her husband
remained with her. I guess it’s one more way of holding on to the
past. Have to stop doing such foolishness. I’m so damn tired of the
sadness. After a year, she should be thinking about selling the
farm. It had simply become too much for her, and she couldn’t
afford help. But, God, she loved this place. Exhaustion and sadness
haunted her every move. The on-going sexual frustration didn’t
help.
Leven had been an adequate lover, but she
always had to accompany his efforts with self-pleasuring. In spite
of her raging sexual needs, sex outside the marriage wasn’t
acceptable, at least in this part of the world. Always
conscientious and loyal, even after his death, she kept to herself.
But the screaming need welling up from her sexual center kept her
awake many nights.
Come on, girl, don’t think about it. She
turned, grabbed an apple, and left the kitchen to see if Harvey had
managed to fix that dilapidated, damn tractor. Another thing she
couldn’t afford to replace. She crossed the yard and stood by the
handyman. “Think you can get it running?”
He straightened up and looked past her.
“Looks like you have company, Ms. Goldie.”
Turning, she held her breath. God, he’s a big
man. Rough looking too. Before giving into fright, she noticed how
his head hung down as he stood in front of her. It touched her such
a large man blushed like a child. She relaxed, knowing Harvey kept
a close eye on the situation.
“May I help you?
He lifted his head and his face turned fiery
red. He jerked off his hat and it tumbled to the ground. Good, he
might be a tough one, but he possessed good, country manners. Not
many men took off their hats to women now days. As he looked into
her eye, heat filled her sexual core. His eyes were large and dark
with lashes so long, any woman would be envious. Good God, watch
yourself—even pretty could be dangerous.
The first thing she thought after she knew he
needed work was, she could hardly afford to pay Harvey part-time.
The second, she wondered why Uncle Carl thought to send this big,
grubby man to her? Then she remembered, in all the years she’d
known him, Carl had proven his expertise in judging anyone very
quickly and correctly. She became aware of the man’s eyes following
her apple. Damn, he’s hungry. “Do you like meatloaf? If you do,
come to the house and I’ll fix you a plate.” His Adam’s apple
jerked convulsively, and she smiled. “Come on, now.” She started
toward the house without checking if he followed.
After he sat in an old rocker on the back
porch, she went inside to prepare a plate. At least, I’ll have some
help eating all this food. Her lips curled into a smile. It felt
good to feed a man again. She heard Harvey yell and she ran out.
Jesus, the man was bathing with his clothes on. Laughing, she found
a bar of soap and took it to him. He turned to her, his face filled
with such animal sexuality, she ran. Inside, she leaned, hands on
knees, she panted while lightening pulses raged through the sexual
core of her body. What the hell?
His shoes slapped and squished onto the
porch.
Taking a deep, sobbing breath, she picked up
the tray of food, braced herself, and went outside. In spite of
looking half drowned, the man was the standard of masculine beauty.
The wet shirt clearly defined his muscular body. It took all the
control she could muster to restrain her hands from running across
his powerful chest.
“Pull that little table in front of you,
please.” Reaching for the table, his wet shirt strained across his
back and arms. His rippling muscles caused her internal ones to
respond by convulsing. She felt moisture trickle down her thighs.
Her voice became low and breathy. “Why don’t you pull your wet
shirt off so you can enjoy the meal?” And I can enjoy the view.
He struggled to take it off. Wet, it stuck to
his body and wouldn’t pull over his heavy shoulders. She set the
tray down, went behind him, tugged the garment off, and
remained with her. I guess it’s one more way of holding on to the
past. Have to stop doing such foolishness. I’m so damn tired of the
sadness. After a year, she should be thinking about selling the
farm. It had simply become too much for her, and she couldn’t
afford help. But, God, she loved this place. Exhaustion and sadness
haunted her every move. The on-going sexual frustration didn’t
help.
Leven had been an adequate lover, but she
always had to accompany his efforts with self-pleasuring. In spite
of her raging sexual needs, sex outside the marriage wasn’t
acceptable, at least in this part of the world. Always
conscientious and loyal, even after his death, she kept to herself.
But the screaming need welling up from her sexual center kept her
awake many nights.
Come on, girl, don’t think about it. She
turned, grabbed an apple, and left the kitchen to see if Harvey had
managed to fix that dilapidated, damn tractor. Another thing she
couldn’t afford to replace. She crossed the yard and stood by the
handyman. “Think you can get it running?”
He straightened up and looked past her.
“Looks like you have company, Ms. Goldie.”
Turning, she held her breath. God, he’s a big
man. Rough looking too. Before giving into fright, she noticed how
his head hung down as he stood in front of her. It touched her such
a large man blushed like a child. She relaxed, knowing Harvey kept
a close eye on the situation.
“May I help you?
He lifted his head and his face turned fiery
red. He jerked off his hat and it tumbled to the ground. Good, he
might be a tough one, but he possessed good, country manners. Not
many men took off their hats to women now days. As he looked into
her eye, heat filled her sexual core. His eyes were large and dark
with lashes so long, any woman would be envious. Good God, watch
yourself—even pretty could be dangerous.
The first thing she thought after she knew he
needed work was, she could hardly afford to pay Harvey part-time.
The second, she wondered why Uncle Carl thought to send this big,
grubby man to her? Then she remembered, in all the years she’d
known him, Carl had proven his expertise in judging anyone very
quickly and correctly. She became aware of the man’s eyes following
her apple. Damn, he’s hungry. “Do you like meatloaf? If you do,
come to the house and I’ll fix you a plate.” His Adam’s apple
jerked convulsively, and she smiled. “Come on, now.” She started
toward the house without checking if he followed.
After he sat in an old rocker on the back
porch, she went inside to prepare a plate. At least, I’ll have some
help eating all this food. Her lips curled into a smile. It felt
good to feed a man again. She heard Harvey yell and she ran out.
Jesus, the man was bathing with his clothes on. Laughing, she found
a bar of soap and took it to him. He turned to her, his face filled
with such animal sexuality, she ran. Inside, she leaned, hands on
knees, she panted while lightening pulses raged through the sexual
core of her body. What the hell?
His shoes slapped and squished onto the
porch.
Taking a deep, sobbing breath, she picked up
the tray of food, braced herself, and went outside. In spite of
looking half drowned, the man was the standard of masculine beauty.
The wet shirt clearly defined his muscular body. It took all the
control she could muster to restrain her hands from running across
his powerful chest.
“Pull that little table in front of you,
please.” Reaching for the table, his wet shirt strained across his
back and arms. His rippling muscles caused her internal ones to
respond by convulsing. She felt moisture trickle down her thighs.
Her voice became low and breathy. “Why don’t you pull your wet
shirt off so you can enjoy the meal?” And I can enjoy the view.
He struggled to take it off. Wet, it stuck to
his body and wouldn’t pull over his heavy shoulders. She set the
tray down, went behind him, tugged the garment off, and
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