I’d make her beg first. Oh, yes. I’d make her scream for me. Tell me how much she wants me. Beg me to fuck her until she can’t walk straight.
Only then would I finally push the tip of my thick cock between her lips. Slide inch by inch into her pussy, and enjoy the way she moaned and groaned as her tight walls expanded to take me.
I stroke myself faster, faster. It’s almost embarrassing how fast I near the edge, how I have to back off and move my hand slower for a while, think about running my hands over her ass and digging one hand into that luscious long hair, in order to stave off the peak from hitting too soon.
Finally, though, I can’t hold it off any longer. I grab a wad of paper towels from the sink and come into them with a groan, teeth gritted, eyes still fixed on the window, on Sasha.
She’s working away, completely oblivious. She has no idea the kind of effect she has on men.
On me.
I shake my head and sigh. I’d have thought that would satiate me somewhat. But I only feel more riled up than ever now. I want that girl something fierce. But damned if I’m going to take her. Not with all this mess going on.
Don’t mix business and pleasure, I remind myself as I finish cleaning up and toss away the evidence. I cast one last glance at the window before I go to behave. To finish my chores for the day and head back out to sleep in the bed of my truck for another night.
But that’s when I freeze.
Because this time when I look outside, Sasha isn’t working.
She’s turned sideways. For a moment I think she must have lost something. She’s bent double, hands on her head.
Then she sags forward, onto her knees, and I fling myself at the door. Something’s wrong.
I sprint out back, door crashing behind me. I’m already on the lawn by the time she drops to all fours.
“Sasha!”
She doesn’t respond. From the way she’s bent though, head almost touching the dirt, it can’t be good.
I reach her side in a few seconds, and breathe a sigh of relief when she turns her head, at least far enough to study my shoes.
“I…” She shakes her head, probably smearing dirt across her forehead, since it’s still pressed against the ground.
“Come here.” I bend and scoop her up easily, all in one motion. Christ, the girl weighs almost nothing. When was the last time she had a decent meal?
Now I sound like a damn grandmother. What is this woman doing to me?
“What happened?” I ask, cradling her against my chest. “Look at me, Sasha.”
Her head is swaying, and when she does look up, her eyes are unfocused, sliding across my face before she zeroes in on my eyes and blinks.
“I… don’t know…”
“Do you feel dizzy? Lightheaded? Describe the symptoms to me.”
“I… Yeah, dizzy,” she admits.
I’m already striding toward the house, carrying her as fast as my legs will move. “Have you eaten something today? Drank any water?”
“Um…” She bites her lip. “Breakfast. And…”
“When was the last time you had water?” I prompt.
“I… don’t know.”
I heave a sigh. “You need to stay hydrated if you’re going to spend all day out in the sun playing at farmhand, City Girl.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips at that nickname. Good. Smiling is good. Understanding jokes is good. “My bad. Forgot… We don’t have… Water in the city.”
I laugh at that even as I shoulder our way through the back door.
When we get inside the house, she swings her legs a little. “I can stand…”
“No way.” I breeze right through the kitchen, bypassing the living room, which only has a couple of armchairs, not anything you can really lie down on. I carry her straight into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed, taking care not to jostle her too much on the way down.
“Really, I’m fine,” she protests as soon as I’ve got her lying flat. She tries to sit up but I can tell from the way that her eyes slide in and out of focus that she’s bullshitting me.
“You’re not fine.” I catch her shoulders and gently press her back down onto the bed. “Promise me you won’t try to sit up while I get you water.”
She heaves a sigh but catches my eye, and something in my look must tell her I’m serious. “I promise,” she accedes.
Only then do I slip out of the room to go and fill her a huge glass of water. When I get back, my shoulders relax a little, seeing that she’s still awake, alert, and not trying to sit up or push me on this anymore. I sit on the edge of the bed and slide a hand between her shoulder blades—ignoring the pang that this intimate contact sends straight to my groin. It’s not the time.
I hold her upright, just far enough to drink. She takes a huge gulp at first, but I pull the cup away from her lip. “Small sips,” I say. “At least until the first wave of dizziness passes.”
She takes a couple of sips, then I help her lie back down and set the glass on the nightstand. Sasha heaves another sigh, this one the type of sigh I recognize. She’s frustrated.
“I was trying to help,” she says, her voice small, annoyed with herself. “I can work, you know. I’m not some completely spoiled brat.”
“I know that.” I’m standing again, because I don’t trust myself lingering here next to her for too long. If I hang around and watch her lying across this bed, it won’t be long before I start picturing other ways the two of us could sprawl across it. And that will only lead to trouble.
Trouble for her.
And probably for me too, since then I’ll have fucked my business partner.
“You need to be careful,” I tell her. “Take care of yourself. Don’t push too hard. Even if you can work, your body isn’t used to this pace.”
She nods a little, mouth pursed.
I glance past her at the window. “Catch some rest,” I tell her. “It’s getting late anyway. I’ll finish the roof, then make us some dinner. Sound good?”
She bites her lip. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I know,” I reply. I’m out of the room before she can say anything else.
I don’t have to. Doesn’t mean I won’t, at least when she’s like this.
City Girl is in way over her head here.
6
Sasha Bluebell
How fucking embarrassing. First I go and faint in front of Grant. Then he forces me to let him carry me inside and take care of me…
But I can’t lie, he’s good at it. Not to mention how good it felt being cradled in his arms—at least once I was awake enough to realize what was happening, to feel his strong arms holding me against his rock-solid chest, and feel his breath on my cheeks as he leaned down to check on me, asking me questions, cracking jokes to check if I was still awake and with-it.
And when he helped me sit up to drink water, his touch against my back felt red-hot, almost as distracting as the itch in my throat and the pounding, dizzying ache in my head from the dehydration.
Now, he’s cooked a veritable feast, which he’s forcing me to eat in bed like I’m an invalid.
“I can sit at the table,” I protest.
“That would ruin the whole point of dinner-in-bed,” he replies with a shrug as he sets the tray across my lap. The breakfast-in-bed tray. I remember this. We used to bring it in to Mama every Mother’s Day, serve her pancakes on it.
We?
No. I used to. I used to, every year after my good-for-nothing father left us to fend for ourselves on Mother’s Day and every other day of the year.
I force that thought to the back of my mind. Don’t think about it. Like always. Like I’ve been doing for years.
I smile a little half-smile at Grant, and glance from him to the feast. He grilled corn and potatoes the same way Mama used to, baking them in tinfoil, then searing them a bit at the end so they’re black and flaky around the edges, not to mention coated in plenty of salt. His ribs look a hell of a lot better than any Mama ever made though, and covered in BBQ sauce. All that combined with the fat slices of bread and the veritable vat of butter he included, and, well…
“This looks like the worst possible thing we could eat in bed,” I point out with a laugh, eying the single handful of napkins he brought with it dubiously.
“Why, are you a messy eater, Sasha?” He lifts an eyebrow, smirking at me.
“Depends what I’m eating,” I say, before I realize. I blush a little and roll my eyes as he snorts with laughter. “I meant like ribs, which are going to get all over my hands and my face.”
“Uh huh. That the only thing you like all over your hands and face?” He raises a single eyebrow, pinning me with his stare.
I remember what he said in the car. The way he thinks about me. Not going to lie, the whole time I was out working in the yard, the memory of that comment kept me more than a little worked up.
As annoyed as I might be by him making that comment, threatening to make this relationship anything but a business one, I have to admit… It’s hot as hell to know that I’m just as distracting to Grant Werther as he is to me. The big country man might be a danger to the little city girl, but apparently, he’s not immune to my charms either.
Which is good to know.
So I grab a rib and take a bite, catching his eye while I chew it, then lick the BBQ sauce slowly off my lips. “Course not,” I reply. “Who doesn’t like to get good and messy once in a while?”