Page 12 of Stalked By the Farmer

CHAPTERSEVEN

Conner

I pauseoutside the grocery store, my ears perking up at the familiar sound of Misty's parents bickering.

"How are we going to afford her college tuition?" Mrs. Roberts hisses. "The farm's profits have been down for months. At this rate, we'll have to sell the land."

My stomach churns. Sell the farm? They can't. Misty would be devastated. I have to help them.

An idea hits me, sending a thrill through my body. I can sell my own produce and give them the profits. It's perfect. I'll work day and night to produce as much as possible. Misty will never know it's me. I'll be her secret hero.

The thought of being her savior makes my heart race with longing. My pants tighten, heat pooling in my groin. I picture the look on Misty's face when she realizes she gets to keep her farm, her dreams intact. I imagine her gratitude, her joy, her love.

I duck behind a shelf, closing my eyes as I palm myself through my jeans. A soft moan escapes my lips. So wrong, but so right. No one can know how I feel about her, the depraved thoughts that fill my mind.

I'm panting now, stroking myself faster. Almost there.

Misty. My angel. My everything. I come with a muffled shout, stars bursting behind my eyelids.

Shame washes over me, but I push it aside. I'm doing this for her. To save her farm, her future. To prove my love, in the only way I can.

I emerge from the store with new purpose and determination. Time to get to work. Misty will be mine, even if she never knows it. I'll make sure of that.

* * *

The next morning, I rise before dawn and get to work harvesting cucumbers and tomatoes in the pale moonlight. My muscles ache from the exertion, but I push onward, fueled by thoughts of Misty and her family keeping their farm.

By mid-morning, I have bushels of produce ready to sell. I load up my truck and drive into town, scouting for potential customers. The local farmers market is bustling, vendors hawking everything from homemade jams to fresh-baked bread.

I park a block away, not wanting to draw attention to myself. As I walk to the market, a knot forms in my stomach. What if someone recognizes me? Questions me about the produce? I have to stay focused on the mission. I take a deep breath and plunge into the crowd.

I accomplish my task and put the money in a separate account I'll used to pay our Misty's parents' debt.

Then, I hop in my truck to go check on Misty. We might not be talking, but I still see her every day now. She just doesn't know it.

I spot her in the garden picking tomatoes. She looks tired but content, a smile lighting up her face as she finds a particularly ripe one. I ache to go to her, wrap her in my arms and tell her everything. How I sold the farm's produce in secret. How everything's going to be okay. How I would do anything for her. How much I love her.

Instead I watch from the safety of my truck, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. She wipes the sweat from her brow, inadvertently smearing a streak of dirt across her cheek. I grip the steering wheel to stop myself from rushing out to wipe it away.

Get ahold of yourself, Conner. You can't blow your cover now. Not when you've come this far.

I start the engine and drive off before I do something I regret. But I can't get the image of Misty out of my head, a vision of loveliness amid the tomato vines.

When night falls, I creep back to the Roberts' farm under cover of darkness. Misty's bedroom window is lit from within, her silhouette moving behind the curtain. I crouch in the shadows, watching and waiting.

She emerges a few minutes later in a camisole and panties, brushing her hair. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her, desire igniting in my belly. I rub myself through my jeans, biting back a groan.

Why must she torment me so? If she only knew the effect she has on me. But I can never tell her. I can only take what little pleasure I can in secret, my love as forbidden as it is fierce.

Misty slips under the covers, and I retreat to my truck. On the long drive home, I ache with need and frustration. But this is my penance, my cross to bear. For Misty, I would endure far worse. My love for her is my heaven and hell, pleasure and pain, all wrapped up in one.

* * *

I barely get home before thoughts of her have me ready to nut again.

I burst through the front door of my house, barely making it to my room before I'm tearing at my clothes.

Her image fills my mind—Misty smiling, laughing, walking through the fields. My cock strains as I recall the sight of her in her underwear, soft curves and tanned skin.

---