Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
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.
Her head thumps back against the metal with a soft curse. Her eyes flutter, lips parted, a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper leaving her.
“You feel—fuck—you feel so good,” I hiss, teeth gritted.
She rocks her hips, demanding more. So I give it to her.
I grip her ass and thrust, deep and rough, the sound of skin on skin louder than it should be out here in the open. The air is thick with humidity and want, the breeze doing nothing to cool the fire we’ve started. She clutches me, moaning into my mouth, biting my lower lip when I hit just right.
Her legs shake around me.
“Parker! Oh my God. Don’t stop,” she gasps, her hips meeting my drives.
“Not gonna,” I growl, pounding into her, fast and merciless now, her back scraping against the metal wheel with every thrust.
Her climax hits fast—tight and sudden—her cry muffled by my shoulder as I keep moving, chasing mine with a hand between us, thumbing and strumming her clit to keep her falling apart.
A coil of tension rolls through me. I follow seconds later, every muscle tense, forehead against hers as I spill into her, my body responding to her orgasm in thick liquid pulses.
We stay like that for a moment, panting, spent, pressed against the damn tractor. I trail kisses along her hairline, then her cheek.
I don’t know where we’re going from here, but I’m sure about one thing—letting her go isn’t even a fucking option.
8
PARIS
As someone who has spent her whole life in the city, I’ve surprisingly adjusted pretty well in this small town.
I mean, sure, it hasn’t even been a week, but I also haven’t had nightmares so far. It almost feels like a distant memory. I sleep soundly, and I wake up well-rested and happy.
Also, I never thought I’d willingly spend a morning learning about barns and cornfields, but here I am—boots crunching over dry hay, sun warm on my shoulders, the wind brushing my skin, listening to Parker explain how many inches of water corn needs per week.
If I were listening to a professor or anyone else talk about this, I would’ve either spaced out or dozed off. But I’m listening with rapt attention because it’s Parker.