Tasting Candy: Over 60 Erotic Pregnancy Stories

“Only as it makes sense to do, Shelby. You can’t put yourself and your ma at risk invitin’ a man like that into yer home!” Marcus declared adamantly, and I’d never known him to be so assertive with me, so persistent. So nagging.

Asher was already fed up it seemed, and he revved his engine and in a blaring moment, he began to cruise on by, and for a glorious moment his green-eyed gaze met mine.

“Darn it, Marcus,” I sighed, watching Asher make his way back onto the road.

“I’m just trying to do the good thing. The right thing. And you’re just bein’ a fuddy duddy. He’s just a guy, not an axe murderer.”

“You don’t know that, Shelby,” Marcus insisted, eyes wide, and I could tell he was serious. He weren’t kiddin’ around. His concerns were real. “You remember what they used to say about that one farm over on 12th district road? Burnt down because some punk from the city lit it up in flames. Just fer a laugh,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me so serious.

All while Asher pulled off onto the road and began to drive away, and — then it seemed — out of my life for good.

I could’ve cried. I hadn’t seen a real man around this place in a long time, and he was hotter than the sun. Great body, that serious lookin’ face... He looked like the kinda guy that I’d regret going after, but I didn’t care about that. I was curious, like the second I saw him I became obsessed with wanting to know everything.

I licked my lips and then turned my glare on Marcus again before stomping by him, my cowboy boots turning up

little tufts of dust behind them.

“If you don’t give strangers a chance, you’ll never meet anyone new.”

Boy, did I not know what I was gettin’ into.

I took my pa’s old truck back to the farm, left arm out the window as I enjoyed the sunny day, lamentin’ the lost opportunity for a new experience. Though it was all for naught, it seemed, as up there ahead, right alongside the road outside my place, was the fella on the motorcycle come to a halt, lookin’ over what seemed like a map.

Which was an odd sight, not many folks used paper maps nowadays, they all used their phones and tablets and such.

It was my chance.

There he was, sat on his bike on the side, legs crossed in the dirt as he looked over the map, his long blonde hair brushed back as he seemed so serious.

I pulled over to the side, crawling over the passenger seat and rolling down the window. There were better ways of doing it, I know, but I had an ulterior motive. If I leaned out the window just so, he could look down my plaid shirt a little, which was undone down to the fifth button because it was so darned hot.

Nothin’ wrong with some harmless flirtation.

“You lost?”

The big, broad-shouldered man folded up his map and looked to me, and though he fell for the trap and looked down my shirt, he didn’t make out as if to hide it like all the local fellas did. He took a gander, then slowly trailed his gaze on up to mine, brazen as can be.

I liked him more already.

“Was lookin’ for some local farms,” he said, his voice deep and husky, a lil’ gravelly you could call it. Like none I’d ever heard before. “Lookin’ to offer my services, such as they are,” he remarked, tucking the paper map into a satchel along his bike. “Think you could help me, hun?” he asked, his golden hair glistening in the sun. I was amazed he could stand havin’ all that leather on in the heat.

“Well depends on what types of services you’re offering, partner,” I teased, enjoying his attention, and being his rescue.

His broad face was highlighted by his chiselled jaw, and scruffy blonde patch of hair, seemin’ like he hadn’t had an opportunity to shave in a while. He provided a wry, half-hearted sort of smile and ran a hand back through his hair.

“Manual labour,” he said simply. “You need somethin’ done, I’ll do it. And if I don’t know how, I’ll learn it. Just lookin’ to earn some money for my trip.”

He made it all sound so very simple, but only later would I discover it was anythin’ but.

At that point, I was too distracted thinking about what manual labour I’d like for him to do to me.

“Oh? You done any work like that before?” I asked, but really, I was just prolonging our conversation, leaning further and further, trying to tempt his eyes.

Though he took his first look no problem, he was a lil’ too stoic to let his gaze be drawn off again so easily. Instead, he crossed those thick arms over his hard chest and continued to meet my gaze nice and steady.

“I’ve been a dock worker, security, all kinds of things. Ain’t never worked a farm, but if it’s hard, heavy work, I’m built for it and I can figure it out,” he stated firmly, in a way that made it hard to doubt he could do anythin’.

I couldn’t help but indulge my fantasies a little of watching him get hot and sweaty on my farm, tanned and shirtless. It was clearly distorting my understanding of right and wrong, because Marcus wasn’t lying about the arsonist.