Sweet as Honey (Aster Valley 2)

After parking, I made my way over to him and noticed he had earbuds in his ears and had begun wiggling his butt to a tune only he could hear.

My dick urged me forward, and I could just imagine the way that gentle grind would feel if I grasped his hips and pulled him against me. I wasn’t sure why my libido had formed such a quick and strong attachment to this man, but it clearly had. I wanted him naked underneath me, on top of me, any way I could get him. I wanted to run my hands over all of that sweet skin and then trace it with my tongue.

“Ahhh!” Truman screeched when he saw me out of the corner of his eye. Dirt and a hand trowel went flying through the air as he put up his arms in a defensive gesture.

We stared at each other.

Truman’s chest heaved with labored breaths. He finally remembered to pull out his earbuds. “Holy crap, you… you…” His breathing seemed to make him light-headed because his eyes rolled back a little. I stepped forward and grabbed his arm as gently as I could in case he decided to tip over.

“Slow down,” I murmured. “It’s just me. You’re okay.”

“You scared me to death,” he finally finished, pulling out of my grip. “You should… warn… a guy, or something.”

I tilted my chin and lifted an eyebrow. How exactly was I supposed to warn him when he’d been listening to music at top volume?

“Maybe you should fix your driveway gate so no one can sneak up on you like this?” I suggested instead.

His eyebrows pinched. “That’s easy for you to say when you have the muscles and know-how to do something like that.”

Oh. The sweet little man had a backbone. I grinned at him. “Touché. Why don’t I fix it for you while I’m in town?”

Truman’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“It’s the least I can do for helping you yesterday and having my bike crushed by your assailant.”

His mouth closed with a click. “That’s sarcasm.”

“Indeed.”

“Never mind, then. I don’t need your help.” He sniffed and turned around, accidentally knocking his knee into the wheelbarrow and yelping.

Christ, the man was adorable. I wanted to swallow him whole.

I moved over and crouched down to inspect Truman’s hurt knee, trying my best to ignore the curved definition of his thighs and calves. There wasn’t any blood, simply a smudge of dirt right below his kneecap. I brushed it off with my thumb and noticed movement under his threadbare fly. Bright blue briefs peeked out from the holes in the fabric and tested every ounce of my self-control.

I glanced up at him and saw two red spots on his cheeks. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked everywhere but at me. Fuck, but he was delicious.

“I’m fine,” he said in a breathy voice. “Fine.”

I stood up slowly, staying close to his body so there was only an inch or two between us. The sound of his sucked-in breath hit me in the gut.

“You sure?” I asked in a low voice.

“Do—” Truman’s voice broke, so he started again. The apples of his cheeks deepened as he carefully stepped away from me. “Do you need something?”

I nodded. “I want to talk to you about what happened yesterday.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” He turned back to his planting, busying himself with whatever was close to hand. He was clearly trying to avoid looking at me, but I decided to allow it if it meant he’d relax and speak more freely. “What do you want to know?”

“Why Patrick Stanner is harassing you.”

He froze for a split second before shrugging. “He’s just a jerk like that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think he’s a jerk? I can assure you, the man has a reputation for being unhappy and causing problems.”

I looked at his narrow shoulders and noticed the small swell of biceps and forearms as he used a long-handled fork tool to loosen the soil in an unplanted area. From the smell of the contents of the wheelbarrow, I guessed he was adding a fertilizer mixture to the soil.

I guessed Truman was stronger than his smaller size would indicate. If he did all of this planting and farming himself, he must have plenty of endurance and muscle mass.

“Are you even listening to me right now?” he asked.

I blinked up at his face which was pinched in frustration. “You said he was unhappy and a jerk.”

He nodded and turned back to his tilling. “Exactly.”

“So, if I had been the one planting nasturtiums, he would have harassed me?” I watched for his reaction and wasn’t disappointed. His lips pursed in frustration.

“Obviously not.”

“Why not? If it’s just because the guy is a jerk, he would have done it to anyone, right?”

“No, not right. He wouldn’t pick on someone so… so…” Despite his better judgment, Truman’s eyes traveled up and down my body.