hobby, or invest in industrial strength bug repellant.”
*
I wake in the morning with a combined feeling that I might possibly suffocate from the weight of Holt’s giant arm and leg thrown over me, and just thrilled to death to be in his bed with him curled around me, holding me in his iron grip. He stirs, loosens his hold on my waist, and turns over, pressing that glorious, hot ass into my belly as he gathers the pillow under his head, mumbles a few incoherent words, and sleeps on. Holt is usually up with the first rays of sunlight, but last night we made up for the time we spent apart—with Holt doing most of the work—and he’s obviously wiped out. I turn on my side to get an optimal view and take this private time to study his body up close and personal.
God , there really are NO words to describe his ass! It’s perfectly proportioned to his massive body, round and so muscular that it dips in at the sides, which makes my head spin and my brain scream— This body, this man, belongs to me! He is mine, mine, mine! I have to reach out and place both my hands on the satiny skin over diamond-hard muscle, feeling his heat, trying to convince myself this is real and not some photo shopped pic from the cover of an erotic novel. Maybe I’m a pervert because I could run my hands over this ass for hours and not get the least bit bored, and it’s real alright, and so damn tight I’m positive I could bounce a quarter off of it. I’m thanking my lucky stars that I used Zumba and spinning classes to take my mind off my bruised feelings and sexual frustration while we were apart. I need to look better than good to compare to his mouthwatering physique, not to mention the stamina required for his rough and tumble marathon love making.
My fingers ghost over the faint scars on his back, they’re identical to the ones on his chest, five or six inches long, thin, straight lines. Cuts to the skin that must not have been too deep, but surely painful, none the less. Finally as he begins to stir I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on his neck, then force my hands away and go to the bathroom. I slip on one of his gigantic T-shirts, and even though I’m five-foot-ten, it hangs half way down my thighs. Really, it’s sort of amazing, this T-shirt fits him like a glove, the man is definitely super-sized, every inch of him, and I have a delicious, throbbing ache in my nether region to prove it.
I pop a little gourmet coffee pod into a sleek machine in the vintage-meets-industrial kitchen and at the same time try without any luck to text Gigi. It’s hopeless, cell service is nonexistent on this part of planet Earth. I lay my phone on the polished-concrete counter and examine the box in my other hand. It’s the morning after pill, and I feel a sad little flutter in my heart as I read the directions. What in hell is wrong with me I wonder as I pop the pill out of the protective foil packet? I swallow it with a touch of remorse and a sip of coffee, and walk out onto the back deck. Why does being with Holt make me feel so… domestic? I hardly know him, and it’s like that old Bryan Adams song—I can see my unborn children in his eyes. It’s just too crazy to feel so much so soon…. But then, why do I like it so much?
Beyond the deck at the edge of the creek three White-tailed deer lift their heads and fix their huge, soft eyes on me. They don’t spook easily, they’re used to Holt feeding them in the mornings, he tosses dried corn to them as if he were feeding pet chickens. A vegetable garden is planted a few yards away and when I stayed here before I remarked about the rabbits who boldly sat munching the salad greens. He said he actually planted it for the animals enjoyment, not his own. A large part of his ranch is leased to the corporation Traeger’s twin brother runs, and those fields yield acre upon acre of organic produce for Alice-Anne’s Farm Market’s . Holt buys his vegetables from them and allows the local wildlife
*
I wake in the morning with a combined feeling that I might possibly suffocate from the weight of Holt’s giant arm and leg thrown over me, and just thrilled to death to be in his bed with him curled around me, holding me in his iron grip. He stirs, loosens his hold on my waist, and turns over, pressing that glorious, hot ass into my belly as he gathers the pillow under his head, mumbles a few incoherent words, and sleeps on. Holt is usually up with the first rays of sunlight, but last night we made up for the time we spent apart—with Holt doing most of the work—and he’s obviously wiped out. I turn on my side to get an optimal view and take this private time to study his body up close and personal.
God , there really are NO words to describe his ass! It’s perfectly proportioned to his massive body, round and so muscular that it dips in at the sides, which makes my head spin and my brain scream— This body, this man, belongs to me! He is mine, mine, mine! I have to reach out and place both my hands on the satiny skin over diamond-hard muscle, feeling his heat, trying to convince myself this is real and not some photo shopped pic from the cover of an erotic novel. Maybe I’m a pervert because I could run my hands over this ass for hours and not get the least bit bored, and it’s real alright, and so damn tight I’m positive I could bounce a quarter off of it. I’m thanking my lucky stars that I used Zumba and spinning classes to take my mind off my bruised feelings and sexual frustration while we were apart. I need to look better than good to compare to his mouthwatering physique, not to mention the stamina required for his rough and tumble marathon love making.
My fingers ghost over the faint scars on his back, they’re identical to the ones on his chest, five or six inches long, thin, straight lines. Cuts to the skin that must not have been too deep, but surely painful, none the less. Finally as he begins to stir I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on his neck, then force my hands away and go to the bathroom. I slip on one of his gigantic T-shirts, and even though I’m five-foot-ten, it hangs half way down my thighs. Really, it’s sort of amazing, this T-shirt fits him like a glove, the man is definitely super-sized, every inch of him, and I have a delicious, throbbing ache in my nether region to prove it.
I pop a little gourmet coffee pod into a sleek machine in the vintage-meets-industrial kitchen and at the same time try without any luck to text Gigi. It’s hopeless, cell service is nonexistent on this part of planet Earth. I lay my phone on the polished-concrete counter and examine the box in my other hand. It’s the morning after pill, and I feel a sad little flutter in my heart as I read the directions. What in hell is wrong with me I wonder as I pop the pill out of the protective foil packet? I swallow it with a touch of remorse and a sip of coffee, and walk out onto the back deck. Why does being with Holt make me feel so… domestic? I hardly know him, and it’s like that old Bryan Adams song—I can see my unborn children in his eyes. It’s just too crazy to feel so much so soon…. But then, why do I like it so much?
Beyond the deck at the edge of the creek three White-tailed deer lift their heads and fix their huge, soft eyes on me. They don’t spook easily, they’re used to Holt feeding them in the mornings, he tosses dried corn to them as if he were feeding pet chickens. A vegetable garden is planted a few yards away and when I stayed here before I remarked about the rabbits who boldly sat munching the salad greens. He said he actually planted it for the animals enjoyment, not his own. A large part of his ranch is leased to the corporation Traeger’s twin brother runs, and those fields yield acre upon acre of organic produce for Alice-Anne’s Farm Market’s . Holt buys his vegetables from them and allows the local wildlife
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