“Mmm.” I toy with the collar of his flannel. “But I thought you were worried about my recovery.”
“I am. But I’m also a man with a pulse and a beautiful woman on my lap talking about blow jobs in broad daylight.”
I laugh, biting my lip as I turn a little more to face him. “Okay, fine. I’ll be good.”
His brow arches. “Liar.”
I kiss him and slide off his lap, settling onto the side console like nothing happened. “Let’s go, cowboy. You promised me stew.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds like a prayer and a curse all in one, then throws the tractor into gear.
As we bump down the path toward the house, I catch him adjusting himself behind the wheel.
I grin, satisfied. Because he’s definitely still thinking about that list. And the best part? So am I.
Dinner is a blur as Sam and I fight real hard to keep our hands off each other under the table. Phern is lost in her thoughts or is purposely ignoring us. We rush through dishes until it’s just the two of us.
Silently, we make our way to the bedroom. The house is quiet now, the only sound the low pop of the fire and the occasional gust of wind brushing against the windows. I take off my sweatpants, throwing them in the laundry basket. I’m not wearing panties, but I don’t think Sam knows that yet since the sweatshirt hangs past my thighs.
Sam stands in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the frame, watching me with that slow burning heat in his eyes. It’s the kind of heat that makes my skin prickle with awareness even before he says a word.
“I’ve been thinking’,” he drawls, voice low, lazy.
“Oh?” I stretch out a little on the bed, the oversized sweatshirt slipping just enough to bare one shoulder. “Dangerous.”
His lips twitch. “That list of yours earlier.”
I grin. “Yeah?”
He pushes off the frame, sauntering toward me with that same confident stride that says he knows exactly what he does to me. “I’d like to circle back to it.”
I sit up, playful. “Which part?”
He drops to one knee between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs, pushing the hem of the sweatshirt higher. “Well, I was real fond of the blow job idea, if I’m bein’ honest.”
I tilt my head, mock thoughtful. “Is that so?”
“Mmmhmm.” He presses a kiss just above my knee. “But I think I’d rather start with my favorite.”
I suck in a breath as he lifts my legs, sliding them over his shoulders.
“Oh,” I murmur, voice gone soft. “Going with option two, are we?”
He smirks, mouth brushing just shy of where I’m already aching. “It’s not even close to fair how good you taste, darlin’. And I’ve been thinking about this all-goddamn day.”
My head tips back, a moan slipping past my lips as his tongue finds me again—slow, thorough, and unapologetic. He eats like a man starved, hands gripping my thighs, pulling me closer, deeper into his mouth until I’m gasping, writhing, helpless against the pressure of his tongue and the heat pooling low in my belly.
“Sam—” My fingers tangle in his hair. “God—yes, there?—”
He hums, the sound wicked and smug, sending vibrations straight through me.
And when I come clenching around nothing and everything at once, he doesn’t stop. He draws it out, coaxing every tremor from my body until I’m twitching under him.
Only then does he pull back, lips glistening, breath hot as he moves up over me on the bed. “Now about that titty fucking…”
I laugh, dazed and breathless, and tug him down for a kiss that tastes like sin.
I say, “I’m all ears.”
