Page 26 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
I trace my fingers along the lines of his shirt and move my hands beneath it feeling every inch of solid muscle. With my hands on his chest, I push myself up.
I glance down at him and catch the intensity in his gaze—pure hunger. His ocean-blue eyes lock with mine, and I grin, struggling to believe this is actually happening. Me… with the grumpy farmer. Is this real?
The rock-hard steel beneath me confirms it—yes, this is real. Very real.
My heart races as I press against him and begin to rock my hips. He throws his head back, groaning, as he grips my thighs and moves with me.
He glides a large hand up my thigh to my lower stomach. Resting his fingers at the edge of my pants, his eyes land on mine. “Is this what you want?”
I nod eagerly.
His smile nearly unravels me. Our eyes meet again just before he swiftly rolls me onto my back.
He sits up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. His broad chest and muscular torso, dusted with dark hair, leaves me breathless.
I bite my lip, gripping the edge of his jeans. “Please,” I whisper, heart hammering.
He leans down kissing me, then pulls back, “not yet, princess,” he whispers.
He grabs the bottom of my sweater, lifting it over my head and tossing it aside. His eyes remain on my lace bra, chest heaving. He meets my gaze again and asks, “Are you sure?”
I could scream with anticipation. “Yes,” I say, clear and confident.
He fumbles with the clasp at the front of my bra, and we share a small laugh as I help him.
After freeing my breasts, his eyes go wide—he’s frozen, stunned. For a moment, I feel a twinge of insecurity, wondering if something is wrong. Until he growls with hunger and lowers himself, taking my nipple into his mouth, lightly sucking.
His hand roams down my stomach, lower, until it slides beneath the edge of my pants. He glides his fingers through my soaking wet lips as he groans against my nipple.
He rises and scoots lower, hooking his fingers on the edge of my pants and pulling them down. He looks up at me, shocked. “No panties?” He asks.
I grin, shaking my head. I ditched those wretched things years ago and never looked back.
He glances back down, practically drooling. Grabbing my thighs he spreads my legs wide, his eyes drinking me in like I’m the first meal he’s had in days.
He kisses the inside of my thighs before he plunges two fingers deep inside my throbbing hole. His thumb hovers right above my swollen clit and I arch into his hand, practically begging for his touch.
“Fuck,” he hisses, “You’re so fucking wet.”
He lowers his thumb, applying the right amount of pressure, he moves it in small fast circles. “Is that want you wanted? For me to rub that soft little clit?”
“Yes,” I gasp, unable to control the shake in my voice. My body bends toward him as he slams his long, thick fingers in and out of me.
The pressure builds with each stroke of his thumb, the slow rhythm maddening. I lean into him, pleading for more—desperate for release.
Suddenly, he pulls his hand free from the grip of my drenched hole. “No, no, no,” I rasp.
He sits up, leaning over me. With his eyes locked on mine, he tilts my chin upward.
And he plunges his soaking wet fingers into my mouth, moving them in and out as I suck my juices clean from him.
“That’s my good girl.”
He removes his fingers and places them along my jaw. “Do you want me to fuck you, princess?”
I nod.
His grip tightens and he leans in so close our noses nearly touch.
