“Gosh, being poor really is distasteful,” he says sympathetically. I sigh and rub the back of my neck. Assholes are plentiful when wealth and societal standing is involved.
“Is there something I can help you with Mister Hartman? I need a shower,” I drawl, putting the bottle gently on the draining board, before pulling my t-shirt over my head and flinging it onto a chair. I get a perverse satisfaction from his eyes following the movement and resting on my chest, jealousy and annoyance flitter across his face. I flex my arms a little unnecessarily, just to be a complete shithead. Hartman takes an envelope from his pocket and lays it on the sink.
“Your wages for the remainder of the summer, Franklin. Your services are no longer required. There will be no future work for you at Rosemere Manor.” His face is confident but he swallows sharply, his bobbing Adam’s apple showing his hand, like a poker play with a glaringly obvious tell.
Edmund is one of those perma-tan types. Teeth a little too white, hair prematurely plum from whatever shit he’s having put into it. His body is athletic, tennis probably, or golf. He looks the type. Aging daily but none of it happening gracefully.
His youth lies way back down the road somewhere, wasted on building up a career, instead of enjoying life. No family to speak of, but a boner that stiffens for his dead brother’s widow. This much we have in common. Like the villain of a Shakespearean play, he wants what he can never have. The soft lush body of his brother’s widow writhing underneath him. Ownership of a thing of beauty. Something to distract him from the fact that he’s rotting from the inside out. I’ll take pleasure in denying him Ava.
I open the envelope fingering the wad of cash and nodding, my lips pursed in thought.
“Is that so mister Hartman? Well, I quite like working here at Rosemere, you see.” Edmund clears his throat and adjusts his tie.
“Mister Franklin, if there’s going to be trouble, I’ll have to involve the law,” he says. I laugh quietly and wink at him.
“You’ll have no trouble from me sir, I’ll be gone by the end of the week. You can be sure of that. I’ll give my notice to Featherstone today, and be gone by Sunday. That’s the right thing to do, I wouldn’t want there to be any unanswered questions about my quick departure. You understand?” Hartman nods sharply.
“Fine. Sunday, Mister Franklin. Now. If you’ll excuse me,” he says, moving passed me. I bow dramatically opening the door for him and holding my hand on the top of the frame, forcing him to duck under my arm. The fact that he’s threatened by my presence makes me happy. He should be threatened. I pull a lighter from my pocket and set fire to the envelope throwing it into the sink, and smiling as it burns.
***
I pace nervously beneath the moonlight, the orchard illuminated and cool at midnight. My cigarette burns to my fingers, and I stamp it underfoot before blowing out the last drag of nicotine into the night.
“Did you think I wouldn’t come?” She says shyly, and I smile closing my eyes tightly before turning around.
“I wondered if you would decide to play it safe, or give in to this thing that’s happening between us,” I say. Ava steps out from behind a tree and my breath catches. She looks even more beautiful, her long hair curling softly around her face. She wears a short red and white polka dot summer dress, tight and barely covering her sweet ass. The fact that she’s wearing it just for me makes me rock hard, and more likely to blow my load like a 15 year old boy, at any given moment. I position myself in front of her and rest my nose on hers before kissing her gently on the mouth. Her breath smells like orange, fresh and sweet, everything about her is perfection.
“I want-”
She lifts her hand to my lips interrupting me. “Don’t talk, don’t say anything, just feel.” Releasing my breath, I throw my head back when her small hands find the buttons of my jeans and pull them open. My cock jumps when her hand encases it, her touch like velvet. Waves of electricity pulse through me, making me feel as though I’m floating outside myself.
“Ava,” I moan. She shushes me, kneeling in front of me and takes me into her mouth sucking me deep inside. I fist the back of her hair as she withdraws to the tip, and circles the head of my cock with her tongue, causing a burst of precum to leak out into her mouth.
“That’s it, Ava. Jesus!” I massage her head encouraging her, harder, faster, while she moans and steps up the pace. Her head bobs up and down my rock hard cock until I’m ready to spill into her gaping mouth. Pulling my cock back from her, I grin at her disappointed face.
“One second little dove,” I whisper, pulling her dress over her head. She’s naked underneath and it drives me wild.
“You dirty little bitch,” I say, pulling her onto her feet. She laughs, the sound mesmerising to me, like silver bells tinkling.
“You did that so I’d see your pussy, didn’t you?”
She nods, her eyes wide and eager. “I want to suck you, and taste you. I want you to cum in my mouth,” she says, her voice raspy and breathless.
“Soon,” I say taking her breasts in my hands, and rubbing my thumb against the erect nipples, they respond to my touch, peaking and pebbling making Ava moan. Taking one into my mouth I lather it with spit and suck it greedily.
“On your knees, Ava. On all fours,” I growl. She complies immediately and dips her back, her arse white and plump in the moonlight. Kneeling behind her, I open her pussy with my fingers and spit into it, making her jump.
“Oh fuck, yes Ridge, Jesus!”
“You like that don’t you? My spit in your pussy.” She groan and I lick her slowly, savouring the taste of her on my lips. “You’re going to cum first for me Ava, then I’m going to cum in your mouth, and on your tits. Would you like that?” I keep up a steady massage on her tits, rolling her nipples between my fingers.
“Yes,” she moans breathlessly, putting her hand down between her legs and rubbing slowly.
“That’s it, rub your clit, my little dove, rub it and cum.”
Ava’s eyes are half closed, and her breath comes in short bursts. I rub my beard off her pussy, and smile when she jumps at the connection.
“Jesus, yes! Please Ridge! I need...I need.”
“Cum for me Ava,” I say, and she throws her head back and explodes into my mouth, cuming hard. When her breathing steadies, I stand in front of her and stroke my cock, pumping it in my fist until I reach fever pitch.
“Open your mouth,” I moan. “Yes, like that, swallow it down Ava, take it all.” I continue pumping, watching the adoration and passion on her face as streams of cum land on her tits, and in her open mouth. She moves my hand out of the way, taking me back in her mouth, as she sucks me dry.
AVA
Riding is the only thing that’s kept me sane over the years, the freedom I feel when cantering through the fields, animals never judging and never punishing.
Now all I can think about is Ridge-motherfucking -Franklin, and how he smells like man and horses, and the dirt from the grounds of Rosemere. Fuck! He’s too young, too intense and too dangerous for a woman like me. I snort to myself. A woman like me? What kind? The kind who has been fucked a handful of times in her marriage until her husband realised what a frigid bitch, quote unquote, I am. After that it was women sneaking in and out of my home for the last 17 years. Not that I cared. Once he left me alone, I didn’t care about what he did with his time. Years flew by after Daniel died. Days turning into weeks, into months and years. I saw myself age from a young foolish girl, still sure of a happily ever after, into a woman unrecognisable from what I once was. My ability to feel anything but anger and loss started to melt away, and I hid inside the walls of Rosemere, because it was easier than seeing happiness on the faces of others. I never made friends, it was pointless, because Beaufort wouldn’t allow it, and because caring about someone else only means pain and loneliness in the end.
Now my body is betraying me with a kid, a 20 year old kid. I can’t stop thinking about him, about last night. The things he said, the things
we did. Dirty things that I never thought I’d want to do. I want to do it all with him, to him.
I stand beside my horse and raise my eyes to search his, eyes so brown they look almost black, the same colour as his hair. I’m officially losing my shit! He is more man than any man I’ve ever seen, every curvature of his skin displays muscle hard won by working with the land. No gym bunny here, each part of him ripped and taut, I feel a warmth in my womb as it clenches in response to his eyes lazily running over me.
Holding my foot, he roughly gives me a leg up before helping me into the stirrup. He keeps his hand wrapped around my ankle until I’ve no choice but to look down into his eyes.
“You know it’s going to happen, Ava. Fighting it is pointless. We belong together. Leave this place with me,” he murmurs, before slapping the horse’s rear and walking away from me. I turn and stare back at him not sure if I misheard, before clicking my tongue and trotting off into the field huffing and puffing like I’ve just ran a marathon. The saddle creates a friction between my legs and I move myself gently against it, panting. Holy shit! Damn Ridge-motherfucking-Franklin.
RIDGE
I understand loss. The feelings it drags up. Pain, anger, confusion, regret. When people suffer loss it holds them in time, suspended in their grief. You remember things, memories, but never in order. Arguments had, conversations you should have had. Everything becomes important, dissected and analysed. For someone like Ava, she missed out on the majority of that because of her brother’s condition. What she clings to is guilt and regret. I feel it whenever I’m close to her, like an invisible thread connecting us, allowing me to feel what she feels.
“What are you thinking about, boy?”
I look around at Featherstone and grin. Only he could get away with calling me ‘boy’ especially considering I tower more than a foot over his small frame, and would make two of him in weight and girth.
“Thinking about what’s for dinner. Life and all the big questions,” I reply. He snorts and continues to shine a car part with a greasy rag.
“Why you keep coming back here, son? You have no need of this place.”
“You know why,” I say, jumping down off the bunk bed, grabbing a rag and picking up a part of the tractor’s engine. Fixing things is what Featherstone loves best, it’s what he did for me two years ago. Took the broken pieces of a young boy, and with time and care built a man.
“You think she’ll be yours? That’s what you think?” He shakes his head sadly, and I see the concern in his eyes.
“I don’t need to own her, just to possess her. There’s a difference,” I say winking at him.
“Oh, and what’s that difference?” He says laughing quietly and pulling at his cap, raising it and then pulling the peak down again. I put the rag down and wipe my chin with my thumb.
“Owning someone means you’re always afraid they’ll leave if you give them their freedom, possessing someone means they’ll never want to leave, that’s the difference,” I say.
“Did you tell her who you are, what you are?” He looks up from cleaning and raises a brow. I stand up and stretch my arms over my head.
“Now, why you got to spoil a perfectly good conversation with talk like that?” I tease. He snorts again and shakes his head.
“She’s going riding, soon. You going with her? That mare of hers is spooked lately,” he says. I stand and slap him good naturedly on the shoulder.
“That’s the plan. See you later.”
“Later boy,” he nods.
It’s only been days since the old bastard died, and Featherstone has sent me out to ride with Ava at every opportunity. To keep an eye on her in her grief, he says, in that Yorkshire way of his. Such a gentlemen and such a kind-hearted fool. There is no grief. How could she grieve for a man who treated her like chattel? I wonder if any of them saw it. The pain in her eyes, the emptiness. I wonder if any of them cared for her, a young girl married off to an old bent-over miserable bastard who used every opportunity to shame and humiliate her. I don’t suppose any of them lost any sleep over it. Different classes of people seem to accept the sins of those unknown to them.
***
I clench and clench my fists to stop myself from touching her. Claiming her. Instead I lift her gently onto her horse, my cock stiffening immediately on contact, I hold her aloft, my crotch pressed against her ass for a brief second. Long enough to make me harder than I’ve ever been. An image of lifting her up and fucking her roughly flickers through my mind, as it files away the memory of her body into the place where I keep all my longings for her. There must be millions of them now. Memories and fantasies. Two summers worth of dreaming of another man’s wife. Now she’s free to be mine, to let herself be happy. Fuck him. Fuck respecting the dead. That shameless bastard treated her like shit for the best part of two decades, crushing her, making her doubt her sexuality and her beauty. It has to be now. I hold her ankle tightly until I fix it into the stirrup. Her body is petite yet solid. Her luscious chestnut hair falls heavy in a braid, I ache to run my fingers through it and release it, I love it best when it’s wild and untamed. I want to feel that hair wrapped around my cock while I’m thrusting my fingers into her. The front of my boxers feel wet from pre-cum, and I ache to release the pressure. I swat away a fly from my face. The scent of her still on my hands no matter how often I wash them.
***
The sun beats down, and the ground has dried out like old skin, cracking and dehydrated underfoot. The gardens remain lush and green under the sprinkler system, I love this time of year. In the height of the summer when the work is exhausting and backbreaking and there is a purpose in the land. All life has come of age, the youth of springtime replaced by the maturity of summer. Everything at its more fertile, and its most beautiful. My hands are already calloused by the continuous cycle of tending lawns, and mucking out the stables daily. We ride every day, mostly in silence, I like to watch her, the way she handles her horse, the beauty and power of her, the way she handles the beast between her legs. I’d be lying if I say it doesn’t make me horny as hell. Then again everything about her makes me horny as hell. When we talk, we share secrets, my parents, her brother, things that matter. Sometimes I see her watching me, the longing in her eyes reflected within my own.
“Don’t you ever speak?” She shouts at my back. I pull the reins and look back at her, catching the annoyance flickering across her features. She’s been living for so long behind a wall of nothingness, that she’s forgotten how to hide her feelings. Her emotions simmer just underneath the surface waiting to explode free. What we shared two nights ago in the orchard is making us both crazy. The want and need visible to all, it makes her feel vulnerable. My protective instinct goes into overdrive and I want to take her away from here and care for her.
“Aye, when I’ve something to say.”
“Well, say something then. Tell me something,” she insists.
I grin, waiting for her to catch up. She angsty today, agitated and itching for a confrontation. Oh Princess, I know. I know. Her eyes are lush green, as though she was made for nature, I imagine looking into them while fucking her in the long grass. My cock gets immediately erect at the thought of her. Down boy. “What do ya want me to say princess? Tell me what ya want to know?” She dismounts, ties her mare to the nearest apple tree and marches off slapping her whip against her riding boot and muttering to herself. Throwing a leg over my horse, I jump to the ground and follow her, watching her glorious arse as it moves inside her jodhpurs, swaying with her generous hips. The end of her hair meets the waistband, and the urge to fist it is overwhelming and all consuming. Grabbing her elbow I twirl her around, the tension coming from her in waves. I know she feels the energy coming from me too. The heat and need. I grab the tie at the end of her plait and pull it out.
“Do you know I could have you fired for talking to me like that? For touching me.” She shouts.
“Do ya think I would care?” I lie. Ava shakes her head, her hair falling
out of its plait and landing in chestnut waves around her shoulders.
“From what I’ve seen of you Ridge, probably not. I’m not a princess, you know. I’m just me. God, I don’t know what the hell to say! You tie me in knots when I’m around you. I’m just me, okay? I’m just ordinary,” she says throwing her hands up.
I run a hand through my hair and walk closer to her. Trailing the back of my hand down the length of her jaw, my heart leaps in my chest when I see her pupils dilate and her tongue wetting her lips.
“Not ordinary Ava. Anything but that. You are the most princess-like person I know. Beautiful and kind, trapped in Rosemere, your own personal tower. I know why you won’t leave. I know why you stay here.” Her mouth turn down into a frown and she bites her lip to stop herself from speaking until she composes herself.
“Why do you persist in goading me, Ridge? I stay because Rosemere is my home. My husband...”
“Don’t! Don’t lie to me. That old bastard kept you here for years, lonely, neglected and hostage. You stay for your brother,” I say, getting a perverse pleasure from seeing the shock on her face as her mouth drops open and then shuts.
“You have no right to speak to me like that. I’ll remind you of your place. Why do you say such things?” She seem unsure of herself and takes a step backwards as I move into her. Ava runs a hand through her hair, holding the end of it and pulling it over one shoulder.
“Because I like seeing you come to life. I like seeing you drop the ice princess act. I’d like to see you burn,” I reply grabbing her wrist and pulling her against me. Her eyes widen and her chest rises and falls in shock.
“See me burn?” She mutters darting her tongue out to moisten her bottom lip. My eyes catch the movement and follow it. My cock grows painfully hard, and I thrust my hips against her belly. Her eyes widen and she swallows deeply.
“Aye, see you burn for me. I can make you burn for me, princess. The same way I burn for you.”
F Boy: Screwing the Boss series Page 3
