Virginia doesn’t wait for a response before going on. “See ya around?”
I nod. “I’ll stop by The Barrel soon. It’s been a while.”
“First drink’s on me. Have a good one, Oakley.”
Virginia heads off to pay for her plants, and I wander over to the nursery. Rows and rows of flora are set atop tables or hanging from beams overhead. Small transplant pots are full of brightly colored flowers, herbs, anything and everything a person could want to fill their garden with. Hanging baskets like the one Virginia grabbed are mixed with collections of annuals or holding indoor plants like spider ivy or pothos. The air is humid, the smell of potting soil and fertilizer heavy.
Picking a small pot of rosemary, one of thyme, and one of basil, I head back into the main part of the store where I saw windowsill planters. I bring my collection to the checkout, making it outside after a good fifteen-minute conversationwith Ms. Newton, one of my mom’s friends from the many years they worked together.
The sun is scorching today, my truck’s AC barely managing to keep up with the heat on the short drive home. Once inside, I unlock the back door, not surprised to hear Bell wandering in a minute later, her hooves clomping down the hall.
“I swear to God, Belladonna, you find your way up onto the counter to eat these herbs, and I’m making rosemary steak tonight.”
My cow sticks her wet nose against the back of my knee. I jolt, glaring at her deceptively cute face.
“That was rude,” I tell her.
One black ear twitches as Bell sniffs the air before heading off, finding a spot to lie down in the living room. Luckily, she doesn’t try the couch, knowing it’s not allowed. I have to draw the line somewhere.
As my miniature cow dozes, I set about moving my tiny herb collection from their pots into the narrow planter that’s a near perfect fit for the windowsill above the sink. Dirt gets spread across the countertop as I work, just as much of it beneath my fingernails. The AC in the house is on, but I’m still sweating despite my shorts and the ceiling fan running overhead. Montana doesn’t get as hot as some places, but it’s plenty hot for me this time of year.
As I’m setting the planter onto the windowsill, the green giving the space a nice pop of color, there’s a knock followed by my front door opening. My lips twitch into a smile. I don’t even have to look over to know it’s Lawson. The man has never had any compunction about barging into my space at any and all hours.
“You hoping for dinner?” I ask, hearing boots hit the mat. “’Cause if so, you’re in for a wait. I haven’t even started it yet.”
Lawson doesn’t say anything, just pads into the kitchen. When I hear a zipper, I turn.
And then I’m fairly certain I die just a little.
Lawson shoves his jeans and underwear down to his feet, sets a condom on the countertop, braces his elbows against the surface, and looks over at me expectantly.
“The fuck?” I croak, my heart beating like a drum.
“Please?” is all he says.
My breath whooshes from me, my dirt-covered hands suspended midair, my brain not at all caught up to what’s happening. But Lawson bends a little lower, his back arching, andholy fucking shit.
“Is… Are…”
No, my mouth doesn’t want to work either.
Lawson’s eyes search mine, the man utterly unabashed about dropping his pants in proposition inside my kitchen. “Please, Oak? I just need…” He makes a frustrated sound. “I justneed.”
“My hands,” I say, a weak protest.
Lawson, seeing that as a problem easily solved, unbends enough to grab me by the waistband and tug me closer. He unzips my shorts, and, not finding a single complaint on my tongue, guides his hand inside to pull out my cock. My briefs fall with my shorts to the floor as Lawson strokes me, only needing to do so three times before I’m fully hard. I brace a hand on the counter for support, everything in me pinging and ecstatic as Lawson, my best goddamn friend, rolls a condom down my cock.
Twisting back around, he says, “I know you don’t mind stretching me, but I already did it. Couldn’t wait.”
My breath comes out in a pant.
Lawson settles back over the counter, the lube on his asshole, now that I’m looking for it, visible. His cock isn’t yet hard. “Please, Oak?”
Stepping close, I shake my head, not sure whether this situation should be as arousing as it is but finding I simply don’t have the wherewithal to question it. I wrap dirt-covered fingers over Lawson’s hip, the man letting out a sigh that sounds like relief.
“Line me up,” I manage, my voice hoarse.
Lawson reaches back, holding my cock steady, the head notching against him and slipping inside the moment I press forward. He lets go, pushing back to meet me, andfucking hell, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
