Page 75 of Taming Her

Stepping away, she pulled a hair band from the pocket of her small khaki shorts and piled her hair up. The sun was heating the day again and while Griff was touching base with work about a few things, she wanted to spend some time in the weedy vegetable patch.

Warmth caressed her bare shoulders as she walked to the shed. Her vest top was tied in a knot at her belly and when she pulled on a pair of gardening gloves a muddy streak went over the pale yellow material.

She brushed at it, not really caring. Here, in the garden, clothes were functional, that was all.

After selecting an ancient-looking trowel with a chestnut brown handle, she went in search of the rhubarb she’d spotted.

“Ah, there you are.” She dropped to her knees and began to work the soil around it. She’d read that rhubarb came back of its own accord and needed very little attention, which was why this patch had survived the years of neglect. But it did need to be free of weeds that threatened to get taller than it and steal the light.

Ava carefully pulled the long thread-y roots from the earth and tossed them onto a small pile on the grass at her side. Her mind settled into the task. A brave robin, pale breasted this time of year, stole a bug from nearby freshly turned mud.

Her thoughts kept coming back to Griff. Sandy’s wedding was coming up; would she take him as her plus one? Soon he’d have to go to work. Would she stay in the cottage or go home? How would that change their relationship?

A movement to her right caught her attention. The branches parting in a row of laurel bushes.

Griff appeared, his shorts low on his hips and his chest bare.

God, she loved his chest. Not just how it looked but how it felt when she was nestled against it, the sound of his heart, the rise and fall of his breathing, she loved it all.

“Hi,” she said, wiping her forearm over her warm brow. She sat back on her heels.

His expression was stern, his eyebrows low as he pressed his finger to his lips.

“Oh…” She closed her mouth. She wasn’t to speak. Had she done something wrong? She didn’t think so. The phone had been put back on time.

He strode over to her, his footsteps silent on the grass.

She looked up at him, searching his features. They gave no clue as to what he was thinking.

He stepped behind her, then sank to the ground, pushing her onto her hands and knees again.

She discarded the trowel and looked over her shoulder.

He loomed behind her, fiddling with the zipper on his shorts, a tendon flexed in his jaw.

Her stomach flipped. Suddenly she did recognize his expression. It had taken her a moment with no words and no caressing, but he wanted sex.

And he was going to take it.

From her.

Because she was his.

She stared at the blades of bright green grass poking between her gloved fingers. She was owned by him. Her pussy was for his use and his pleasure. The same went for her mouth, her ass, her…

Suddenly her shorts and knickers were yanked down over her butt. She gasped as he dragged at them some more. He bunched them at her knees and slapped his hands onto her buttocks.

She arched the hollow of her back and a rush of excitement went down her spine to her pussy. A gush of wetness heated her insides and she whimpered.

And then his cock was there, shoving at her entrance. His hands moved to her waist and gripped her tight, clamping her in place.

There was no preamble, no foreplay; he found her pussy and drove in hard and fast, filling her and stretching her.

She braced her spine and locked her elbows. He shunted to the hilt then thrust deeper.

She gasped, her eyes wide and unseeing. Her pussy hugged his cock and her arousal made her head spin.

He pulled almost out, rammed back in, withdrew, did it again. In seconds he was fucking her with wild, primitive need behind every drive into her.

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