It’s torture that my room smells like her, sweet torture that smells like baked goods. If I wanted to fuck a croissant, of course. Apparently, I do now. I toss my hat to the side, brushing my hair with my fingers, and I look around helplessly. I don’t know what to do with myself. My muscles are tired from working myself to the bone, but even as I hit the mattress with a groan, I know I can’t sleep like this.
My hand lowers to the front of my jeans, and before I have time to judge myself, I push down the zipper and palm myself through my boxers. I’m met with hot iron and want, and my fingers delve inside, feeling the smooth skin. She turns me into something else, and it’s with that newfound hunger that I stroke myself, licking the air that tastes like her, like a desperate dog searching for its treat.
Images of her thick curly hair bouncing around her waist come to mind. It’s fucking ridiculous to be this hard, wondering if the curls are just as soft as I imagine them to be. I fuck my hand, thinking about the round curve of her shoulder, the delicate ankle showing under the floral dress. She drives me mad with her rare smiles and the way her brown eyes shine with mirth.
My fist grips me harder, and I choke in pleasure, licking my lips, wanting to lick her instead. Her lips, her skin, her pussy. I growl, and I know I’m not fucking quiet about it. I can’t be. Not when I can taste her on my tongue so good, it’s like my head is between her thighs.
The desire burns my veins and blurs the edges of my vision. I follow the want like a mindless animal, wanting nothing but reprieve fromthe need. When I finally come, it’s all over my stomach and clothes, yet I’m still rock hard for her.
ten
Jesse
“And right here we keep the chickens,” I say as I open the gates, smiling over my shoulder.
Veda wears denim overalls dotted with cherries over a plain white T-shirt, and it’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen. As if her mission in life is to make me swoon, she’s also put her curls in pigtails and pink cowboy boots on her feet. It’s sweet, and it’s also the perfect attire for working around the ranch. Since breakfast, she’s followed me around the ranch, learning where everything is.
We all agree that feeding the animals is the perfect task for her. It’s something that takes time but not necessarily a lot of effort. She doesn’t need to be a big cowboy to feed the chickens, so that’s what I’m going to show her to do.
“If you can take care of them, that will be a huge help.”
“I can do this and more.” She arches an eyebrow as I pass her the small bag of pellets.
She carefully drops it over the feeder, making sure to do it evenly, as if the chickens will riot otherwise. The chickens run at the first sign of food, and Veda steps back with a smile on her face. We watch themeat for a moment until Margella, our eldest girl, comes out of the fray, done with the younglings.
“Are you done with their mess?” I ask as I take Margella into my arms.
“Ohh, she’s cute.” Veda comes over and tentatively tries to pet the chicken. “Tell me we don’t eat them. I don’t want to get attached accidentally.”
She coos to Margella, giggling at anything the old gal does. The sun shines over her, the rays making her skin glow and her hair redder. Air leaves my breath in one gush, and then I start wishing for the same thing as her.
I don’t want to get attached.
Veda watches me for a second too long, and I realize I didn’t answer her question. I shake my head and put the chicken back on the ground. “No, they are just for eggs. You don’t want to name the pigs, though. We try to be sustainable.”
She frowns. “I wanted to quit eating meat a long time ago after I watched a documentary, but Grandpa said I was already too fussy and made me eat it.”
Again, her grandfather pisses me off beyond belief. That goddamn old fuck.
“You have an autoimmune disease. You’re not fussy.”
She’s surprised by my sudden knowledge, and I shrug as if I didn’t run to search for everything I could about the moment I found out I waspoisoningher. It’s a serious thing, and it hurts that her grandfather, of all people, ignored her medical condition to the point of calling her fussy. Nothing I learn about Anderson St. James makes me like the guy more.
“Anyway,” she says, averting her eyes from me. “I have a soft heart, I guess. I know I devoured the bacon yesterday. I think my heart is not as soft when I’m hungry.”
“You can quit meat if you like. It’s not a big deal. You won’t be hungry again, and you can be as fussy as you want to be.”
The promise sounds good to my ears, but she shakes her head and moves away, taking that sweet sugary scent with her.
"It’s okay. You don’t need to—”
“Can I be a little too honest, Veda?” I interrupt her before she can make more excuses for why she can’t eat whatever she wants.
“Please.” She sighs in a way that makes me think all she wants is honesty.
“I think your grandfather is an asshole.”
Veda chokes with a laugh as if the urge is too much, but she wants to hold back.
