“My mother used to run the hose in the backyard to make a mud pit, and we’d sit there and make mud pies.” The mud felt so cool on those hot summer days. “She always said mud was good for the skin. And I quote: ‘All kids should get dirty, especially little girls.’ ”
“I can hear her saying that.” He laughed, catching my hand. He examined my dirt-embedded fingernails. “So she would love this.”
“She’d be thrilled,” I confirmed as he turned my palm up and ran his thumb across my love line. I shivered. “I bet your mom thinks all that playing in the dirt paid off in the end. Look how awesome this place is.”
He traced another line down the center of my hand, then looked off into the distance. “Let’s go make sure there’s some eggs left for you, before they’re all gone.”
He didn’t say anything else about his mom, and I didn’t ask. We headed down the hill toward the barn, Leo carrying my basket for me, our arms brushing occasionally.
It felt nice.
There were a few cartons of eggs left, and I was delighted to see that they not only were a beautiful speckled brown, but there were a few pale blue eggs tucked inside. My share that week also yielded a big wheel of local farm cheese, a pound of fresh butter, some locally raised trout, and two roasting chickens. And some of that thick-cut Maxwell bacon. I did enjoy a thick-cut Maxwell.
By the time we finished up, the parking lot was nearly empty. It was almost dusk, and as he said good-bye to the last stragglers, I wandered into the back corner of the original dairy barn, with its enormous stone silo. It now housed a reading bench, a bookshelf, and a collection of framed photographs spanning the history of the farm. I stood in the doorway, marveling at the workmanship that had gone into the silo. How perfectly constructed it was, with a nod here and there to design, even though it was made to simply store grain.
I heard Leo saying good night to some of the guys who worked the farm, then heard his footsteps. Which came to stop just behind me. I walked through the old oaken doorway of the silo, and he followed. Once the door closed behind us, it was quiet. And dark.
“So which came first, the barn or the silos?” I asked, looking at the soaring stone walls. Perfectly cylindrical, the four silos were almost three stories tall and could be seen from all over the farm.
“The barn,” Leo answered, walking toward me.
I backed away slightly, letting my gaze linger on the stone walls, and not the farmer who was now circling behind me.
“And when did you say the barn was constructed?” I asked, moving closer to the curved wall.
“Weren’t you paying attention on the tour the other day?”
I traced the line of one of the fieldstones, fitting my fingertip into the groove between it and the one on top. Though the day had been warm, inside the silo the stones were cool. “I was mostly paying attention,” I admitted.
“Mostly?” he asked, now directly behind me.
I shivered a bit, and not from the cool rock wall. I could feel the heat of him on my body, not yet touching, but fitting against my skin.
“I was a little”—I inhaled sharply, as those strong hands lifted my hair off my left shoulder, leaving my freckled skin exposed—“distracted,” I finished weakly.
Because now he bent his head down to my skin, nuzzling into my hair. Little flickers of desire were starting to smolder all over. Thinking someone felt the same attraction you were feeling was one thing; knowing that it was mutual was an entirely different kind of awesome. His nose brushed against my shoulder, and my fingers opened wide against the stone.
He pressed one solitary kiss into the hollow between my shoulder and neck, and my brain went a bit fuzzy. His lips, warm and wet, continued a path up along my neck, dragging his mouth, a little bit nibbling and a lot bit incredible.
His hands settled on my hips, curving around and up as his thumbs brushed the skin exposed by the dip in my dress. My back arched as my body reacted to having him so close. Once again he nuzzled at my neck, his breath now heavy in my ear.
“If you still want to talk about construction dates and historical significance, I’m happy to oblige,” he told me, then swept another line of kisses along my jawline.
I turned my head to let the man do the job he was clearly so good at. “I like history,” I replied, my voice husky.
“History . . .” he said, closing his mouth around my pulse point. Pretty sure my heart tried to move closer to his lips. “. . . has its place.”
“I like the present too.” My hands finally tangled in his hair. “The present can be just as interesting.”
And in the current present, Leo’s hands were sliding up the sides of my torso to splay his fingers wide across my rib cage, just barely brushing underneath my breasts. I stopped breathing. I also stopped caring that I was unaware of how many people might be outside that heavy oaken door. A door that, while extremely thick, might not be thick enough to muffle my cries if Leo touched me where I needed him to.
Every part of my body shivered as his fingers slid up, up toward my breasts, which felt heavy and full. I sighed when the tip of his pinkie grazed my nipple. I sighed when I arched into him and felt him at my back, strong and hard and oh . . . hard. I sighed when his teeth nibbled just behind my ear, his teeth and his tongue and his sweet scruff rasping my skin. And I sighed when one of his hands left my breasts to sweep my hair back again, rolling my head to the side to expose the base of my neck. And I cried out when he left a trail of openmouthed kisses down the center of my back, and then licked my spine on the way back up.
He. Licked. My. Spine.
That night I tossed and turned for a different reason than usual. The breeze had dissipated, leaving the night warm and sticky. I had all the windows open with a fan blowing, trying to bring in a breath of wind. I tossed and turned because I was hot, I tossed and turned because I was an insomniac, and I tossed and turned because I was horny as hell after Almanzo Wilder very nearly worked me over in a century-old silo. And if it wasn’t for a tour group very nearly catching us in flagrante desilo, I’d have totally let him.
I turned over onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow as images scorched my overheated mind. His hands, sliding my dress halfway up my thighs. I exhaled loudly into the pillow, and rolled over onto my side. A minifilm played out in my mind, where Leo and his torture beard tickled my spine as he kissed a path straight down from the base of my skull down to where my dress began, and then licked my spine on the way back up. A dress that was one of my favorites, but if he’d torn it off and left it in a heap on the floor, I’d have shouted hallelujah and made sure that he found my bra and panties equally as offensive.
He licked my spine.
I huffed over onto my back, right leg bent up and left leg stretched to the side, trying to feel some kind of breeze, some kind of air, some kind of relief from the way my brain was burning up with fantasy flashes of sweaty, sexy bodies frolicking through a vegetable patch and doing the naughty next to some peeping tomatoes.
How do you spell relief?
T-O-U-C-H M-Y-S-E-L-F.
Well, a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do . . .
My left hand was clenched into a fist up by my head, and my entire body was clenched in a ball of tension. I forced it to unclench, forced my fingers to relax and waggle back and forth a little bit, rolling my wrist as I let my hand come down down down, ghosting along the white sheets, along the edge of my tank top and my overheated skin.
I ruffled the little bit of lace, feeling my skin pebble. I dipped my hand underneath the fabric, arching into my touch.
He licked my spine.
A moan escaped my mouth as my nipples instantly hardened, sensitive and tight. I tugged at my shirt, and my breasts tumbled out. As my left hand danced across my skin, my right hand dipped below, sliding inside my panties.
He licked my spine.
What was it about that that made me go stupid? There were certainly other body parts, much more secret, wicked, and cert
ainly more intimate, parts. Or maybe the spine was my new erogenous zone. Maybe my entire body was my new erogenous zone. Maybe I was now zoned solely by Leo Maxwell.
But meanwhile, back on the ranch, there was only me touching my . . . mmm.
My breath caught as I felt my body coming alive under my hands. Desire pooled in my tummy, spreading all through me. What did he sound like when he came? Did he shudder, silent and strong, or did he groan, panting my name as his hand slid back and forth over his rock-hard—
I was fantasizing about what he looked like when he was touching himself . . . while I was touching myself? So hot.
I was on fire. I slid my fingertips down, finding my own heat. Slick and wet, I almost arched off the bed, my hips rolling as I moved my fingers, seeking that perfect balance of pressure and—sweet Christ, that was good! I cried out his name as I danced right on the edge, the pressure building in my belly . . .
Buzz.
Buzz. Buzz.
I looked to the right, saw my phone light up with an incoming text. Leo’s name flashed across the screen. Leo was incoming—if only! I groaned at the interruption, but in case he’d happened to text me a picture of his prize-winning . . . rooster . . .
I snatched up my phone.
I’m outside.
Oh.
And I can hear you.
Ohhh.
You said my name.
Oh. My. God.
Let me in.
Chapter 13
I ran down the stairs and threw open the door. Leo stood in the yard, staring up at my window. Jesus, he really did know what I’d been up to. I went out onto the porch in my underwear, and as the screen door closed behind me, he looked my way.
His eyes widened when he took me in, barely clothed and flushed pink from what I’d been doing. He was across the yard in three strides, and had me up against the door in one more.
I should have known when he licked my spine that this guy was going to ruin me. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, his arms caging me in, one leg nudging between mine. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” His mouth came down on my shoulder, kissing a path toward my neck, up along my jawline to my mouth. He hovered there, his breath mingling with mine. I grasped his hips, angling him toward me, the energy between us sparking and electric.
“I was thinking about you too,” I whispered. As he pushed his leg farther in, his thigh into my heat, I gasped.
He nodded. “I heard.”
He kissed me hard, my teeth and his colliding, heads turning this way and that. If I could have climbed inside his mouth, I’d have done it. “Roxie?” he said, lifting his mouth from mine for the briefest of seconds. I swooped in to kiss him again, not wanting his lips to get away from me.
“Mmm?” I managed.
“Fuck,” he hissed as I pulled his hips into mine once more. “I’m dying to see you.”
“Me?” I asked, arching against the door to get more leverage. “What did you want to see?”
He tugged the strap of my tank top. “This.” He kissed between my breasts. “You. All of you.” He spoke to my skin, his breath warm.
And just like that, every sense filled with Leo. The scratch of the wooden door against my back as he thrust his hips into mine, grinding and winding me up. The way my skin reacted to his body, goose bumps rising even through the heat of the night. The way the light from the shed lit his profile, showing me hints of cheekbone, and tousled hair, and that sexy, raspy beard. The raspy beard sliding between my breasts, his nose and teeth already shoving my shirt high around my collarbone to allow him access to ravage. The groans from the back of his throat as he licked my belly button.
“You smell like honey and taste like heaven,” he murmured, his rough voice reaching my dizzy ears before he rose back up my body to plant kisses over every inch of my neck.
I forgot my name. I forgot his name. I knew only that I had a doorknob in the small of my back, what felt like a doorknob between my thighs, and I was once again climbing Leo like it was exactly what I was put on earth to do.
And then the doorknob between my thighs shifted, felling much more like a door knocker. Like the kind you’d find on a really big church.
And speaking of seeing God, Leo’s right hand slid up my thigh, slipped underneath, and pulled it around his hip. That rough, callused hand on my soft inner thigh made me want to weep, it was already so good. While I was still able to speak, I lifted his head from my shoulder looked him in the eye.
“If this happens—and I need this to happen . . .” I paused, because though his lips had stopped, his hips had not, and the slow grind was brain melting. My own hips circled, aching, needing.
“Need is a curious word,” he murmured with a slow circle of his hips. “You need food. You need water. You need shelter.”
“Sex. Sex is also a need,” I panted as his lips moved down to bite my neck. With one hand—one hand!—he tore my camisole from my body. I blinked. The poly/Lycra was now tatters and shreds. I blinked again. Holy shit.
“I was getting to the sex,” he replied, using the same hand to flick open the back of my bra and toss that over his shoulder as well. Eyes flaring as he took me in, he now spoke directly to my breasts. “I was thinking that the word need was curious because right now, I needed to see your tits more than almost anything else in the world. Not would have liked to, or gee that’d be great—I need to see your tits.”
Laughter bubbled up from inside me, spilling out over him, washing the sticky hot night with a tiny dose of silly, which was mirrored in his eyes as he raised them from my chest to my face, his mouth lifted slightly in the corner.
I settled into his good, strong hands, which were already so at home on my body. At home? Dangerous.
“I’m glad you’re as happy with our arrangement as I am,” I said, dodging his gaze. Why did using that term feel strange with Leo? Distant. Detached. Lonely?
I felt his gaze on me and forced mine up to meet it. He held it for a few seconds, looking carefully at me, and I could feel my resolve start to crumble. But then he nodded his head, his mouth returning to my skin, urgent, wanting, and needing. And I gave myself over to it all.
Suddenly we were lying on across the threshold, half inside the house and half out on the porch and where did my panties go? Everything was Leo, everything was his hands and his lips and his mouth and how perfectly my heel fit into that dip just above his ass and how insanely amazing his skin felt against mine and where did his shirt go? Everything was my back arching and his tongue moving and my hands grasping and his hands splaying and my hips lifting and his beard scratching and where did his jeans go?
It was an eon. It was five seconds. I have no idea how we came to be on the floor or to be naked, but all I know is he whispered, “I have a condom,” and I whispered, “You were awfully presumptuous,” and he whispered, “Was that wrong?” and I whispered, “Hell no, I’ve got one in my purse just in case you wanted to do exactly this,” and he whispered, “It’s been a long time for me,” and I whispered, “That’s okay,” and he whispered, “I don’t know how long I can last,” and I whispered, “Fuck me furious, then,” and he groaned and I moaned and. He. Pushed. Inside. He was thick and hard and I was wet and warm and he kept his eyes on mine the entire time, not letting me look away, not letting me shrink away from this intimate contact. For an age he pushed inside, as he panted and I gasped, and holy hell, it felt like the world slowed down and then stopped spinning altogether, becoming only the feel of him, pulsing low and deep and I could feel my heart literally beating around him.
Once he was inside, he didn’t move. He just rose over me, his strong arms on either side of my head, and gazed down at me, something like relief on his face, something almost sad. But then the corner of his mouth lifted, and lust crowded back into his eyes, and his hips thrust into mine. “Fucking hell, Roxie,” he groaned, and he laid back down on me, my legs wrapped firmly around his waist.
It
was furious.
On the porch, in the middle of the night, under a cover of darkness and to the delightful sounds of mosquito zapping, I lay tangled in a heap of naked farmer. Limbs splayed, heads lolling, hands still roaming in that sweet lazy way after orgasms rocket through and turn everyone into goo. Happy goo. Intensely satisfied goo.
Leo slapped my ass.
“Pardon me?” I asked, raising my head and looking at him strangely.
“Mosquito,” he grinned, showing me his hand.
“Ew.” I grimaced, pushing his hand down to the porch floor and wiping it for him.
Wooden planks aren’t exactly the most comfortable location for a first time. But would I change it? No way. I’d wear this doorknob imprint on my thigh proudly. I lay in the circle of his arms, one leg still wrapped high around his hips. Fast and furious it had been, the opposite of the way Leo lived his life. But I wasn’t complaining. The three trips around the world had clued me in to the fact that Leo was killer in the sack. And up against the side of a house . . .
I nuzzled into his neck, smelling the warmth of his skin. Describing his scent as earthy seems too easy, but truly, it was. A bit like green growing things, loamy but clean. Accented with a tinge of Lava soap. He had a bit of hair on his chest, which was nice. Not thick in a seventies porn way, but in this day and age of manscaping, it was nice to discover some fluff under the vintage concert tees.
What could not be described as a “bit” of anything was what was between his legs, and I could feel it already stirring again against my bottom. I rolled over slightly to look at him, and found him watching me with lazy eyes.
“I should get you off this porch,” he murmured.
I nodded vigorously. “And into my bed?”