Chapter 3

3

Bianca

Oh my God.

What am I doing?

I’m flushed and agitated and making bad choices.

The bad choices part is nothing new for me. Lately, I’ve taken to shoplifting just so I can eat. Nothing big. A loaf of bread. A jar of peanut butter. Ramen. I know it’s wrong, but I’m two months behind on rent and every penny is going toward keeping a roof over my head.

Usually, none of my bad choices are man related.

There’s a first time for everything, I guess.

It’s hard to explain why I’m walking into this giant man’s bedroom, except to say…

I like him. A lot.

The honesty and integrity surround him like an aura. His skin is filthy from a day’s work on the farm and his body reacts involuntarily to me. He has needs. This is a man. He’s not soft and standoffish and wishy-washy like the dudes in the city. In fact, the comparison makes me laugh under my breath. This is a man who works with his fingers in the earth, sweat on his brow…and he is aroused for me. I stir him.

I’m not sure why that gratifies me so much. Maybe because I know it’s real. I don’t have to question Dusty or his motives, the way I must be skeptical of everything in my life. Not to mention everyone. Casting directors, other actresses, my weird neighbors.

What I see with Dusty is what I get.

And what he’s showing me is doing funny things to my own body.

With any other man, I would be alarmed or offended by his erection. By the way he’s touching it, scrubbing at the thickness of it through his overalls. But I’m not offended by Dusty’s actions. I’m…hot.

As I stop on the threshold of his bedroom, I feel weightless and itchy and excited.

What is going to happen in here?

What am I going to see?

I don’t know, but I feel totally safe to explore. To watch. How rare is that? This opportunity to learn about sex might never arise again and I want to take advantage. Furthermore, I want to watch this sweet, noble farmer find pleasure. I want to watch his strong body succumb to lust right in front of my very eyes. I’ve never been turned on by the idea of a man touching himself. Doing it alone. But with Dusty, I can barely leash my anticipation.

“Do you usually sit on the bed?” I whisper back at him.

His attention is fastened to my butt, his breath beginning to come in quick bursts. “I…uh. Yes. Sometimes.”

With a nod, I enter the bedroom and flip on the small bedside lamp, chewing my lip, watching him lumber over to the bed. Before he sits down, he unhooks the remaining strap of his overalls, both buckles sagging between his thighs. “You don’t mind if I take these off?”

“No, I don’t mind,” I say, trying not to sound too eager.

Dusty grunts, kicks off his muddy boots and, with one final, measuring look in my direction, pushes the overalls down to his knees.

For the first time in my life, I can feel my pulse behind my eyes.

Between my legs.

Everywhere.

At the sight of this large man with his overalls around his knees—and not a stitch more—my entire body launches back a step, rattling the lamp on the bedside table. My nipples twist into tight, little beads and the breath in my throat skyrockets in temperature. No, my temperature rises throughout my whole body, scorching my skin.

He’s gigantic.

His butt and hips and thighs are thick. Muscled and hairy and male. He’s built like a bull. Broad. So broad and teeming with strength. That part of him sticking straight up from the middle of his lap…I can barely form a thought when I see it. The balls are the size of two balled up fists held side by side, mottled and heavy. The shaft curves upward, the big, shiny tip pointing at his stomach, a vein pulsing on the underside. All of him is surrounded by a pelt of black hair. No manscaping here. He’s an all-natural animal and his untouched nature, his coarse masculinity calls to something ageless inside of me. Something raw.

Potent.

“Do you want to start?” I whisper, breathlessly, surprised by the urge to squeeze my breasts. To pluck at my own nipples. I’ve never been compelled to touch them before. Not in a way that wasn’t purely functional. On the rare occasions that I touch myself to find pleasure, I just get to the point. No frills, no wasting time. Even when I reach my peak, it’s rarely satisfying.

Something tells me watching Dusty climax will be better than reaching my own.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grunts, that thick backside planting on the edge of the bed. With an almost shy look in my direction, he wraps a fist around that huge stalk of flesh and begins to pump. “I don’t reckon this is going to take very long,” he chokes.

Denial surges inside of me. I don’t want it to be over fast.

This big, beautiful farmer giving himself pleasure is the single most arresting sight I’ve ever been privileged to witness. I want this experience to go on for a while.

“Slow down,” I say softly, crossing the room.

What am I doing? I don’t know. But it feels right. I’m just letting myself feel.

To embrace what this man inspires in me.

“Slow down?” he echoes through his teeth. “I…can’t.”

“You?” I can’t seem to stop my hands from reaching out, stroking over the hard packed muscles of his shoulders, feeling the ripple beneath my fingertips. “I think you could do anything.”

“I’d do anything for you, darlin’.”

“Would you?” There’s something new and exciting unfurling inside of me. I’m an actress, so of course I love being the center of attention. But no attention has ever been as intoxicating as Dusty’s. I want to seduce, entice…tease. I want to be an active part of the pleasure he’s giving himself. “Would you let me borrow a shirt for bed?”

“Yes. Yes,” he answers hoarsely. “Anything you want.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, crossing the room to his antique dresser, sliding open the middle drawer, correctly guessing where he keeps his shirts. I select one from the top, laying it out on the surface of the piece of furniture.

And then I start to unzip the side of my bustier. Slowly.

Watching him through my lashes while I expose an inch of flesh at a time, before letting the top drop heavily to the ground, leaving my breasts free. Naked. Pouting.

“Sweet Jesus, what are you doing?” Dusty growls, his eyes flaring at the sight of my bare chest, that hand stopping at his balls to massage and twist them.

“Changing for bed,” I say, blinking at him innocently.

“Bianca.” He’s back to stroking now, his fist moving in furious pumps. “I…I’m mighty glad you think I’m a good man. But I ain’t this good, darlin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“The devil is trying to take hold of me.” His knees jerk wider, his abdomen flexing intensely with every up and down choke of that dirty fist. “He’s telling me to rip your little skirt off and see what’s underneath.”

Shouldn’t I be nervous now?

Shouldn’t I be alarmed?

Yes. But I’m not. That confession only makes me hotter.

More determined to stay. To…play.

I want to give this man what he deserves. But I like the way he respects my boundaries, too. Actually…that might be my favorite part. Setting limits and having them honored.

“I’ll let you rip my skirt off,” I murmur, sauntering toward him slowly, not stopping until I’m just within reach. “But once it’s off, you’re only allowed to kiss me once. Then we have to stop.”

His face is feverish, sweaty, the wide breadth of his chest plummeting up and down. “Kiss you where, Bianca?”

“Anywhere you want. But you only get one kiss.”

He groans up at the ceiling, liquid bubbling up from the slit of his sex. “Anywhere?”

“Yes.”

“Even your mouth?”

“Yes.”

His jaw slackens, like he can’t believe his luck. “Even your…” His exhale is long and rocky. “Even your cunt?”

I moan brokenly over his use of that word. It’s so out of character. This man is forthright and righteous, and he just referred to my flesh in the crudest manner possible. Somehow, though, it only serves to make that part of me damp. I’m so damp, I realize.

When did that happen?

“Even there,” I manage, swaying on my feet. “Anywhere you want.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to choose.” He leans forward, his eyes trained on my breasts. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you have the kind of tits a man wants to slap.”

I suck in a breath, my thighs flexing together. Pressing.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, that hand going for broke. Pumping, pumping. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend. I’ve just never seen anything as beautiful as you, Bianca. I’m sitting here trying my damnedest not to come from the sight of you alone. Ripping off your skirt and kissing that virgin pussy…oh lord. I don’t know if I’ll survive the rest of my life getting that close and not having the rest.”

“You want to stop?”

“God, no. I don’t want that, either.”

I’m giggling again. Free and uninhibited. No artifice. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed with anyone the way I laugh with this farmer. “Well then…” I purr, easing closer until I’m standing in between his outstretched thighs, my palms resting on his shoulders. “This skirt isn’t going to rip itself off.”

Teeth bared, he tucks his calloused fingers beneath the waistband of my skirt and rips it down the middle, roaring loud enough to make my eardrums throb. Then I’m standing in front of this giant, naked, highly aroused farmer in nothing but a see-through thong and spiked boots. Something incoherent falls from his lips and then he’s panting, his breath racing in and out, sweat pouring down the sides of his face, making tracks in the field dust.

He grasps my hips, lifts me clean off the floor, his powerful body twisting and throwing me down onto the bed. Hard. He drags his sweaty face all over me. Between my breasts, into the curve of my neck, down my ribcage and across my tummy. He inhales me. He grunts and moans, his big hips slamming furiously into the edge of the bed.

“One kiss,” I remind him, my voice shaking, my loins starting to coil from his reaction alone. “R-remember?”

Dusty releases a bellow into my stomach, his hands wrenching my knees open.

He looks down at my sex, his face a mask of intensity.

Possessiveness.

He licks his lips and snarls at it.

“Little holes, little holes. Made for satisfying me. Made for bearing my children.” To my utter disbelief, he spits on me. There. “I’d let the devil in if these holes lived beneath my roof. I’d put you on your back and be the devil to my angel morning, noon and night. No work would get done. These walls would witness me slowly losing my mind over these pretty little fuck holes, darlin’, wouldn’t they? Forget the fields. It’s a tight blonde wife I’d be plowing.”

On the heels of those shocking words, he leans down and plants a long, wet kiss between my thighs, his mouth twisting, hard lips bearing down and parting my flesh, disturbing my clit, rubbing it, rubbing until lightning flashes behind my eyes.

I scream.

I scream from the deepest territory of my soul, the orgasm pummeling me like a prizefighter. My intimate muscles convulse and squeeze, my legs instinctively wrapping around Dusty’s head while he continues to French kiss my sex, his mouth eager and honest and magical, his moans vibrating me all the way to the crown of my head.

“Dusty!”

“Mmmmm.” He licks me, long and rough, through the flimsy material. “Give me more.”

My body obeys him blindly, tightening up again in places that are already sore and spasming, my thighs locking up and shaking. Shaking. When the waves smooth out into a single layer, the convulsions slowing down, Dusty rises to his knees, shaft in hand…

And white ropes spew from his plump tip onto my body, landing everywhere. On my tummy, my breasts, my thighs and the juncture in between. He roars in pain while the endless sprays of seed carry from his body, leaving glistening pathways all over and I writhe under his praise, even spreading my thighs in the hope that some of his release will land there. Where he gave me that magical kiss. He’s a glorious beast in the throes of an orgasm, shuddering and jerking his thickness, root to head, giving me an up close and personal view of male pleasure.

And when I realize I only ever want to witness a moment like this from Dusty…

I know I’m in deep trouble.