Page 16 of The Farmer
I set the empty glass on the hood behind me. Her gaze doesn’t waver.
She tilts her head. A slow drag of her gaze down my stomach. “I was going to ask about lunch, but suddenly, I’m hungry for something else.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you have in mind?”
Her breath catches just as my palm lands flat beside her, braced against the curve of the tractor’s rear wheel. Her back meets the metal with a soft gasp. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t break eye contact.
That look in her eyes makes something tight and primal unravel inside me.
“I just wanted to bring you iced coffee.”
“Hmm. In nothing but my shirt and boxers on?”
At this, she smiles slyly. “Oh, you think I’m wearing your boxers?”
Desire slams into me in full force, and I slide a hand under the shirt, groaning when my fingers touch the soft curls of her pussy. “Fuck, baby. You’re killing me.”
She just shrugs. “It’s hot.”
“Damn right, it is.”
My thumb brushes along her inner thigh, teasing, testing. Her body answers before her mouth does—hips shifting closer, lips parting, breathing shallow.
My forehead presses to hers. Close enough to feel the tremble in her knees, the heat rolling off her skin.
“You’re playing with fire, baby,” I say, voice low, eyes locked on hers.
Her fingers curl around the front of my waistband, tugging me flush against her. “Then burn me.”
I crush my mouth to hers. Her hands fist in my hair, her legs part just enough to pull me closer, and the sound she makes when my hand grips her thigh might ruin me.
Who am I kidding? I’m already ruined beyond belief.
My hand slides upward, and her stomach jumps under my touch. I trace up slowly, dragging my knuckles along warm skin until my thumb brushes the underside of her breast. She gasps into my mouth, and I swallow the sound eagerly.
One hand grips her thigh, dragging it up around my hip. Her breath stutters as she arches against the curve of the tractor, hips grinding into mine, right where I’m already rock hard and aching.
Fuck, I’m about to go mad with lust.
“You have any idea what you’re doing to me?” I growl against her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her shiver.
Her fingers slide down my abs, skimming the top of my jeans. “I think I do. You do it to me, too.”
I press her harder against the wheel, the hot metal biting into her back while I burn everywhere else.
Her head falls back, and I take the invitation, mouth trailing down her neck, tongue chasing sweat and soft skin.
“Take me, Parker,” she whispers, hips rocking. “Out here, where anyone can see.”
I slide my hand between her thighs, and she’s already wet—hot and slick and ready … for me. “Jesus, Paris…”
Her nails dig into my shoulders as I wrap her legs around me, tighter now, and the curve of her heat presses right where I need her most. My jeans strain, painful and urgent, as I grind against her—slow at first, just to hear that breathy sound she makes when the friction hits just right.
“Fuck, Paris,” I groan, burying my face against her neck. “You’re killing me.”
She tilts her hips. “Then do something about it.”
My belt’s undone in a blur, jeans shoved just low enough, the weight of her body pinned between the tractor and me. My hand slips between us, guiding myself, teasing her folds, wet and perfect and begging. She gasps when the head of my cock slides over her, and I don’t even give her a warning. I push in, groaning at how tight she is, at how her pussy wraps around me and chokes me.
