“You’d be surprised how nice it can be,” Meredith is saying, leaning against Joe as he loops one arm around her shoulders. “The quiet might seem suffocating when you first come from the big city, all that hustle and bustle. But give it enough time to get into your bones and…” She sighs, smiling. “You can really get used to a life like this. A slower life. A sweeter one.”
“Careful, honey.” Joe squeezes Meredith’s shoulders. “You’ll give the girl a cavity with all that sweet-talking.”
She elbows him, and I grin at their interplay. Which reminds me. I glance past them, but can’t find a clock anywhere in this tent. Still, my five minutes are probably almost up. “I’ll be back,” I tell them, and I don’t miss the telltale smirk that Meredith sports when I step away, toward the tent flap.
I have a feeling the two of them know what Grant was doing when he proposed that bet over the pool game.
Hell, most people here must guess. That only makes my cheeks flare hotter when I slip out into the cool night air and circle around toward the back of the tent. There’s a few people dotted across the grass back here, some smoking, others just standing around chatting, beers in hand. I weave between them, farther and farther away from the tent, until I recognize a familiar shape leaning against the side of the small farmhouse out beyond the little tent village set up for this party. That must be the Johnsons’ actual house. To my surprise, I recognize it. Well, not the house itself, but the porch out front with a big rocker swing on it, and hard-to-forget neon orange cushions. I’ve sat out here with Mama before, visiting.
“If you’re aiming for inconspicuous, this might not be the best place,” I call as I approach Grant. There are still plenty of people around us, chatting, hanging out. I can practically feel the gazes following us.
But when I reach his side, Grant just tilts his head toward me, a sly look in his eye. “Who said we’re stopping here?” He reaches out and slaps my ass before he walks away, past the house, toward the backyard. “Try to keep up. I only have an hour with you. I plan to make the best of that time.”
I jog after him with a huff. “Some of us didn’t plan on hiking through yards in our outfits for the night,” I protest under my voice as my heels threaten to sink into the muddy ground.
He heaves a sigh. Then, without another word, he scoops me up into his arms, even as I squeal in protest.
“I’m in charge now, Sasha,” he reminds me, his voice a low rumble against my chest, cradled as I am against his. “And you won’t deny me what I want, will you?” His voice thrums with promise, all the things he wants to do to me.
I have to admit that I’m getting wetter just thinking about it. “No,” I murmur, my protest subsiding as he continues pacing across the grass, far beyond the house. I want to ask where we’re going. The party isn’t in sight anymore, though neither is much else out here, alone in the moonlit fields.
But then he turns away from the grass, toward the edge of the lawn, where there’s a copse of trees, and my eyes widen.
There’s something in the trees. A squat little construction that’s hard to make out from here. Until we cross into the shadow of the canopy ourselves, and my eyes adjust to the dim. Then I recognize the outline, and my jaw drops.
There’s a tree house here. Not a little play tree house either, like the kind we’d goof off in as kids. This one is shaped like an actual house, only held about 15 feet off the ground, with a staircase leading up to it that winds around the trunk of the tree.
“What…?” I ask, trailing off as Grant starts up the steps without even breaking his stride.
“Airbnb,” he explains, as though that tells me anything. I blink at him. He laughs. “Johnsons make extra renting this place out. A lot of people come to this area looking for escapes from cities, you know. A rustic country experience.” We reach the door, and he shoulders it open easily. “A taste of country life.”
It dawns on me, and my eyes widen. “You planned this,” I accuse him, chin jutting out.
He swings me down and lands me on my feet lightly, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Not exactly. Not everything.” He tilts his head and raises a brow. “I didn’t know you’d accept that bet.”
“You didn’t know you’d win the game either,” I point out, crossing my arms.
He shrugs. “I was fairly confident.”
I snort.
He steps closer, eying me. “Even if you could’ve won, you wouldn’t have.” His eyes trace over me, so hot I can practically feel his gaze like a touch, even though he’s still a foot away. “Because you want to be mine, Sasha. You want to know what I’ll make you do.”
My pussy tightens at those words. I can’t exactly deny it. It’s exactly what I was thinking when he made that bet. Still, I have some pride. I cross my arms and raise my chin. “What makes you so sure?”
He steps closer, and reaches out a finger to trace it up my arm. He trails it all the way up to my shoulder, then across my shoulder to cup my neck in his palm lightly. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to lean into that touch right now. “I can see it in your eyes. How much you want to be mine. My slave for the night.”
I swallow hard against a tight lump in my throat. I’m soaking wet now, damn him, and he fucking knows it, to judge by his confident smirk.
“Isn’t that right, city girl?”
I bite my lip. Hesitate. Then I finally inhale sharply and catch my breath. “I was curious, country boy.”
“That’s master to you. For the next hour.” He grins, a spark in his eyes.
“I was curious… Master.” I lean into the word, emphasize it with sarcasm. But there is something sexy about calling him that. Submitting to him completely.
“Kneel down,” he says, and I glance down at the hardwood floors of the tree house. It’s surprisingly cozy in here, a little bed in one corner, a cushy couch nearby. But the hard wood floor doesn’t exactly look appealing. Grant follows my gaze and leans past me to grab a pillow from the couch, which he tosses at my feet.
I follow his order and drop to my knees on the pillow.
“Undo my jeans,” he says.
I reach up for the button, toying with it for a moment, gazing up at him and memorizing this view. He towers over me from this angle, and something animal and instinctive in me loves that.
I undo the button and tease the moment out, taking my time pulling down his zipper. I can already feel the hard line of his cock through the thick denim. I draw the zipper down slowly, and his cock is so thick it pushes his boxers forward even before I pull his jeans down his hips.
“Take off my jeans.”
I yank them down, until they puddle on the ground between his feet.
“Boxers too,” he says, and I glance up to make eye contact before I slide those down, an inch at a time, slowly, taking my time. When his cock springs free at last, though, I have to catch my breath all over again at seeing him this close up.
His cock truly is fucking glorious. I reach up to touch him, to trace the veins that bulge along his sides, standing out against his rock hard shaft. But he clicks his tongue and stops me in my tracks.
“I didn’t say to touch me yet,” he scolds, and I sit back on my heels with a little pout, stealing a glance up at him. “Apologize.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, holding his gaze.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, Master.” That word sends another shiver into my belly, another rush in my veins.
“I want you to taste me, Sasha,” he says, his voice low with suppressed desire.
I lean forward, my lips hovering an inch from his tip.
“Lick my cock.”
I lick the tip of his cock with the flat blade of my tongue, and my whole body goes stiff with want. Fuck. He tastes good. Salty and earthy and all him, like his scent but magnified. I want more. I trail my tongue down the side of his shaft, first one, then the other, keeping my eyes fixed on him all the while, enjoying the view up along his washboard abs, visible through his tight T-shirt. Even better is the way he watches me explore him, his eyes hooded with desire as he focuses on what I’m doing.
“Play with my balls while you lick me,” he says, and I’m all too eager to raise both hands and cup his balls between them, rolling his balls through my fingers as I continue to lick up and down his length, making him slick with my saliva.
“Slowly take me into your mouth,” he says, and I know I’m not imagining the tightness in his voice, the way his control teeters on the edge. I want to make him lose control.
I part my lips and take his cock into my mouth. Fuck. He’s huge. My jaw stretches to take him, but I just part my lips wider and swallow him deeper, pushing him inch by inch into my mouth. I want his cock inside me, as much as I can take. I want to get him off.
I lift my hands to encircle the base of his cock, and it takes both hands to wrap around him. I finally have him as deep in my mouth as I think he’ll go, and I start to rock backward, but he reaches down and wraps his hands through my hair, tangling his fingers in my curls and pinning me in place.
“Have you ever tried deep-throat, Sasha?” he asks.