by Penny Wylder
“Fuck, fuck…” Her words dissolve into faint, wordless cries as she hits her peak. But I don’t stop there. I keep going, lapping at her clit and her lips, alternating between pushing my tongue inside her and swirling it around the hard little nub of her clit until she screams again, her hips bucking.
I lean up and slowly, gently, press my fingertip against her pussy entrance. Work it into her, an inch at a time, all the while watching her face, loving the way she’s flushed with pleasure, her eyes half-closed and glistening with desire.
“Did you like that, naughty girl?” I ask, grinning. I push my finger another inch into her to accentuate the point. Her pussy muscles tighten around me, her mouth parting with want. “You like it when I make you come so hard you scream?” I press my finger the rest of the way into her, twist it gently back and forth so she can feel me in there, stretching her, pulling at her walls. “You like having my finger in your pussy.”
Her eyes lock on mine, though it takes her a moment to catch her breath. “Not… as much… as I like… your cock inside me,” she manages, starting to smile a sly little grin of her own.
I’m already rock hard again by this point, but I smirk at her, because I love making her impatient for me. Even as much as I want to be inside her, fucking her again, I want to draw this out more.
“Being impatient again, City Girl.”
She bucks a little beneath me. In response, I curl my finger and run it along her inner wall, back and forth, right over the spot I know will set her on fire. She gasps, and I laugh softly, enjoying the sight.
“City girls like… things fast,” she replies, trying to shrug.
“Here in the country, you’ll have to get used to a slower pace,” I reply as I add a second finger and slowly press it against her entrance. “We like to enjoy ourselves. Take our time.” I push my second finger into her, and savor her faint gasp, the tightening sensation of her pussy around my thick digits. “We know how to enjoy ourselves.”
“I’ll say,” she breathes. I lean down to kiss her chest, up to her neck, my fingers still buried in her pussy. When I reach her mouth, she grabs me instead and kisses me hard, her tongue slipping between my lips into my mouth, tangling with mine.
I finger her until she comes again, her mouth pressed against mine so I can swallow her gasping cries whole, savor every inch of her body shivering under me and her pussy clenching around my fingers.
Only then do I sit back and pull her upright. The water’s gone lukewarm beside us, but neither of us cares. I pin her against the wall and lift one leg around my waist, wrap it there tight as I press my cock against her pussy, rubbing it back and forth along her slit to coat myself in her juices.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper against her mouth, and she smiles, the edges of her lips digging into mine.
“I want you to make love to me, Grant Werther,” she whispers, and I swear to God, in that moment, I’m gone.
“Anything you want, it’s yours,” I murmur back. I raise her leg a little higher and slowly press the head of my cock into her entrance. Feel her swell and stretch to accommodate me, and with every inch farther into her that I press, I feel more and more complete. When I’m fully buried inside her, we both pause, our breathing coming hard and fast, our hearts hammering as we stand there, drenched in the shower, in our shower, in the house we share now. I have never felt this complete, this fulfilled.
Sasha bucks against me, impatient as ever, and with a grin, I lift her off the ground entirely and wrap her legs around my waist, her shoulders back against the tile wall. I fuck her until we’re both lost in it, so distracted we don’t even notice the water go cold around us. I’m lost in the feeling of her tight pussy clenching hard around my thick cock, the delicious sensation of being in her, possessing her to the fullest. She’s mine, and I cannot get enough of her.
When I come inside her, I clench her hard against me, my voice hoarse as I groan with pleasure, feeling my cum shoot deep inside her pussy. I fucking love that feeling, the feeling of my seed coating her walls, claiming her, marking her as mine. And I love how much she loves it, her head falling back as she cries out.
When I finally pull out of her, I grin at the hot rush that trickles down her legs, joining the cool water swirling around our ankles in the bathtub now.
“I think we need another shower,” I say, lifting an eyebrow, and she bursts into laughter as I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into another long, slow kiss.
“I’m fine with that,” she murmurs, arching her hips to press against mine. “Though I think a cold shower is the only way either of us is going to cool off tonight.”
She can say that again, I think, as I reach past her for the soap, to start getting clean all over again. If we can manage it this time…
13
Sasha Bluebell
Ten Months Later
“Hey Hank!” I wave across the street to Hank, posted out front of his store with his legs kicked up on an ottoman and a newspaper spread across his lap. Must be a slow day for hardware sales. I can see Etna through the shop window, standing at the counter bent over a paper of her own. Probably doing the crosswords like she loves so much.
“How’s it going?” Hank calls back with a pleasant smile and a wave. “You get that tractor working okay?”
“Grant’s on it,” I call back. “Thanks again for ordering the parts for us.”
“Anytime.” He winks and settles deeper in his chair as I walk past, on a mission to finish my shopping before Grant gets home from his own errands. I want to start dinner before he has a chance—I have a big special meal prepared tonight, but knowing my man, if he beats me to the kitchen, he’ll show me up by starting some fancy grilling of his own.
Not that I’d complain, of course. But tonight I want to treat him, dammit. It’s probably the last time I’ll be able to for a long while, after all.
“Sasha!”
But of course, in order to finish my grocery store run, I’ll have to be able to make it through town without everyone and their mother stopping me along the way to chat. Still, when I see who it is, I can’t help grinning back and stopping to let Meredith catch me up.
“How’d your soiree go?” I ask with a grin when she reaches me.
Meredith heaves out a sigh, clutching her side, since she just jogged a few blocks from the communal parking lot to catch me. “Decent. Wish you guys had been there though.” She shakes her head with another sigh. “I love the Johnsons, don’t get me wrong, and Troy’s a hoot. But nobody quite gets my sense of humor like you do. And poor Joe was bored out of his mind without Grant there to distract him with a few rounds of darts.”
I laugh. “Believe me, Grant was sad to miss it too. Next time, I promise,” I swear, but Meredith only raises an eyebrow and glances pointedly downward.
“You sure about that? Because you look about ready to burst, honey.”
I laugh again and follow her gaze, one hand resting on my round stomach. “Still got another month in me,” I reply. “I can make at least one more of your monthly parties before I’ll be bedridden.”
“Bedridden, and then sleep deprived from the constant fussing of your brand new baby,” Meredith points out helpfully.
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I’m not rubbing it in! I’m only commiserating. Since, you know…” She pauses, then her cheeks flush.
My eyebrows shoot sky-high. “Meredith?”
Her eyes widen and she clamps a hand over her mouth. “Crap. I wasn’t supposed to tell. Not till the big announcement…”
“Oh my God. You guys are expecting?” I’d jump up and down with excitement if my big belly could handle it. But at eight months pregnant, I know better than to try that. So I settle for grabbing her upper arms and squeezing with excitement. “That’s so wonderful, congratulations!”
“We’ll have to set up some play dates for them,” Meredith gushes, beaming. “They’ll be so close in age, they can
grow up together.” She lifts her eyebrows and glances at my belly pointedly. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll have a little boy and I’ll have a little girl…”
I burst out laughing once more. “And they can play around on our tire swings together and fall madly in love?” I lift an eyebrow, my gaze drifting up the street into a brief daydream. “Well. Worked out for me. Who knows?”
She grins and squeezes my shoulder, and I smile, watching the little sleepy town for a moment. I can’t believe that once upon a time I hated it here. Hated it so much I ran the first chance I got. I can’t believe everyone else here was so mad at me, too. I’d thought they were all judgmental, mean-spirited, mad at me for leaving. But really, they were just upset that I ran away without ever looking back or saying goodbye.
Now, they’ve welcomed me back with open arms. Now, as I look up the street, I catch at least three of my neighbors glancing back, waving, smiling cheerfully, some on their way to Hank’s shop to buy more supplies for their own houses and farms, others on their way to the grocery, same as me.
Meredith links arms with me and we stroll up the street to finish my errands. Once, this small-town life seemed impossibly boring to me. Too basic, too slow. Now, I adore the pace here. The way I can take my time, amble along and catch up with all my friends on my way to prep for the dinner I’m going to cook for the love of my life.
Now, I couldn’t imagine spending my life anywhere else.
My stomach sinks a little as I pull up to the farm, car filled with the supplies for tonight’s big dinner, and I spot Grant’s truck already parked in front of mine. Damn. I hope he’s not doing his usual thing, beating me to the punch on lovely surprises.
But when I hop out and unload the car, I find the house and the kitchen empty. That’s good, at least. But if he’s not making dinner yet, and if we’ve already finished the field-work for the day, then where has he gone?
I wander out back to scout the fields. From the back porch, a big, broad porch we added on to the house early in spring, I can see all the way across the main fields. We’ve planted almost all of them, except the couple we’re saving for our late summer crops. I was worried when we got started about how we’d keep this all up, but we’ve been able to hire a couple of extra hands to help out around here, a super sweet couple who live a couple farms over.
Not only that, but we’ve already made headway selling some of our earliest crops to local farmer’s markets and produce shops. It turns out that all my experience in the big corporate world of New York has translated into a pretty savvy marketing head back here on the farm. I’ve been putting in extra time branding everything we make—organic, home-grown, fresh from the land, just like the two of us.
Our company name helps too. Country Meets City. For some reason, that’s clicked with a lot of people in the towns around us. Guess there are more city runaways who’ve come to roost back home than we thought.
We aren’t making huge amounts of money, but it’s already enough to keep us afloat, and Grant thinks that within the next couple of years, we’ll be turning enough of a profit that we can expand the house a little bit. Add an extra bedroom for our little surprise in the oven.
We don’t know yet whether it’s a boy or a girl. We’re waiting to be surprised on delivery day. But we already know that either way, no matter who our baby turns out to be, they’re going to have a beautiful, perfect life out here in the countryside. We’re going to make sure of it.
Smiling now, with the sight of our productive fields in my mind, I stroll out across the fresh grass, barefoot like always now. I’ve always hated shoes, but never so much as I do since this bun turned up in my oven. Now, when I have to run into town for errands, I can’t wait to get home if only to kick off my shoes off and feel the grass between my toes, the solid dirt under my feet.
Just another thing I’d forgotten about before, back in my city life. Back when I forgot who I was, what I loved, what kept my heart beating and my mind alive with excitement.
It took Grant to remind me. To show me that everything I thought I had to run away to find was really waiting for me back here all along. Just like him. My man that got away—recaptured once and for all.
“Grant?” I call out, crossing around the house toward the front.
Then I spy him, and I pause in my tracks for a moment, watching.
He’s up on a ladder in the tire swing tree. From the coil around his arm, I can see he’s re-stringing the rope with a new one, one he must have picked up from Hank and Etna earlier today. He’s bent over his work, busy, so I don’t disturb him yet. I just slowly stroll closer, my eyes raking over his form as he works. I let my gaze linger on his strong biceps, his muscular back. He’s got his shirt on, but it’s warm out here for an early summer evening, and that shirt sticks to his skin, shows off his muscles to perfection.
I drink in the sight as I meander closer, watching him work.
Only when I’m about five feet away does he finally hear my feet padding in the grass and glance back over his shoulder. His eyes catch mine, and my heart flips over in my chest, the same way it always does whenever we see each another. The same way it has since the moment I laid eyes on him out in front of this farm, almost a year ago when I pulled up this driveway. I’ll never get sick of the way his eyes light up when they catch mine, like I’m everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.
“Hey honey,” he calls as he finishes tying off the rope. He runs his hand through his hair, pressing it back from his forehead, and my gaze drifts to his arms again, the bulge of his muscles, the delicate trace of his veins.
“Hey babe,” I call back. “What are you up to?” I squint at the rope and lift an eyebrow. “Decided this was unsafe after all?”
He laughs and starts to climb down the ladder, glancing from me to the swing and back again. “I still think it would’ve held our weight,” he says. “But better safe than sorry.” He reaches the ground and shrugs, giving the rope a solid tug. “I wanted to make this safe in time for our kid to enjoy it.”
I glance from the rope to the tire at the bottom, then lean against the tree and cross my arms. “Well?” I ask.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Well what?”
“You going to finish?” I nod my chin toward the tire. “I think if you’re trying to make this stable for our kid, then we’d better give it a go first.” My smile widens. “You know. Just to be safe. And maybe for old time’s sake.”
He laughs softly. But he reaches down and scoops up the tire anyway, and starts to loop the end of the rope around it. “Anything you want,” he replies with a wink. “It’s yours.”
I wait until he’s finished tying off the swing to approach. He offers me a hand, and helps me up onto the tire. I grip the rope tightly, then he wraps one hand around mine, extra pressure to hold me there, and steps onto the opposite side of the tire. The branch doesn’t even creak, even when Grant bounces a little to test our weight.
“Seems sturdy to me,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “But we haven’t done the full test…” Without another warning, he reaches down to kick us off the ground into a slight swing. I squeal, though of course with his hand around mine, holding me to the rope, there’s no danger in me falling off.
We swing gently back and forth, eyes locked on one another, and I chill runs through my body at how familiar this is.
“I still can’t believe you thought I forgot you,” I whisper, my voice low faux anger.
Grant laughs and rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe you thought I forgot you.” He reaches out with his free hand to cup my jaw. Gently draws me toward him and into a soft, slow kiss. “But hey,” he whispers against my mouth. “All that really matters is that we’ve finally both remembered, right?”
I smile and lean my forehead against his, our eyes still locked. “Believe me, Grant Werther. I’ll remember everything about you until the day I die.”
Epilogue
Grant Werther
One Month Later
I g
rip Sasha’s hand—or rather, allow her to grip mine, so tight that my fingers scream with protest. But I can’t complain. Really, really can’t. It’s nothing compared to what she’s feeling.
“Fucking hell,” she screams—or at least, I think that’s more or less the gist of it. It’s hard to tell, since she’s out of breath, and the morphine has made her a little bit loopy.
“Deep breaths,” I urge her, rubbing her back, smoothing her damp hair back from her forehead.
“One last push,” the doctor calls from the end of the table. It takes every ounce of self-restraint I have not to leap up from my seat, run down there with him to see. But I promised Sasha I’d hold her hand, stay with her. And no matter what, I always keep my promises to Sasha.
“Come on, honey,” I coax, and she turns a glare on me that could probably set half this room on fire.
But she does it, screams and tightens every muscle in her body, giving one last huge effort. Then I hear a sound that breaks and makes my heart all at once. A sound that changes my life forever. Both our lives.
All our lives.
I hear a high-pitched, wailing cry, and the nurses on either side of the doctor start clapping, even as he reaches up to cut the umbilical cord, starts wrapping the little bundle in his arms up in a towel.
I watch, my heart swelling, aching, so painfully full that I worry I’ll burst right here.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor says, and I turn to catch Sasha’s huge, amazing, gorgeous, sexy, beautiful as hell smile, a matching idiotic one spreading across my face too.
The doctor lays the baby in Sasha’s arms, and I kneel at her side, watching our little bundle of joy open tiny, baby blue eyes and coo at her mother. When those eyes meet mine, I know right in this moment I would lay down my life in a heartbeat for this baby girl. For Sasha.
