Big Man

“You seem to be enjoying yourself this week,” he points out.

I heave a deep sigh, leaning back against his side, my eyes on the open sides of the tent. Out beyond the tent, the fireflies continue to flit across the field and along the edge of the forest, their lights winking like tiny stars against the dark grass. “I like it here, sure. It’s just… I don’t know.”

For once, he just waits me out in silence.

I draw in a deep breath as I try to find the words to explain. “I had to get away,” I finally say. “To prove to myself that I could. To prove I wouldn’t get stuck here.”

“Is that really such a bad fate? Being stuck here?”

I laugh again, faintly. When we’re sitting out here in this field, surrounded by nature, by magic almost, sharing these s’mores and wine, after a long hard day that left my muscles aching pleasantly—not to mention a long night before that of sex that left me feeling happier and more fulfilled than I have in ages… No. I have to admit, it’s not. “I suppose I can think of worse fates,” I murmur finally.

We lapse into silence for a while, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then Grant sets up another marshmallow, and we go back to playfully bickering about the proper way to roast them and which one of us is committing a cardinal sin by not putting the right amount of chocolate on the graham crackers first (clearly him, because you need two bars of chocolate to make a proper s’more).

In retribution, or maybe just to prove his point, he smears some of the chocolate across my face, and then it’s war. I rub some into his beard, and he tackles me across the tent. Pins me underneath him, both of us panting with effort as I struggle to get free.

“No use,” he tells me, those dark eyes of his going serious now. “You’re all mine now, City Girl. There’s no escaping.”

I wriggle beneath him, arching up to press my hips against his. I can already see the bulge forming in his jeans, impossible to satiate as he is. That’s fine by me. I can’t get enough of him either. “How terrible,” I say, grinning. “Trapped by a Country Man.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he scolds.

I smirk. “Not my fault you make getting caught so enjoyable.”

“What can I say? I like capturing city girls.” He reaches down to grab the hem of my T-shirt and tugs it up my body slowly. “Though I must say, this outfit screams country to me. Are you forgetting yourself down here on the farm?”

“Maybe.” I raise my hips, lifting my body off the ground a little to balance on my shoulders and let him slide my shirt up higher, up above my bra, the lace peeking out now. “Or maybe I’m just remembering myself. Told you I was born as country as you are, didn’t I?”

“You did mention that.” His dark eyes catch mine, a smirk in them. “I might even be starting to believe you.”

I huff in faux indignation, even as he tugs my shirt the rest of the way off and tosses it down beside us. With my hands freed, while his are occupied, I reach up for his shirt too. I tug it off and run my fingertips over the stark outline of his muscles, tracing his pecs, his flat abs, then the deep V at his groin, pointing straight down to where I really want to reach.

Before I can slip my hands down his jeans, though, he catches my wrists and lifts my hands again. He folds both of my wrists easily into one hand and pins it over my head, clicking his tongue as he leans down to kiss my neck, my chest, his tongue flicking into the hollow at the base of my clavicle.

“Not so fast, impatient girl,” he murmurs. “I plan to take my time tonight.”

He reaches under me and unhooks my bra, then pushes that aside, his mouth still on my chest. He kisses down the center of my chest, then trails his tongue along the underside of each of my breasts, one after the other. His other hand kneads my opposite breast, his palms rough against my soft, smooth skin. My nipples start to harden, especially when he wraps his mouth around one of my breasts and trails the flat plane of his tongue across my nipple in one long, slow lick. Then he pulls back a little to circle the tip of his tongue around my areola, teasing, and I gasp faintly, arching up into him. He moans against my skin, and I sigh with pleasure at the vibrations that reverberate throughout my whole body.

He turns to minister to my other nipple, doing the same thing, tonguing along the top and bottom of my breast before he circles in on my nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth and gently rolling it between his teeth until I gasp and twist under him. With his hand, he rolls my other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, keeping it hard, tugging gently, not enough to hurt, just enough to make the pleasant sensation fire through all my nerves, and I moan loudly.