“No talking. Just fucking,” I beg. “Hard.”
His hips drive harder and he grabs my chin again to guide my mouth to his. I feel Tate everywhere—inside and outside—and it’s too much and not enough. Everything feels like it’s happening too fast but in slow motion. My limbs are all numb because every nerve ending in my body has shut off except for one: the one Tate’s bumping and grinding against at a deliciously relentless pace.
I gasp into our endless kiss as my body tightens and shudders and my climax rips through me with abandon. As my body goes limp Tate’s gets more rigid and he pushes harder and faster for a few more strong, hard thrusts and then a groan rumbles up and out of him and I slap a hand over his mouth this time as he finds his own release.
For a few disorienting moments we stay there, body-to-body, hearts hammering against each other, breathless. His lips are the only thing moving, still gliding over my neck, my jaw, my ear and then my mouth. He’s gentle now. Slow and soft and it feels divine. I drop one arm across his back and slip my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft and damp from exertion, and he must like me playing with it because he nuzzles my neck. But then he whispers. “I have to pull out.”
And he does, stepping back so I let my legs drop to the floor. I feel like a newborn baby goat taking its first steps—wobbly and uncertain. So much for marching out of here like nothing happened.
I, as quickly and gracefully as possible, get dressed. Tate does too and before he can say anything, I’m leaving. He’s right behind me as I make my way out of the barn. “This was a mistake.”
“No it wasn’t,” Tate replies. “It was either this or we kill each other. At least now neither of us will end up in jail like Clyde and George.”
I stop. Turn and look at him. His skin is pink and he’s still breathing unevenly like he still hasn’t caught his breath. Good to know I have company in that department. “But it’s one and done.”
“Couldn’t agree more. One and done,” Tate repeats with a nod, but then our eyes lock and a smile starts to tug the corners of the lips that feel so good on my skin, and I feel a blush start to crawl up my cheeks and I can’t help but smile too, and suddenly we’re grinning like total lunatics…until the screen door slams.
“What isshedoing onmyproperty?” George Adler’s voice booms like a cannon going off.
Shit.
“Finishing up some market business,” I respond trying to sound calm and professional and not like someone who just let his grandson pound her into blissful oblivion in his barn. “Relax. I’m leaving.”
I can hear George stomping down the porch steps but I don’t bother to turn around. I keep walking but George keeps following. “You and you wretched family aren’t allowed to set foot on my property for any reason.”
“Gramps, stop!” Tate barks. “You’re being rude.”
“I’m being rude? Her family has a history of making our life hell,” George replies, yelling at the top of his lungs. “They killed our cow.”
“What? Gramps, Milkshake was an escape artist with a death wish,” Tate replies. “She used to get off the property at least twice a week. And she wasn’t hit by one of the Todds.”
“No, but it was the fence that borders their property that she got through the day she died. The one Clyde keeps trying to tear down,” George says. “And why are you defending them?”
“I’m definitely not defending them,” Tate says, but he sounds…guilty.
“What the heck is everyone screaming about?” Comes a new, annoyed voice.
“Nothing, Dad. Don’t worry about it,” Tate says.
“Why is Maggie Todd here? What’s going on?”
Finally I turn to face them. Vince Adler is standing on the porch with his arms crossed and an annoyed scowl on his face. George is walking toward me pointing at me with a stubby fat finger. Tate is following along behind him.
“Do not touch me, old man,” I warn when George gets close enough that his hand is a foot from my face.
“I have a right to stand my ground and protect my property,” George announces. “You’re trespassing, so consider yourself lucky I don’t get out my shotgun.”
“Gramps, we don’t have a stand your ground law in Vermont, and if you pull out your shotgun, I’m calling the cops on you,” Tate barks.
“Stop defending her,” George demands.
“I’m leaving!” I holler, loudly. Everyone stares at me. I make a point of looking each of them in the eye defiantly but calmly. Until my eyes land on Tate and I feel my girl parts shimmy as my brain fills with images from moments ago in the barn. Before I can blush, I force myself to look away from him and push the memories out of my head. “I just had to settle something with your grandson. It’s settled. I promise it will never happen again.”
“Never ever again,” Tate repeats and George turns and levels him with a stare, his old wrinkled face twisted in bewilderment.
“Bye!” I say and march away as fast as I can without actually running.
By the time I get to my car and haul myself inside, my skin is crimson, but it’s not because I was berated and chased off by George. It’s because I just saw Tate naked. And he saw me naked. And our parts merged…
