before his mouth covered mine. The kiss tasted like beer and salt, his tongue pushing deep while his free hand slid under my t shirt to grip my waist. I grabbed his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle there, and pulled him closer across the bench seat. Our belts clinked together as he shifted, pressing the growing bulge in his jeans against my hip. The windows fogged fast in the humid night air.

He yanked my shirt off first, then unbuttoned his own so I could run my palms over the dark hair covering his chest. Ryan groaned when I pinched one nipple and reached down to pop open my fly. His rough fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking slow and firm from base to tip while he watched my face. "Fuck, you're thick," he breathed. I bucked into his grip and reached for him too, freeing his heavy length. We jerked each other in the close space, precome slicking our palms, the wet sounds mixing with our breathing.

Ryan pushed me back against the door and bent down, taking me into his mouth without warning. The heat and suction made my head thunk against the glass. He worked me deep, tongue swirling under the head, one hand cupping my balls while the other braced on my thigh. I threaded fingers through his short hair and thrust shallow, feeling his throat open around me. Saliva ran down my shaft and he swallowed it back with a hungry sound that vibrated straight through me.

I pulled him up for another kiss, tasting myself on his tongue, then shoved his jeans lower so I could get my hand around him again. He was longer than me, curved slightly, and leaked steadily onto my fingers. "Backseat," he growled, already climbing over the console. I followed, kicking my boots off, and landed on the worn leather with him on top. Ryan grabbed a small bottle from the glovebox, slicked us both, and lined up, pressing the blunt head of his cock against me in steady pressure.

He slid in slow, stretching me open inch by inch until his hips met my ass and we both cursed at the tight fit. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he started moving, long deep strokes that rocked the whole truck. Every thrust rubbed right where I needed it. Ryan braced one hand on the window and used the other to stroke my cock in time with his hips. Sweat dripped from his chest onto my stomach. "Harder," I told him, and he snapped forward, filling the cab with the slap of skin and our grunts.

We came almost together, him first, pulsing hot inside me while his fist tightened around my shaft. I followed seconds later, shooting across my own chest and his knuckles. Ryan stayed buried deep, breathing hard against my neck, then eased out and wiped us both with an old bandana from the dash. We lay tangled for a minute in the steamy cab, his weight solid and comforting. "My place is ten minutes away," he said eventually. "Got a bed bigger than this seat." I grinned and reached for my shirt, already knowing I was going with him.