Page 56 of Headed for Home

Apparently not speedy enough.

The plan was to get Cassidy to burst before we were busted, but that’s why locks were invented. I double my efforts to give her relief. My fingers pump into her, curling to find that sacred spot. She’s riding my face to a rhythm that will win her a trophy. Our rude interruption knocks as if that’s going to do the trick.

“Shit,” she mutters.

I shush her, the admonishment vibrating against her core. My actions have the opposite effect as I tap her clit in the process. Her hips thrust forward and she goes still.

“Yes! I’m coming,” Cassidy shouts.

A sugary gush bathes my tongue, sluicing down my throat like dew. I groan and open wide for more. Her knees clap against my head to trap me in place. There’s a clench in her core that suctions at my fingers. She bucks against me, chasing the peak to the highest point. I’m swallowing every drop she gifts me.

“Holy shit. They’re totally doing it in there.” Grace’s voice is muffled but recognizable through the door.

“I don’t blame him. A permanent erection is demanding. Get yours, buddy.” The encouragement booms from Garrett, but I’m concentrating on the woman splintering apart for me.

Cassidy spasms in my clutches. I ease her back from the ledge with lazy licks to her pussy. It’s mutually beneficial, allowing me to consume her to absolute completion. She regains some semblance of composure and straightens from her slouched pose. The afterglow shimmers in her eyes as they latch onto mine.

“Do you think they heard us?”

“Us?” I laugh, assuming she missed the commentary from the hallway voyeurs. “Oh, beauty. You broadcasted loud enough to overcompensate for me and my appetite.”

The flush from her release brightens to a ruby shade. Cassidy glances at the door that’s gone silent. “No.”

I pepper her inner thighs with kisses. “Don’t worry. I’ll take all the credit if you’ll let me.”

Iroll open the heavy door while mentally reviewing my morning chores. The list is longer than usual thanks to a certain someone and his prize penis. My empty core clenches at the reminder of just how full Drake packed me over the weekend. A soft moan accompanies the lingering ache. Totally worth it.

Chester and Cheeto spin circles around my legs before spying a cat to chase. That sets my sights on the tasks straight ahead. The first signs of dawn stream inside the barn. Dust dances in the open space, welcoming a fresh start. Energy thrums in my veins to rejuvenate my tired body. Several whinnies greet me. A warm comfort soon follows, chasing off the early hour chill.

“Good morning,” I croon to the sheltered herd.

“Morning, beauty.”

I halt in my tracks. Once my eyes fully adjust, I notice the lights are on. Drake is leaning against a wheelbarrow in the aisle. I might’ve whimpered, not that anyone can blame me. A backward hat has never looked sexier. My gaze narrows ontohis very naked torso. Colorful tattoos and gleaming muscles command admiration. His dimpled smirk isn’t hard to drool over either.

Our stares collide, mutual attraction blazing hot. Static buzzes in my ears and a wave of heat crashes over me. Desire that should be thoroughly satisfied snaps hungry jaws at the sweaty man in front of me.

“What…?” My voice cracks and I gulp to try again. “What’re you doing?”

Drake spreads his arms wide. “Mucking the shit out of these stalls. Literally.”

“You’re…?” I blink at him and his shirtless glory, taking up residence in my barn. “Why would you willingly do that?”

“To make a grand gesture.”

“But we’re not fighting, and you definitely don’t owe me. Not after the orgasms you served on tap,” I mumble.

“We don’t have to be at odds in order for me to do something nice. Besides, I’m getting acquainted with my roots. Granger isn’t my last name for nothing.”

“Ummm…?”

His chuckle is rich and deep. “Grange translates to barn in French.”

“Does it?”

“Not sure.” He laughs again. “My mom told me that once. It would explain my irresistible charm. Right,mon amour?”

I suck in a sharp breath as the foreign term of endearment curls off his tongue. Crisp pine hangs heavy in the air, overpowering the scent of dirt and manure and horsey goodness. How I didn’t notice the clean smell before can be blamed on the guy holding the pitchfork. Such a pungent level suggests that a major amount was used.

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