How fucking embarrassing. First I go and faint in front of Grant. Then he forces me to let him carry me inside and take care of me…

But I can’t lie, he’s good at it. Not to mention how good it felt being cradled in his arms—at least once I was awake enough to realize what was happening, to feel his strong arms holding me against his rock-solid chest, and feel his breath on my cheeks as he leaned down to check on me, asking me questions, cracking jokes to check if I was still awake and with-it.

And when he helped me sit up to drink water, his touch against my back felt red-hot, almost as distracting as the itch in my throat and the pounding, dizzying ache in my head from the dehydration.

Now, he’s cooked a veritable feast, which he’s forcing me to eat in bed like I’m an invalid.

“I can sit at the table,” I protest.

“That would ruin the whole point of dinner-in-bed,” he replies with a shrug as he sets the tray across my lap. The breakfast-in-bed tray. I remember this. We used to bring it in to Mama every Mother’s Day, serve her pancakes on it.

We?

No. I used to. I used to, every year after my good-for-nothing father left us to fend for ourselves on Mother’s Day and every other day of the year.

I force that thought to the back of my mind. Don’t think about it. Like always. Like I’ve been doing for years.

I smile a little half-smile at Grant, and glance from him to the feast. He grilled corn and potatoes the same way Mama used to, baking them in tinfoil, then searing them a bit at the end so they’re black and flaky around the edges, not to mention coated in plenty of salt. His ribs look a hell of a lot better than any Mama ever made though, and covered in BBQ sauce. All that combined with the fat slices of bread and the veritable vat of butter he included, and, well…

“This looks like the worst possible thing we could eat in bed,” I point out with a laugh, eying the single handful of napkins he brought with it dubiously.

“Why, are you a messy eater, Sasha?” He lifts an eyebrow, smirking at me.

“Depends what I’m eating,” I say, before I realize. I blush a little and roll my eyes as he snorts with laughter. “I meant like ribs, which are going to get all over my hands and my face.”

“Uh huh. That the only thing you like all over your hands and face?” He raises a single eyebrow, pinning me with his stare.

I remember what he said in the car. The way he thinks about me. Not going to lie, the whole time I was out working in the yard, the memory of that comment kept me more than a little worked up.

As annoyed as I might be by him making that comment, threatening to make this relationship anything but a business one, I have to admit… It’s hot as hell to know that I’m just as distracting to Grant Werther as he is to me. The big country man might be a danger to the little city girl, but apparently, he’s not immune to my charms either.

Which is good to know.

So I grab a rib and take a bite, catching his eye while I chew it, then lick the BBQ sauce slowly off my lips. “Course not,” I reply. “Who doesn’t like to get good and messy once in a while?”

His grin widens. But the way his eyes go dark and hungry, that he can’t disguise. Oh yeah. Grant fucking wants me. And wants to fuck me, for sure.

I want to fuck him too.

Damn.

We’re treading on thin ice here. But there’s something about being this reckless that’s a relief, after all the dates I’ve been on in the city lately. Those are all dancing around the point, beating around the bush until my bush gets so tired of all the double-talk that I just give up and go to bed. At least Grant is direct. At least with him, I know exactly how much trouble I’m getting into because he tells me straight upfront.

I finish off that rib while he takes one of his own, then lay it down on the plate and reach for a napkin. On second thought, though, I pause and raise a finger to my lips. I lick the BBQ sauce off slowly, eyes locked on his, and grin as he narrows his eyes.

“But don’t get any sauce on these sheets,” I say. “We’ve only got one bed, you know.”

“You’ve only got one bed,” he points out. “Me, I’ve got a whole truck bed to myself. That one I don’t mind getting dirty either.”

My cheeks flush. “We can trade,” I say. “I’ll take my car tonight. It’s only fair.”

He snorts. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let the lady who nearly passed out from dehydration and exhaustion in the yard today sleep in her damn car when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”

“Well, if you can manage not to dirty up the bed with dinner, we could…” I pause. Swallow that last word.

He raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t prompt me, but doesn’t change the subject, either.

I shake my head. “Just, sleep wherever tonight. It doesn’t bother me.” That said, I grab another rib and stuff it into my mouth before I say something I’ll really regret. Something like sleep with me in this bed tonight—and for the love of God, please do more than just sleep here.

Or something more his style, more direct. Something like Please fuck me right here in the middle of this delicious tray of BBQ you just cooked.

If there’s one thing sexier than a big, sexy country man who takes care of you when you’re sick, it’s a big sexy country man who takes care of you and knows how to cook a mean rib. I’ve tried grilling ribs for my friends back in the city about a million times, but none of them ever turn out right. None of them ever taste quite like home.

I’d almost forgotten what real ribs taste like, until these.

Grant, for his part, lets up on the flirting long enough to finish eating, at least. I’m still licking my fingers when he grabs the tray to whisk it off.

“Non-cook does dishes,” I call after him.

He just shouts back from the kitchen, “Lie back down.”

I groan and collapse back onto the pillows. “I’m not an invalid,” I protest. But protests aside, it doesn’t take long for my eyelids to droop. I manage to drag myself out of bed long enough to wash my face and brush my teeth, then I slink back into the room and slip under the covers. I’m out before I even remember to turn off the light.

Farming is hard work.

I wake up to a faint motion. I squint at the ceiling—the light is off now. It takes me a moment, in the moonlit farmhouse, to remember where exactly I am. It takes me even longer to realize what the faint sigh beside me means, and to recognize the presence of another warm body.

I roll over, eyes widening, to find Grant sound asleep next to me. He’s on his back, face turned away from me, but he’s fast asleep, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

He’s shirtless too. Only his boxers on, which I can tell because he’s lying on top of the covers instead of underneath, heat practically radiating off his body. Normally I’m cold at night, especially in this little farmhouse on the brink of fall without any indoor heating besides the wood stove in the kitchen to go by. But the room feels hot with Grant here, and not just temperature-wise.

I sit up a little. “Grant?” I whisper, softly, just to check.

Nothing. No reaction. I lie back down and continue to watch him, a flush spreading over my cheeks.

He’s fucking hot as hell.

He sighs softly and rolls over, away from me. I sit up a little, checking whether he’s woken up. But no. He’s still sound asleep. With his face relaxed in sleep, he’s even more attractive. His cheekbones stand out sharply in the moonlight, and his eyelids flutter faintly. Dreaming, I’d guess, from the way his fingertips twitch and his hips shift a little.

I trace my eyes down his bare chest, along the stark ridges of his muscles, and then I draw in a sharp breath.

Definitely dreaming. And something very, very enjoyable to judge by the way his cock stands at attention, rock hard, the big, thick outline visible even through his boxers. Tent is putting it mildly—he’s building a whole fort down there.

It doesn’t take much imagination to picture what’s under that thin fabric. I saw how big he was even when he wasn’t hard in the shower. Now, he looks like he’s got one of those novelty-store dildos in his pants, the ones that are so big you wonder if anyone could possibly have a dick that size.

What would that feel like inside me?

He’d hurt, probably, at least at first. But fuck, how good would it feel once we got going? How hard would this big country man fuck me if I let him?

Is that what he’s dreaming about right now? He talked about wanting to bend me over and fuck me in the dirt… Is he picturing doing that to me now as he sleeps? Picturing us out in the field, him tearing off my skimpy little jean shorts and stuffing that fat cock inside me?

I slide my hand down the flat plane of my stomach, toward my PJ shorts. I wore them to be decent, same with the little sleep tank top. Now I’m wishing I’d gone a bit bolder. Thong and a lace bra, maybe, or even less. Clearly Grant would’ve appreciated it.

Fuck. I shouldn’t do this. He might wake up at any moment. But I can’t help myself. Between his words earlier and how frustrated I got myself this afternoon, working out in the fields trying—and failing—not to think about how hard he’d fuck me, how good it would feel. Between that and his ministrations later, after I got sick, and how fucking sexy he looks all the damn time, and how he defended me in town when that Aaron creep came onto me…

I can’t help myself. He’s lying right here next to me having a dirty fantasy of his own, and I can’t help picturing the same thing.

I slip my hand under the hem of my shorts. Straight down the front of my tight little panties.

Fuck. I’m already wet.

I part my lips with two fingers, tracing the edges of my pussy. I imagine this is Grant’s hand, Grant touching me, feeling me, exploring. Scared of the big country man and his huge cock? His voice echoes in my mind. That cocksure grin of his. He’s Trouble with a capital T, and I know it.

That only makes me want him all the more.

He’d spread my legs and lean down along my body, that rough beard of his scratching my belly as he licked and sucked and bit his way down from my bellybutton, all the way to my mound. I swirl my fingers across my mound, my lips, grazing my clit and stifling a faint gasp as I do. I picture him yanking my panties down, grinning up at me before he leans down to kiss my pussy lips, one at a time, then running his tongue along them, slow, teasing.

He’d want to work me up first. He’d have to, to get me ready to take that big cock of his.

I press my fingers between my pussy lips, imagining his thick, rough fingers there instead. I push two fingers into my pussy at once, to imitate his thick girth. But his fingers would be even thicker, rougher. He’d waste no time curling them against my inner wall, going right for the G-spot, because he doesn’t fuck around. I imagine the hungry look in his eyes from earlier, the way he’d stare up at me as he finger-fucked me, slowly at first, then building up momentum.

I imagine this, and I shift in the bed, eyes still focused on his sexy half-naked body, his sharp muscles, the curve of his jaw, the size of his hands. I reach out and curl my free hand in the sheets just inches from his, feeling the blaze of his warmth against my skin, even with a few inches of bed still between my hand and his.

I imagine those fingers inside me, even as I stroke myself faster, bring myself closer to climax. I’ve been able to stay quiet so far, but as I near my peak, it gets harder. My mouth falls open and my hips buck a little, as hard as I try to keep them still. I inhale sharply, still stroking, faster, faster, so close to the edge, so close… I can’t quite help the soft gasp that escapes me.

At that sound, Grant rolls over to face me.

I startle and pull my fingers out of my pussy. But his eyes are wide open, and my hand is still down the front of my pants, and he’s smirking at me, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, his voice low and sexy as fuck, even though the sound is startling in the otherwise silent room.

“I…” I bite my lip and slide my hand out of my pants, trying to wipe my fingers along the sheets. “It’s not…”

“You must be so close now.” Grant shifts closer. There’s barely an inch of space between us. We’re nose-to-nose, almost touching. His eyes bore into mine. “It’s got to ache to stop when you’re that close.”

“I wasn’t…” I swallow hard and blink, unable to deny it. Unable to confirm it either. I’m stunned, pinned in place by those dark blazing eyes of his.

Without warning, he reaches down and cups me. I gasp, the warm, strong heat of his hands so much hotter than I imagined. Like everything else about him, his hands are big. And warm, and rough…

He squeezes a little tighter, his fingers pressing against my pussy through the fabric of my shorts and my panties. I can feel the damp even through both layers, and so can he, to judge by the smirk on his face. “Isn’t it driving you wild, Sasha?” He rotates his palm a little, grinding it against my mound, and I buck up into him with a moan, unable to help myself.

With his other hand, he catches my free hand, the one I’d been using to touch myself. He lifts it to his lips, trails the flat blade of his tongue across my fingers, and groans slightly with pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck, you taste as good as you smell,” he murmurs.

My pussy pulses at the sound of that.

He draws my hand down his body, brings it to rest against the hard head of his cock. I glance down, eyes widening. My hand doesn’t even fit around him. I wrap my palm around the head of his cock, trail my hand down his side slowly, tracing his length slowly, up and down. As I do, he reaches up and pushes my shorts down, followed by my panties just after. I gasp as the cool evening air hits my pussy. But he doesn’t leave me exposed for long. His palm clamps back across my mound, red hot, and his fingers spread my lower lips, tracing my lips one at a time with slow, teasing strokes.

I imitate him, push his boxers down to fully expose his cock, but even prepared as I think I am, having seen him before and touched him just now, I still gasp when he springs free. His cock is fucking huge. The veins bulge along the sides of his shaft, and the swollen head of his cock pulses with lust. There’s a bead of precum gathered at his tip already and I trace my thumb across it, trail it back down the underside of his cock, tracing the vein there.

“You like what you see?” Grant smirks, knowing. “You like my big fucking cock, City Girl?”

I swallow hard, eyes still focused on his length, his width. “Fuck yes,” I whisper.

“You think you can handle me? Think your tight little city pussy can take it? Because I don’t know…” He grins, and with that, pushes one finger inside me.

My whole body arcs up off the bed. I gasp aloud, arching into his hand, and my clit digs into the heel of his palm as I do, only doubling the sensation. His finger feels so thick inside me, twisting as he runs it along my inner walls, a different one with every stroke as he begins to push it in and out of me. “You feel pretty tight to me, City Girl.”

“Maybe,” I admit, my voice low, breathless. “But I’m wet for you too…” I buck up into him, stifling a groan as the motion forces his finger deeper into me.

He crooks his finger, drags it along my front inner wall until his fingertip finds the hard, sensitive graze of my G-spot. Then he works back and forth along that, even as I tighten my fist on his cock and reach up with my other hand, using both now to pump along his length harder.

“You think that’ll be enough?” He smirks. “Let’s see if we can’t get you even wetter…” He strokes faster, and I moan aloud. Then he adds a second finger, and my pussy tightens, tenses around the width of his fingers. With his thumb, he grazes my clit, over and over with each stroke, hitting my G-spot and the edges of my clit at once. The sensations threaten to send me over the edge, but I tighten my grip on his cock and fuck him faster, not ready to give in yet.

I’m rewarded by a faint groan, deep in the back of his throat, as his eyes go hooded and feral with lust.

“You like that?” I whisper, grinning.

In response, he rolls over, positioned on his knees above me, and continues to finger me hard, fast. I keep fisting his cock, with it aimed right at my chest now, using both hands, my eyes on his balls as they swing beneath him.

Fuck, I want to take him into my mouth. I want to suck him until he’s about to come, and then let him come all over my chest, my mouth. I want to taste him, feel him, make him lose control.

But his fingers are too distracting, and his body, arched up like this above mine, tears away too much of my attention. Before long my hips are bucking against the bed of their own accord, and my mouth falls open, my head twisting against the sheets as I moan and writhe under him.

“That’s right, you’re close now aren’t you, Sasha? Fucking come for me, City Girl. Come on my fingers.”

I gasp and arch up against him. He curls two fingers inside me, presses his thumb over my clit and thrusts those fingers in, once, twice…

I can’t stave it off any longer. I cry out, my voice shaky, as the orgasm hits me. It tears through my nerves, sets my veins on fire, and my whole body bucks along the bed with the force of it.

“That’s right, come hard City Girl. Keep coming.” Grant, for his part, doesn’t stop stroking me. Even when my hands fall away from his cock so I can twist them in the sheets, lost in pleasure. He keeps fingering me until I fall back against the sheets, panting, my body sheened with sweat.

He draws his fingers out of me with a faint pop, and I feel the slick of my own juices along my inner thigh. He leans back, sitting on his heels as he watches me, a satisfied smile on his face, even though his eyes are still dark with want.

“Now there’s the orgasm you so desperately needed,” he comments, smirking. “You were so thirsty for it you couldn’t help touching yourself right next to me, huh? Didn’t listen before when I told you you were courting trouble.”

I swallow hard, but reach for his hands. Grab them and pull him down until he’s leaning over me on all fours. “I still want trouble,” I tell him, eyes locked on his.

“Good,” he replies without missing a beat. “Because at this point, Sasha, I can’t help but fuck you. You’ve driven me too fucking wild for too fucking long.”

I lick my lips. Trace my eyes down his chest. Straight to that thick cock of his, stiff and hard as ever, pointing so low between his legs now that it makes my eyes widen.

“Yeah,” he says, following my gaze. “That’s the problem, though. I still doubt your city pussy can handle my big country cock.”

I lift my chin, stubborn, and lock eyes with him. “I was born and raised here same as you, Grant Werther,” I point out. “I think I can handle what you’ve got to give.”

He laughs, low and throaty, in a dangerous way that makes my belly tighten. But he bows his head, eyes locked onto mine, nevertheless. “Fair enough then. Let’s find out how you take it.”

With that, he grabs both of my ankles at once and pulls me down the bed, flat onto my back beneath him. He kneels between my thighs and I wrap my legs around his waist, arching up until my pussy is pointed right at the tip of his cock.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he murmurs, his voice a low, possessive growl as he lowers himself toward me, positions the tip of his cock at my entrance.

I clamp my mouth shut to avoid moaning, but when he pushes the tip of his cock between my lips, his head slowly penetrating my pussy, I can’t help it. My mouth falls open and I moan aloud at the sensation.

He takes it slow, steady, pushing himself into me a centimeter at a time, letting my pussy stretch and adjust to his girth slowly. I groan as he keeps going, the stretching, tightening sensation driving me wild. It hurts, but it feels fucking amazing too, to be stuffed so fully, have someone so huge inside me. With every inch deeper he goes, my muscles tense and release, tense and release.

When he’s finally buried fully inside me, I reach up to grab his shoulders, running my hands down his back, along the sharp curves of his muscles as he lies along me for a moment, letting me adjust.

He’s breathing hard too, a catch in his throat. “Fuck,” he groans softly beside my ear, his voice sending another thrill through my nervous system and making my pussy clench—which in turn makes his thick cock jump inside me. “You are so fucking tight it’s unbelievable.”

With that, he leans back and starts to draw out of me again, and I cry out once more, already missing the feeling of his thick cock deep in me, filling me up. He only pulls out an inch though, before he rocks back in, slow at first, steady, letting me adjust to him.

I buck my hips up against him, but he drops his hands to my hips and pins me flat against the bed.

“You think you can take this?” he murmurs, grinning. He pulls back again, two inches this time, and drives into me once more, a little faster this time, a little harder.

“Fuck yes,” I pant. “Give it to me.”

“You want me to really fuck you, Sasha?”

“Yes, Grant. I want you to fuck me with your big cock.”

He smirks. “How hard do you want me to fuck you?” He pulls back again, teasing, three inches this time. Then he drives into me once more, fast enough to make me gasp.

“Hard,” I hiss through clenched teeth, distracted by pleasure.

“How hard?”

“Fucking hard. I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk straight. I want you to fuck me so hard it hurts.”

His grin widens, and that animal lust in his eyes goes darker, wild. “I underestimated you, City Girl.”

“I told you,” I manage to pant, also grinning, and I’m sure the look in my eyes right now is just as hungry. “I’m just as country as you, big man. So fuck me like I am.”

He pulls all the way out of my pussy, then drives back into me, his full length now. I scream and dig my nails into his back, pleasure and pain tearing through me in equal measure. He cups my ass with both his big, rough hands and lifts my hips off the bed, holds me in the air between his legs as he starts to fuck me fully, though still slow at first, his hard shaft stretching my pussy, stuffing me whole.

I grip his shoulders with my hands, nails out, and tighten my thighs around his waist. With every thrust, he makes me cry out louder, makes my body ache for release.

I glance down to see his cock thrusting in and out of me, and feel the slap of his balls against my ass cheeks with every fuck. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. We’ve pushed straight through any pain there was before—it’s all pleasure now. The feeling of being completely full, stuffed so full I can barely take it. The walls of my pussy ache where they strain to hold his thick cock, and it drives me wild.

He picks up the pace, lifting my whole lower half off the bed now, and I arch my hips with him, thrusting against him. His cock drags against my inner walls and I groan every time his head grazes past my G-spot, the pressure mounting so high it makes my pulse beat at the edges of my vision.

“You like that, Sasha?” he pants through a hard smile, his eyes still full of that same hunger, that same lust.

“Fuck yes.” I grind my hips up against his as he pounds into me, moving faster now, harder. It drives me wild, after so much build-up, so much unreleased tension.

“You want more?” His voice is a growl, barely contained. He’s holding back, I can tell. But I don’t want him to. I want to see what this Country Man is made of.

“Fuck yes,” I repeat, my own voice a growl too. “Give it to me, Country Man. Fuck me as hard as you can.”

He speeds up, fucking me harder, faster. I’m stretched out wide enough to take him now, and it doesn’t hurt at all—it only drives me more wild as his thick cock fills every inch of me completely.

It doesn’t take long before I’m nearing the brink, my breath coming hard and fast, my hips bucking in time with his.

“You want to come for me?” he asks, low and fast. “You want to come on my big cock?”

“Make me come, Grant. Make me come with your cock.”

He leans back and unhooks my legs from around his waist. Flings them over his shoulders to angle his thrusts so the head of his cock drags down the front inner wall of my pussy. I cry aloud at that, unable to stop my body from twisting against the sheets. I lose my grip on his shoulders and fist the sheets instead, trying to thrust back against him. But all I can manage to do is hang on as that fat cock of his drives me straight up to the brink of orgasm.

When it hits me, I scream so loud it would wake half the neighbors if I were back in New York City. But I’m not in the city—I’m in the country, getting fucked like I’ve never been fucked before, and out here, there’s no one to hear me for miles.

Thank fuck.

Grant keeps going, pounding into me as the orgasm fades. I recover enough to pull him back down against me, wrap my arms tight around his waist and pin him against me as I thrust up in time with him.

He speeds up, and his voice is throaty when he pulls me hard against his chest to growl against my ear, “I’m going to come. I’m going to fill your pussy with my cum, Sasha.”

“Come in me, Grant,” I gasp, pulling him closer, tight against me, his hard muscles slick with sweat, his body hard everywhere I’m soft. “Fuck yes. Fill me up,” I moan.

His hands tighten almost painfully on my hips, and with a few last thrusts, he groans my name and comes hard, still pumping into me as he finishes. I thrust up against him and tighten my pussy muscles, contracting around him to milk every last drop of hot, wet, cum from his thick cock. He moans when I squeeze him, so I do it again, and he growls, pulling me so hard against him that I can hardly breathe for a second.

When he finishes thrusting, he lies along my body, our sweat mingling. I can feel his pulse in my chest, and it echoes my own, both racing hard as hell.

He draws back just far enough to look between us, and slowly, slowly draws his cock out of me. He’s still huge, even now, and I gasp with a faint pang as he pulls out of me—I loved the feeling of having him inside me, feeling so full.

There’s a hot rush as his cum trickles out, mingled with my own juices, and rushes down my thigh. I gasp softly, and Grant grins, glancing from that back to me.

“That’s the only way to fuck,” he says. “Raw and real.”

My pussy aches—a bone deep ache that I fucking love. It’s the feeling of having been thoroughly fucked, harder than I’ve ever been fucked before. I feel satisfied, in a way I’ve never known.

“Fuck yeah it is,” I whisper, the loudest I can make my voice go now, my throat raw from the screams earlier.

Grant catches my eye and smiles. For a moment, I think I catch something else in it. Something more than just lust.

Then he lies back in bed beside me. I stretch out too, staring at the ceiling for a quiet moment until he reaches across to pull me against his side. I roll over and let him spoon me, his big, strong arms comforting, safe and secure.

I fall asleep with my head pillowed on his bicep, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, and all I can feel in that moment is completely and utterly content.