I didn’t go to sleep waiting for our date, but ended up pacing around the room. I was surprised—shocked—that she had said yes, even though she’d been giving me soft, sweet looks all morning. The only reason I’d asked her was to find out how far she was willing to go to get what she wanted. I thought that I’d be angry when I found out, and I’d thought that anger would’ve broken the spell she seemed to have cast over me in just a few days. I had every right to be angry that she was willing to go so far as dating me, leading me along to get me to sell my share. Every time my anger rose, though, it was replaced by the sight of her smile, her body soaking wet, lips pink and ready for kissing. I couldn’t wipe that image out of my mind no matter how hard I tried.

I waited for her downstairs, looking up when I heard her footsteps. I groaned inwardly when I saw her in her emerald dress, smooth and luxurious, hugging her body so that every curve was on display. It made my mouth drop open just looking at her as she came down the stairs, giving me a shy look.

“This was all I had,” she said.

“It’s perfect,” I said to her. I wanted to touch her, but didn’t, instead leading her out to the car. I opened the door for her and she climbed in, then I went over and got in as well.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“No,” I said to her. “Do you like cotton candy?”

“Cotton candy?” she asked. I nodded.

“I love cotton candy,” I said. “My ma never used to let me get it because it made me sick. I used to steal sticks of it from Abby and Jane and lick it so they wouldn’t want it back.”

“That’s gross,” she said, laughing. I grinned at her.

“I promise not to lick your candy,” I said to her, noting how the words made her blush and squirm in her seat. I wondered how wet her pussy was, how it tasted, if it was just as sweet as the cotton candy I had grown up taking from my sisters. The thought passed through my mind unbidden and lingered there as we started to drive, making our way toward the festival grounds.

“So we’re going to a carnival or something?”

“Yeah, the state fair is going on right now. Hope you like cows and chickens.”

She laughed. “I haven’t actually been around many cows. My experience with chickens, though...”

“These ones won’t peck at you,” I said.

“They better not. I’m holding you responsible for anything that happens to me.”

“You’re in good hands,” I promised her, my voice smooth. Violet had no idea how good it would feel if she allowed me to touch her, and I wished on everything I could that I’d be able to prove it to her at some point. “Very good hands.”

“Mm,” was all she said, shifting in her seat, her face flushing a pink that gave her thoughts away.

“You know, that kiss is on the table any time you want it,” I said to her. “And I mean any time. I would pull over right now—”

“No,” she said quickly, but there was a small, irrepressible smile on her lips. She was tempted—just as tempted as I was. Either that, or she was damn good at faking it. “No, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” I said. “Just keep it in mind.”

“Nope,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. I could tell she was lying—the tension, the desire was coming off of her in waves, strong enough to make my cock harden as I drove to the festival. I was glad when we got there and I could get out and stretch, away from her scent, away from the desire to actually pull over the car and take her mouth in a kiss again, one that I knew she couldn’t resist.

“Here it is,” I said to her. Her face lit up in a smile as she scanned the fairgrounds from the parking lot. It was bustling with people, glowing with the vivid neon lights of carnival rides and games. It was easy to smell the fried, sweet foods even from the parking lot. We walked toward the ticket stand and I paid for us both to get in, though she protested. I guided her through the front crowd by the waist, happy to touch her, happy that she let me. She glanced over at me as we walked, studying me through her lashes.

“Why did you want to bring me here?” she asked, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Because I want to see you have fun,” I said to her. She smiled, biting her bottom lip in a sweet, shy way. She didn’t respond to that.

“Are you hungry?” I asked her. The smell of the fried food was getting to me, reminding me of all the times I’d come here with my father when we were kids. We’d always load up on as much food as possible and eat it until we could barely walk, then make our way home and listen to dad tell stories until we all fell asleep in the living room.

“Starving,” she said. I took her hand, then, lacing our fingers as I led her to the food court. She shot a look at me and I shrugged.

“We’re on a date,” I said. “Can’t I get a little action on our first date?”

“No action,” she said, but squeezed my hand in a subtle way meant to tell me that she didn’t mind being held. It filled me with light, made me feel like I was floating as we looked over our food choices.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Something very fried and disgusting,” I said to her. “A giant corn dog.”

She laughed. “You eat like a little boy. Cotton candy and corn dogs.”

“You’re right,” I said to her. “Let’s go.”

We got our food, heading to a picnic table to sit down to eat.

“You don’t seem like the type of person who would like these things,” I said to her. She lifted an eyebrow.

“So why’d you bring me out here?” she asked.

“I wanted to show you the fun side of the country. It can get boring at the ranch for a city girl like you.”

“I actually—I like being at the ranch,” she said, something that surprised me.

“Really?”

“It’s beautiful there. And working outside, working with my hands—it’s a lot of fun.”

I studied her face for a moment.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I said to her. She blushed, and I knew I had stumbled across something.

“I’m wondering why you really brought me out here,” she said. “Why a date? I’m not—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re not my type,” I nearly growled at her.

“I’ve seen you flirting with several women. You have a type,” she said. “And I’m not it.”

“You are my type. Whatever my type is, you’re it.”

She blushed but didn’t say anything, taking a sip of her lemonade, looking away from me.

“Do you think you can beat me in skee-ball?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said confidently. “Oh, I know I can beat you in skee-ball. No doubt.”

“Cocky, aren’t you?” I asked her. I couldn’t keep the smile off of my face in her presence, couldn’t keep from feeling good and natural while I was around her.

“When it comes to that, yes,” she said, standing up, throwing her trash away. I did the same and we started walking toward the game section, holding hands as we had before. I was just glad she would let me do it. In that moment, no part of me was thinking about the fact that she was just here to get me to sell my share.

“Okay,” she said, bending over to put quarters in the machine. I got a good glimpse of her ass, round and perfect, and couldn’t help but to stare as she straightened up. She looked back at me over her shoulder with a chiding look, one that I responded to with a grin as the balls rolled down the gutter. She took one, aiming it, throwing her arm back and then forward gracefully so that it rolled up and landed in the target hole, going through without so much as a bounce. I gaped at her.

“Coney Island,” she said. “Don’t try me with skee-ball.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “I’ve had a lot of training, too.”

“We’ll see,” she repeated, stepping away from the game so that I could have a shot. I missed, hitting the gutter, and she laughed at me and clapped her hands together.

“You’ve had training,” she said, scoffing. “What kind of training?”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s see if you can get lucky twice in a row.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” she said, her chin held high. She took position and I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, pulling her backward against me. She shivered in my arms, her head tilting instinctively to the side. I nuzzled it from behind, kissing her shoulder.

“Go ahead,” I said to her.

“This isn’t fair,” she said, her voice almost a whimper. I kissed her again, then again, this time with a hot, open mouth, tasting her skin. She rolled the ball and it landed in the gutter. I grinned, letting her go.

“The master of skee-ball,” I said to her. Her face was flushed, lips parted.

“That was rude,” she huffed.

“Did I distract you?” I asked her innocently. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“You play dirty,” she said, though there was a playful smile on her face. “It’s wrong.”

“I do like to get dirty,” I said to her, holding her eye. Her lips parted as she looked at me, lids narrowing.

“Let’s go for a ride,” she said. I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip.

“A ride, huh?” I asked her, trying to keep myself from growing hard again. I wondered how that would feel, to be ridden by her, to ride against her myself. I wanted to feel her ass pressed to me again, her whole body, and taste more than just her neck. We made our way over to the festival section of the fair.

“What’s first?” I asked.

“I get to pick?”

“You won skee-ball,” I said. “It’s your choice.”

“Ferris wheel,” she said, pointing at it. It was dark outside but the wheel was bright enough to illuminate her face. I took her hand, guiding her to where she wanted to go. We had to wait in line only for a moment before we were able to climb on the ride. We sat across from each other in our seats, our eyes connected as the car started to lift into the air.

“So,” I said to her. “Now that I’ve got you trapped up here—”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m not going to let you be an asshole.”

I laughed. “I was just going to ask you some questions.”

“What’s that?” she asked hesitantly.

“I feel like I don’t know that much about you. You’ve gotten to know my family, my history. You know of my father. And yet all I know about you is that you’re good at skee-ball. And you’re afraid of chickens.”

“I am not—”

“Where are you from?” I asked her. “Who are your parents? Why did you start painting? Why—”

“One question at a time,” she laughed. “I’m from New York. I’ve always lived there. My dad was never in the picture, but my mom—she passed away when I was six.”

“How did she pass away?” I asked her gently.

“Cancer,” she said. “It wasn’t a big deal. I knew it was coming.”

“You were six. It was a big deal,” I insisted. She glanced away from me sadly.

“I don’t do much in the city other than work. That job is my whole life,” she said.

I felt even guiltier then knowing she had gotten demoted, that there had been nothing that I could do to stop it.

“But your art is something, right?” I asked her. “Does it make you happy?”

She smiled. “It does.”

“You should do more of that. Less work at Maverick,” I said to her. “There are some things more important than work.”

“You’re one to speak,” she said. “You don’t even have to work. Yet you can’t stop for one day? If you’re not at Maverick, you’re working on the ranch. You never slow down. Why?”

“What reason is there to slow down?” I asked, looking into her eyes. “What else is there?”

“Your family,” she said softly. “Or—”

“Or what?” I asked when she cut herself off, but she said nothing. I leaned into her, brushing my lips over hers without kissing her, speaking against them.

“There could be something else,” I said to her. She trembled close to me, holding her breath, allowing my lips to stroke hers in feathery soft movements. “You could give me something to quit for.”

She pulled away, then, shaking her head.

“You should do it for yourself. You work too hard.”

I said nothing, but stared at her face, reached forward to touch her soft cheek.

“What do you say we cut this date short, hm?” I asked her. “I want to paint with you.”

“Together?” she asked skeptically. I nodded.

“I want to see you do it. Let’s go home.”

She stared at me for a moment, a small smile coming over her lips.

“Okay,” she said. “But we have to wait for the ride to stop.”

“You mean we can’t just climb down there?” I asked. She laughed.

“Unfortunately, we’re stuck together up here.”

“Unfortunately,” I said, her sparkling eyes on mine. She looked out at the view, the trees and scenes of Texas. Her face was lit up, a content smile on her face.

“You do like it here, don’t you?” I asked her. She nodded.

“It’s beautiful. I wish I had spent more time outside as a kid. I feel useless at the ranch.”

“You’re not,” I said. “I’ve been impressed with you since the beginning. You’re a good worker. Good with your hands.”

“Thanks,” she said, blushing. I wanted to lean forward and kiss her but didn’t. There was only so much pushing I was willing to do, and if she didn’t want to go that far with me, I had to be respectful of that. I told myself that it was for the best anyway, remembering her ulterior motive for being here, making things more complicated than they already were.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked her.

“What’s that?”

“What are you going to tell the boss when we get back?”

She swallowed, and I saw something flicker in her eyes—something like guilt and discomfort.

“I’m going to tell him that you’re more than capable of running the business branch,” she said. I smiled at her.

“And everything on the ranch? You going to tell him about that, too?”

“I might,” she said teasingly, her eyes sparkling as the ride came to a stop and we climbed out. I took her hand again, this time leading her away from the fairgrounds and back out to the parking lot. We got in the car, the tension thick and ripe between us. I couldn’t wait to get back and get intimate with her—not physically, but through her art. I wanted to see what sort of imagination she had; I craved to know that side of her. So, despite my inhibitions, the moment we got back to the house, I led her up the stairs and into the old studio in the attic where I used to spend hours and hours painting. Everybody in the house was asleep or in their rooms, and I was glad that we didn’t have anybody to answer to, that we could be alone.

I reached up and pulled down the door that unfolded a set of stairs from the attic. She went up above me and I caught a glimpse under her dress. I glanced away, but not before I managed to see that the crotch of her panties was soaked through. It made my cock ache with hunger as we went up into the dusty studio.