I already loved that he thought I was beautiful.
He fucked me frantic on the floor, legs and arms tangled and grasping, and he said my name over and over again as his hips sped up, thrusting harder and faster now, his fingertips digging into my skin so hard it brought tears to my eyes. Good burning tears, the sheer strength that he possessed and the way he knew exactly how much I could take, like we’d been doing this for years.
And I knew in that moment, when he threw his head back and came with a roar that made the walls shake and the veins pop out on his neck, raw and needy, that I could do this for years and never, ever get enough.
Because then, when he came down and I leaned forward, he wrapped me in those same strong arms, cuddling me close to him, no space between us.
His hand, so rough and worn, tenderly caressed my cheek and I nuzzled into it as he held me.
“Where did you come from?” His voice was gruff, raw.
I blew on a strand of hair that had fallen in my eyes and gave him a tired, extremely satisfied smile. “The West Village.”
“Ridiculous,” I said.
“Hmm?”
“This is ridiculous.”
“I still don’t get it,” Oscar said, raising an eyebrow in question.
I was standing just inside the barn door, wearing nothing but his red plaid flannel shirt and a pair of his work boots, waiting for the cows to come home. Literally. We’d spent the better part of the afternoon messing around in the barn like teenagers in heat, and now it was time for the moo cows’ dinner. As they lined up in fairly orderly fashion and came trotting down their path toward the barn, I watched as Oscar, wearing his thermal shirt and half-buttoned jeans, waved them on down.
“Who gets fucked in a barn, then brings the cows in from the meadow?”
“The pasture,” he corrected, and I rolled my eyes while I rerolled the sleeves of his flannel. I quite liked the feel of that worn-so-thin-it-was-silky flannel against my naked skin. I also liked how delicate his extra-extra-large shirt made my wrists look.
“I’m just saying it was warm in the barn.” I shivered a little, the setting sun taking the warmth of the day with it.
“The house is warm, too. Go on inside and I’ll be right behind you.”
“Promise?” I winked naughtily, and he looked back at me just as naughtily. I danced across the yard, taking care to avoid all the puddles. It was hard to swish and sway wearing size-fourteen work boots, but I did my best. And it worked—by the time I made it to the back porch, there was a dairy farmer plastered to my backside.
“I thought you had cows to tend to.”
“That’s the thing about cows,” he said, giving my bottom a swat that made me jump, and in the process, lose one of the boots. “Leave the door open, and they know their way home.”
I stuck my foot out. “See that? That’s what happens when you smack my ass. I lose your stupid boot and get my foot all muddy.”
“Something else happens when I smack that ass.”
I made a show of looking directly at his dick.
He reached out and pulled me against him once more, holding my bottom in both hands and squeezing tightly. “I knew the first time I saw you walking away from me at the farmers’ market with that great big ass, how much it would jiggle when I smacked it.”
From any other guy, that statement would have earned its own reciprocal smack. But the way his eyes lit up, and the way he ran his enormous hands over my behind like he was just happy to finally have his hands on it—my tough city girl shield melted a little. Also, let’s not discount what he said about thinking about it and wanting it from the beginning.
However, he wasn’t walking away completely unscathed.
“We need to talk about your phraseology,” I said, bumping him back with my hips.
His hands, restless on my body, twisted into my hair as he tipped me backward once again. “Is that a fancy word for my dick?”
My burst of laughter caught him off guard, and he grinned, waggling his eyebrows.
“Seriously, Oscar, you can’t just say things like that. You’re gonna get punched one day for saying shit like that to a girl.”
“Are we back to that comma nonsense again?” he asked, then blew a raspberry between my breasts. “You have a great ass. You have a big ass. You have a great”—he paused for effect . . . pausing . . . pausing . . . still pausing—“big ass, and I can’t wait to see it bouncing on my dick.”
“You really are a fucking caveman,” I said, eyes wide.