Hot Cowboy Novels & Stories

Goldie hit the ground, the oozing stump of his left leg cut off at the knee, once fluffy tail now docked. "You fucking animal!" He'd shifted back, blood loss weakening him without the influence of a full moon. He looked like the type of man that would try to sell you a used mattress over Craigslist. "What kind of sick bastard loads with pure silver?" The barrel pressed against Blondielock's forehead. In all my twenty-six years of living on this earth, I had never seen the infamous Midnight Cowboy. He was smaller than I expected.

"That witch!" He rumbled coldly kicking the huge stone causing it to splash into the water. It was because of her he had to take a cab from the hospital earlier. And that bloody driver dropped him on the highway, saying he can't go any further. There were no f*cking signals. He had to walk on his feet for a while before swallowing down his pride and asking for a ride from someone. The man who felt humiliated sitting in a mere cab had to ask for a lift. Such a shame. His Mustang must be very disappointed in him. It was all because of that hazel-eyed witch. He couldn't even shift in that area because of the wolf hunters in the woods.

The scent of oil, gasoline, and rusted metal. A truck. One of the old freight rigs used by outlaw crews to move “cargo”. He was the cargo. Luca swallowed a groan as he lifted his head. His vision swayed. A light flickered above him — broken, unstable, like the heartbeat of a dying star. He tried to move his arms. The chains tightened. Not normal cuffs — reinforced. Someone knew exactly how strong he could be when cornered. Heavy boots approached. Luca’s breath caught. A silhouette stepped into the flickering light.

I stroke her arm, from elbow to wrist, again and again. — I'll never forget tonight, she says. — Me neither. — Even in a hundred years. — In a hundred years, I'll be dead. — Then I'll remember for both of us. I laugh softly. — You're romantic. — So are you, you know. — No. I'm pragmatic. — You're romantic. You hide it, but you are. — Maybe. — Definitely. The hotel appears. Magnificent, illuminated, majestic. Its windows shine like benevolent eyes. Its marbles gleam under the moon.

It’s Carl, my bus driver. “Kyaria, this is Carl. He drives the bus.” I say, introducing her. “Hi.” She squeaks out. Carl just looks at her and nods. I am sure I saw a half-smile on his face. I can understand why she was staring. Carl is very intimidating. He is a huge guy. He is bigger than Trevor. Carl has to be 6’11” and close to 300lbs of solid muscle. He can be scary as hell. Kyaria looked like a tiny ant standing next to him. Carl walked to the front of the bus. Kyaria went over and started getting her computer and camera equipment arranged. I wonder over and look at all the equipment she brought with her. I never realized that all this is needed for taking pictures.

Then I see Jackson here and I’m so happy because he has yet to find a partner just arriving himself. “Want to team up?” I ask him. “Yeah, sure. Just go easy on me huh?” He laughs nervously. “Well, I won’t hurt you too bad Jackson.” I giggle. “Great... Can we have a safe word?” “Are you serious?!” I’m laughing until I see his facial expression, oh he was serious alright. “Fine our word will be… Cat.” “Why cat?” He asks. “Well, I can’t let you tap out and yell pussy now, can I?” I start laughing hysterically.

I’m gonna ride till I can’t no more I’m gonna take my horse to the old town road I’m gonna ride till I can’t no more I got the horses in the back Horse tack is attached Hat is matte black Got the boots that’s black to match Ridin on a horse, Ha You can whip your Porsche I been in the valley You ain’t been up off that porch, Now Can’t nobody tell me nothin You can’t tell me nothin Can’t nobody tell me nothin You can’t tell me nothin Ridin in a tractor Leanin on my bladder Cheated on my baby You can go and ask her My life is a movie Bull riding and boobies Cowboy hat from Gucci Wranglers on my booty Can’t nobody tell me nothin You can’t tell me nothin Can’t nobody tell me nothin You can’t tell

man I just locked eyes with. Nightcrawler. Somehow it makes perfect sense. The pale, dead skin, red eyes that looked like it had never embraced sleep for at least a thousand years now, and that creepy, endless grin he keeps throwing at me makes my whole body shudder in fear. I reek of it, and the nightcrawler more than anyone else could fucking tell as his grin went impossibly wider, stretching to his sharp-edged ears. What a creep. "Fucking wear your seatbelt, Ava!" I snap my wide eyes at Hunter as he punched the gas, ultimately running over the nightcrawler blocking our path. I can't stop the squeal from escaping my throat as I felt the car hit its body with the loudest thud before it roll

because regardless of their uniform for the evening, they always have a white cowboy hat, like a hero from an old spaghetti western. And just like characters from westerns, they all have ridiculous sounding nicknames that they use in lieu of their names–like “The Kid” or “Steel Toe Joe” or “Whiplash Jake”, a tip of the hat, so to speak, to Diamond Devine’s country background.

I look up from my drink and see the cowboy grinning at me. “Hey,” he starts. “Did it hurt?” “Excuse me?” I ask and take a sip of my drink. “Did it hurt?” he repeats. “When you fell from Heaven?” I blink once. Twice. He’s trying to be ironic, right? Carefully setting the drink down on the bar top, I realize he’s serious. “Not at all,” I answer. “Because I clawed my way out of the bowels of Hell.” “Hah. Good one. I haven’t heard that before.”