"Clint?" a man called from the other end.
"I'll be right there, just showing the inspector around," Clint called back.
Carefully, silently, I pulled my hands away from the man's shirt. He slipped his broad palms off my shoulders and turned away. I was gratified to notice that he squirmed with the first few steps he took, apparently adjusting himself in his jeans. Apparently the heat and fire that were running across my skin were affecting him as well.
I took a moment to get myself together, running my hands through my hair and putting it back up in a simple ponytail. Like the gorgeous man I was watching walk away, I shook myself, trying to rid myself of the arousal and need that had been building in me all afternoon.
Watching him walk away was a treat. He was tall, at least six feet four, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, and long, long legs. I loved to watch his jeans stretch over his muscular thighs with each step, but the best part was observing his tight round ass that even the most practically relaxed of jeans couldn't hide entirely.
"What would it be like to see that ass free and bare?" I asked myself, picturing the glistening globes of skin, visible at last, strong muscles working as that man walked away from me, perhaps to go fetch his shirt from where I'd flung it. When I started imagining him bending over to pick up the shirt, and my breathing hitched, I told myself that I had to stop. With one final quick shake of my head, I followed Clint to the open door several rows away.
As the man I desired had a brief conversation with another farmhand, I went through my clipboard and checked over what I'd jotted down. Everything on the farm seemed to be in order, and I was looking forward to my visit on Friday - if Clint still wanted me.
He turned toward me and I felt a warm flare in my stomach, of hope and desire, laced with a fear of rejection, a fear that everything that had just happened was a fluke, what Clint and I had together was a shivery cobwebby potential that had been blown away by the dusty wind outside the door.
"I've got to go check a fence line. A coyote got through somehow and tore up one of our ewes," he said, all business again. His deep voice was still hoarse around the edges, just barely, and when our eyes met I found none of the embarrassment or anger that I feared, only heat.
"I need to get this information back to the office," I said. "It was nice to meet you, sir."
I held out my hand to shake his. He had a good handshake, firm, without crushing my hand - as I knew he could - in his muscular one. I broke the contact quickly, as I felt my cheeks start to flush, ever so slightly, at the glorious torture of his skin on mine.
With a nod to the farm hand, I turned and walked quickly back to my truck to drive back to the office and type up this paperwork.
Driving down a gravel road was trying, after that visit to the farm - that visit that was such a tease.
One hand on the wheel, I reached between my legs to stroke myself over my pants, to try to relieve the ache that was starting to insist on attention.
Unfortunately, right then, my phone rang and I had to stop before I'd even truly begun. It was my boss, check
ing on the inspection. I told her that it went well, everything was in order, and I intended to go back on Friday afternoon to complete the non-surprise inspection that Clint Cannon was due for. I mean - the inspection that Clint Cannon' farm was due for.
My boss didn't seem to notice any difference in my manner, so I was able to get off the phone fairly quickly, after assuring her that I was on my way back to the office to submit the day's paperwork.
By the time I'd gotten off the phone, though, it was time to turn off the gravel road and turn away from the farm where I'd had so much fun. I gave myself one final rub through my jeans and shivered, before turning back towards town.
I spent the next three days in a near-lather of excitement, waiting for Friday evening. On the day I met Clint Cannon, I was able to spend an evening all to myself with a bubble bath and a glass of wine, and take the edge off of some of the tension that had built up over the hours leading up to me slipping out of my work shirt and stepping out of my jeans. Unfortunately, the next few days were very busy ones, and when I got home I simply kicked my shoes off, pulled my clothing off, and fell into bed.
Friday morning dawned bright and clear, though. I woke up an hour early to give myself a chance to prepare for the day.
I started with a shower, taking my time and washing every inch of my body with coconut-scented soap and a soft loofah. I paid particular attention to my breasts, soaping and rinsing them repeatedly, in the hopes that they would be as soft and silky as possible, in case they were seen by someone other than me... and, I'll admit it, the desire had built back up within me to a steady ache, and the soft touch of the loofah on my breasts and nipples felt incredible. I shivered as I imagined Clint’s tongue tracing the path that my fingers were taking.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to linger in the shower all day and think about what could happen later. I needed to get out and get dressed and ready to see Clint again.
I turned off the shower and stepped out, taking my old towel and rubbing myself dry before walking down the hallway into my bedroom.
As I opened my underwear drawer, I hesitated. Normally I wore sensible white cotton panties and a beige bra without a hint of lace or decoration, but if things went well I didn’t want Clint to think I was boring or dowdy.
Underneath the rest of my underwear, I dug through and pulled out a little navy blue lace thong that an ex-boyfriend had bought me. I had refused to wear it then, in my college days, but something about the strange man I’d met a few days before made me feel bold and exciting. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any bras that were anything but dull - when did that happen?
After my efficiency with my panties and bra, it took me twenty minutes just to decide what to wear. I couldn’t put on anything that would call attention to me when I went into the office, but I didn’t want to wear anything unflattering, either.
I ended up in a pair of jeans that were just a hair tighter than most of my work pairs, and a white t-shirt that was a little too small. To make it work-appropriate, I wore a summer-weight dark blue sweater. There! My bra and panties might not match, but at least I had some sort of consistency in my outfit. Besides, everyone says dark blues look amazing against my skin.
Once I was dressed, I gathered my keys and wallet. Just before I walked out the door, I hesitated. Turning back to my bedroom, I grabbed a little cotton sundress out of the closet and stuffed it into an old brown leather purse, along with some fresh underwear and a toothbrush - the barest essentials for staying a night at someone else’s house.
When I went to work that morning, I sat at my desk in front of my computer and finished up the reports from the past few days that hadn’t been essential enough to do immediately. Just before 11 o’clock, I went to see my supervisor in her office. We had the same boss, but she was senior enough to me that she could sign off on my plans.
“Sarah?” I asked, knocking on the frame of the open door.