The morning sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, drenching the Cocky Cowboy’s naked, sweat-slicked body in golden light. He stood still, breath heavy, cock still sensitive, balls hanging low, lazily swaying with the gentle thrum of exhaustion. His muscles ached in the most delicious way, his hole still pulsing, tender and stretched.
The Adventures of the Cocky Cowboy: Bent Over Luxury High in the Mountains – Gay Sex Story by Maxwell Alexander – Presented by Duncan Avenue Studios
Before him, the mountains stretched endlessly, bathed in morning light, bearing witness to the absolute filth that had gone down in this glass-walled luxury escape. The plush rugs, the designer furniture, the scent of expensive leather and fresh-cut cedar—all of it now carrying the memory of two men fucking like animals in heat.
Jason.
Cocky smirked, pressing a hand against the cool glass, his reflection staring back at him—marked, used, wrecked in the best way possible. His lips were still swollen from Jason’s brutal kisses, his chest covered in the faint scratches of a man who knew how to claim.
The memories hit hard and wet—a slow exhale, and suddenly, he was back in it:
Jason’s hot, demanding mouth, sucking him like a man who had gone too long without a proper meal. His tongue laving over the head, teasing, swirling, before taking him all the way down in one slow, devastating motion. Cocky had arched, fisting Jason’s dark, sweat-dampened hair, guiding his rhythm until he was nothing but a whimpering mess, his abs flexing, his thighs trembling.
But Jason wasn’t done.
He had grinned, lips slick and red, before moving lower, spreading Cocky open like a feast. Tongue teasing, licking, spitting, until Cocky was pressing back, begging—raw, desperate, aching to be filled.
And fuck, Jason had filled him.
Bent over the glass, the world spread out below them, Cocky had taken Jason’s cock inch by inch, feeling every vein, every throb, every merciless push deeper. Jason had growled in his ear, his voice husky and laced with sin, telling him how fucking perfect he looked like this—spread, dripping, needy for it.
The first thrust had been excruciatingly slow, stretching him open, letting him feel it. The second had been harder. By the third, Jason was fucking him like he owned him.
Cocky’s moans had fogged up the glass as Jason’s hips snapped against his ass, his thick cock hitting just right, dragging over that spot that made Cocky’s vision blur. The sound of skin on skin, the deep, possessive grunts, the way Jason’s fingers dug into his waist, holding him in place, controlling the pace, forcing him to take it all—it was pure bliss, pure filth, pure fucking heaven.
And then there was the table.
Jason had flipped him over onto the marble slab, spreading his legs wide, palming his ass like he owned it. Cocky had arched, licking his lips as Jason lined up, teasing him before slamming inside, fucking him deep, relentless, perfect.
He had watched Jason through half-lidded, blissed-out eyes, taking in the way his muscles flexed, the way his jaw clenched, the way his cock disappeared over and over into Cocky’s wrecked, slick hole.
They had destroyed that cabin.
The walls had echoed with their moans, the glass had been hot with their sweat, and the thick, musky scent of sex still lingered in the air.
Cocky’s hand drifted down his taut, sculpted abdomen, brushing over the deep red bite marks Jason had left along his hip bone.
Would there be a next time?
Hell yes.
He grinned at his reflection, adjusting his white Stetson, his body still glistening with the remnants of last night’s sin.
Yeah. He was gonna need another ride real soon.
Maybe on the outdoor deck this time.
With the mountains watching.
