Big Man

“Plenty, Sasha.”

My pussy clenches noticeably at the sound of my name in his mouth. Fuck. Why does he know how to turn me on so easily? “So go for it, Grant,” I reply. I raise my brows, inviting.

But he just shakes his head and turns to reach for the ladder down. “I’m going to clean up. Then I’ll do a hardware store run. Feel free to tag along if you want to know where it is.”

Before I can even reply, he’s down the ladder, leaving me alone on the rooftop, wondering what on earth just happened.

Half an hour later, I’ve made it down from the roof too and dusted myself off. I head into the bedroom to grab my stuff and go change. But when I pass the lone bathroom in the farmhouse, the steam escaping through the open door catches my eye. It’s only opened a crack, just a couple inches. But it’s enough to glimpse, via the mirror hanging over the sink, a reflection of what’s happening in the shower.

I should keep walking. I know I should. But my feet have their own idea. They slow, stumble to a halt before the door, and, unable to help myself, I steal a peek through the open doorway.

At first all I see is shower tile. I’m about to take a deep breath, tear my gaze away and turn toward the bedroom instead, when movement catches my eye. Grant steps into view, reaching for something on the other side of the narrow shower. He’s turned to the side, giving me a glimpse of muscular thighs, and an ass so tight and round it makes my stomach clench and my mouth water. But then he turns back toward the shower again, and my jaw drops.

He is a big man. Huge, in fact.

He’s not even hard right now, I think in shock, at the sight of his thick cock. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be fucked by a man like him. I’ve never been with anyone that big. But my pussy tenses, my panties damp. Clearly my body wants to find out.

Too bad, I scold it. I spin away from the door and hurry toward the bedroom before I get caught gawking at someone I should definitely not be fantasizing about. But the whole time I shrug out of my tank top and into a clean shirt for our run into town, I can’t stop picturing his body. The water from the shower curling down over his taut muscles. I imagine being in that shower with him. The way he’d pin me against the wall and lift me off my feet easily, like I weighed nothing at all. The way he’d thrust into me, and how thick he’d feel inside my tight pussy, stretching me out, making me scream with pleasure…

Stop thinking about it, Sasha. Clearly I’m just horny. It’s been a long time since my last hookup. That’s the only explanation I can think of for why I’d suddenly be so into a guy like this, a guy so different from my usual type. I like pretty nerdy boys. The kind of guys I can have a long intellectual conversation with before we make love to our favorite soundtrack. Not guys like this.

Not guys who could probably fuck me harder than I’ve ever been fucked before.

I force that thought, along with all the rest, from my mind. Force them out and focus on what I need to do now—go finish our errands for the day.

I straighten my fresh shirt and consider my jean shorts for a second. I could change them. But I’m remembering Grant’s eyes on my ass, and the way he smirked at me. That one word he uttered. Don’t.

So I leave the shorts on, grab my wallet, and head out into the living room.

When I get there, Grant is already dressed and waiting for me. I resist the urge to glance at his crotch, wondering if I’d be able to see the outline of his cock through those jeans. Wondering what it would take to get him hard for me.

I can’t think like that. I’m too distracted as it is.

For his part, Grant just smiles when he sees me, ambiguous, hard-to-read. Is he smirking at me, or does he just always look a little bit haughty, like he knows something I don’t?

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod, and he leads us out toward the cars. He bypasses mine straightaway—and I can’t exactly complain. The dirt roads aren’t too helpful on this rental’s undercarriage. He heads straight for his truck and I trail after him.

Then we nearly collide because he’s stopped in front of the passenger door to open it for me.

“Oh, I can…” I reach for the handle then pause halfway. Because he’s shaking his head.

“I might be a country boy, but I was raised with manners,” he says. He opens the door and swings it open, then steps aside while extending a hand.