Big Man

“I don’t want to sell, Sasha,” he cuts across me. “I never did. Hell, when you told me you did…” He grimaces, and it makes my heart ache to see that pain on his face. “It felt like a slap in the face,” he finally murmurs. “You finally came home, and all you wanted to do was get rid of everything left that might tie you even a little bit to this place. That, and you acted like you didn’t even remember me.”

“Yeah, well, you pretended you didn’t know me either.” I cup his face between my hands, his beard scratchy against my palms. “I don’t know how either of us ever believed that of one another, Grant. I’m sorry for that. But I remember you. I remember it all. I always have. Not just the bad parts, the only parts I let myself think about for years. I remember how much I loved it here, before Dad left. Before I started to worry that everyone would leave me, eventually…”

“I won’t,” he promises, and I smile, as I lean up to kiss him again.

“I know,” I whisper against his lips, and it feels like a new start. Then Grant grabs my hand, tugs me away from the sink, into the living room.

We don’t even make it as far as the bedroom. We fall in a tangle of limbs onto the couch, both of us tearing at one another’s clothing.

I don’t know how I couldn’t see this sooner. How I could ever run away from this place—from a man like Grant–when he’s the first person who’s ever made me recognize how miserable I really was in the rat race of the big city. Here, I’ve seen the stars every night, tasted fresh air, worked up a sweat at hard physical labor that I never dreamed I’d be capable of doing. But I’m stronger than I thought, and capable of so much more than I ever dreamed.

Just look at how quickly we shaped up this farm. In just under a week, we’ve been able to make it look like a completely different place, a real home, and a farm that could start working again. Imagine how much we could do if we lived here full-time, really put our all into getting this place up and running and producing again?

I love this place… And, I’m starting to realize, as Grant kisses me until my lips ache and lowers me down onto the couch, lying atop me, his muscles hard against mine, his body hot and close… I love him.

Grant tosses the last scrap of my clothing aside just as I finish pushing his boxers down, freeing his cock, already rock hard at attention between us.

But when he sits back down on the couch, he grabs me and pulls me onto his lap, until I’m kneeling across him, our lips still pressed together, tongues entwined. He pulls me down slowly, angling me just right, and then I lower myself the rest of the way, pushing the tip of his cock between my lips into my entrance, and slowly, inch by inch, lowering myself onto his thick shaft. I moan, head falling back as I sit down against him completely, and he fills me up, stretching me the way he always does.

Fuck. I will never get tired of this feeling.

“I love your tight little pussy,” he murmurs against my lips, and I grin into our kiss, nipping at his lower lip. He bites mine in response, hard enough to make me gasp, and then he kisses it better, his hands tightening on my ass, lifting me up.

“You feel so fucking good inside me,” I whisper into his mouth, as I slide back down against him, thrust him in deep again. We start to rock in time with one another, building up momentum, and with every crash of our hips together, the tension in my pussy builds, my clit throbbing with desire before long. His hipbone grinds against my clit every time I sit down against him, and it makes me wild. His hands run down my back, nails raking over my skin, as I cling to him so hard I’ll leave marks on his back for days. I don’t care. I want everyone to know.

He’s mine.

And I’m his. And fuck, it feels good.

When he comes, it sets me over the edge too, both of us crying out, his hands pulling me down against him, his cock deep inside me as he finishes. I sag against him, spent, and he holds me up, supports me as I catch my breath, my heart hammering in my chest, my limbs limp with pleasure.

Before I’ve even completely recovered, Grant scoops me up in his arms. Carries me out of the living room, toward the bathroom, with a grin.

“I think we’d better get cleaned up before bed,” he says, though to judge by the wicked smile on his face, I have a feeling we’ll be getting dirtier again before we get cleaner…