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Dusty
Holy Christ. Mother Mary and all the saints.
I’m carrying the most beautiful female on the planet back to my farm.
Maybe I have food poisoning and I’ve started hallucinating. I don’t know, but this doesn’t seem real. At all. I couldn’t believe it when the moonlight spilled across her angelic face. Her white-blonde hair. She is innocence with attitude. Pouty and skeptical looking, but underneath, she’s a good girl. A sweet girl. And dear lord, her body.
Don’t look down.
If my cock gets any heavier with need, it’s going to topple us over.
In reality, though, I don’t need to look down to remember every inch of her flesh. Her little leather skirt is wrapped around her hips like it was painted on. That fancy shirt with the strings and lace holds her tits up like the hands of a lover.
I wonder if she ever holds her own tits like that.
Wonder if she ever plays with them. Naked.
A moan almost wrenches its way clear of my throat and I order myself to stop thinking about this angel fondling her own breasts. I am in a bad, bad way. My ball sack is throbbing, weighed down with seed. I haven't masturbated in a while, been too busy working in the field, but as soon as I get her tucked into a warm bed, I’m going out to the barn and jacking off until the sun comes up. My God. My God, she is so beautiful and smooth and…
A hundred miles out of my league.
I’m filthy dirty and she smells like flowers.
I consider myself lucky that I get this chance to hold her, carry her, host her in my home. Anything else would be outlandish, especially her hot, little body beneath me in my bed.
Here I go again.
It’s twenty-three degrees out right now and I’m sweating.
“You’ve gotten really quiet, Dusty,” Bianca says.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m trying to get used to how you look.”
She makes a choked sound. “Are you always so honest?”
“Yes, of course. A man is measured by his integrity. That includes being honest.”Good. Keep talking. Distract yourself from the way she fits in your arms like a missing piece.“My grandfather always used to say that. He’s the one that left me this farm.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. He’s gone now?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was getting on in years and the place had fallen into terrible disrepair.” I emerge from the cornstalks and my house comes into view up ahead, the barn and livestock pens lying in the distance. “I was discharged from the Army five years ago and I’ve been restoring it ever since.”
I can feel her looking up at me and wish like hell I’d cleaned up before leaving the house to investigate the vehicle parked on the road. “All by yourself?”
“Yes. All by myself.”
“That has to be a ton of work, Dusty.”
Every single one of my muscles flexes when she says my name. I get hoteverywhere. “It is a lot of work, Bianca. But someday I’ll have sons to help me tend the land.”
“Hasn’t anyone had the birds and the bees talk with you?” She pats me sympathetically on the shoulder. “You need a woman first.”
The image of this girl pregnant with my son causes me to breathe harder. “I haven’t had time to go find one yet. There has been too much work to be done. I couldn’t bring a woman home to a broken-down farm.”
A beat of silence passes. “And now that it is back up and running? Will you go find one?”
“Well.” We stop outside the side door of my house. I can hear Mildred pecking at the floor inside. This conversation is getting very personal…and now we’re veering into embarrassing territory. What does it matter, though, if I tell this girl my secrets? It isn’t as though I have a hope in hell of makinghermine. She is fit for a king, and I am merely a farmer. “I don’t have the kind of skills a man might need to court a woman.”
