My groans echo around the small, confined space. I let my body take over as my thrusts become more erratic. I don't care that I'll come untouched again. I just want to feel the rush.
It starts with a tremble in my thighs, the muscles overworked from the constant up-and-down, but not fatigued enough to give up before the peak.
Micah's right there to make up for my lack of movement, yanking my shorts tight against me. The material is stretched so thin I can feel the heat of his skin through the damp fabric of my underwear.
“Come on, sweetheart, show me,” he rumbles right into my ear, his chest rubbing against mine with every breath he takes.
“M-Micah,” I manage to say before my voice gives out, lost to a silent outcry of pleasure. I shudder through my orgasm, vaguely aware of the hand that's pulling my shirt up and out of the way. I'm almost too hazy to reach down as well and wrap my fingers around my dick, wincing at the slick warmth that coats my hand.
“That's still so fucking hot.” Micah sighs, voice wrecked. Slowly, he loosens his hold on my hips so that I can lean back, revealing the mess I made between us.
Determined not to let him get away, I push Micah’s shirt and pants out of the way to wrap my cum-covered hand around his erection. A comfortable haze has wrapped around my mind like a fuzzy blanket, preventing me from thinking too deeply about my actions.
“Almost as hot as making you wear my cum,” I hum, busy with finding Micah’s lips with my own. He groans when I rub my thumb over his tip. I can’t really tell if he’s leaking or if it’s because of my release that my hand glides so smoothly over him.
The low backrest gives Micah plenty of room to arch backward as I keep moving my hand, soaking up the sight of his heaving chest, the way his mouth and throat move as he pants and groans. His thighs are still working, but now that I’m almostboneless on top of him, he can only manage short little thrusts into my hand, while I get to slide my fingers all the way down to the root, the wiry hairs prickling against my palm.
“Love seeing you like this.” The admission slips over my lips without a second thought. “You did so well getting me off, and now it’s your turn.” I push my other hand into Micah’s pants to roll his balls between my fingers.
“Oh, holy shit,Linden!” Bracing his legs against the metal floor of the cabin, Micah pushes me upward, nearly toppling me off. Merely by squeezing my thighs around his waist, do I manage to stay on, which does the trick.
He comes in thick ropes over my hand and his chest.The sight is oddly thrilling, making me grin and then laugh.
We settle against each other, panting and sighing, just enjoying the calm after our orgasms.
By the time we’ve caught our breath and taken a few more moments to just sit there, the light around us turned from golden to bronze. There’s still a sliver of orange on the horizon where the sun set, but the cold is creeping in fast, chasing off the remaining summer heat.
Wordlessly, we both clean up as well as we can, then pull up our clothes, and Micah leaves the driver’s seat to me. I start up the tractor’s engine and rumble us homeward.
When the farmhouse comes into view, a feeling of homeliness fills my chest as the huge wheels of the tractor crunch over the gravel.
I stop at the edge of the pasture to let Micah jump off.
“I’m just putting it into the garage,” I explain at his questioning glance. “Nothing to help with.”
He nods, and, although I can detect some lingering reluctance, climbs down the small ladder. He takes a few steps back, getting out of the way of both the tractor and the huge machine it’spulling. His steps are stilted, his dirty shorts and still-damp shirt probably chafing against his skin.
“See now why I didn’t wanna work a day like that?” I grin.
“Yeah, you were definitely right about that.” His brows are drawn together in a slight frown when he looks down at his crotch and then back up at me.
I snicker when the corner of his mouth twitches. Clearly, we’re both uncomfortable—and very okay with that.
“See you in the shower!” I settle back into the driver’s seat so I can pull the tractor around the house and put it away in the garage. Micah more than deserves to clean up first.
“Where were you? You’re late.” My father’s voice rises over the noise of the tractor’s engine, making me flinch.
“I’m here now. Where’s the fire?” I shrug, taking a last look into both side mirrors to make sure my parking job isn’t too crooked before I pull the key out of the ignition and climb down from the vehicle. I’m glad I will only have to clean the harvester tomorrow and not have it shake me through for another day. Which means our reason for staying here is nearly complete, though I don’t want to drive straight back to Bonham. And not just because there’s still more than enough to take care of after the cherries have all been picked.
“I was waiting for you.” Dad’s brows are set deep over his eyes, making them appear much darker. It fits the dusky atmosphere that’s settling between the buildings.
“You didn’t have to.” It’s not like I asked my dad to stand outside until all the machines are back in the garage. He, too, isusually the first to leave in the morningandthe last to return in the evening—or at night.
“Everyone else was back an hour ago. What were you doing?”
I resist the urge to look back at the tractor, as if the machine might tattle about what Micah and I got up to. Instead, I shrug. The embarrassment that I expected to churn in my stomach doesn’t come.
We weren’t doing anything bad; all the work was done; all we did was come home late. If it means there’s no more dinner or we get less sleep, that’s solely on us.
