Riding the Sugar High: a Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

32. You’re Perfect

Sweat drips down my cheeks,my arms, my back. My jeans are drenched in Primrose’s cum, and more keeps dripping down her thighs, driving me crazy.

If I weren’t impaling her with my cock, if I had any power to drag myself away from her tight, warm pussy, I’d lick it clean. I’d savor her tangy taste on my tongue and feel her stomach contract under my hand as I stuff my face between her legs.

But I don’t have a hope of moving an inch away until I’ve released inside her cunt.

I rut into her, my pace quickening as I grit my teeth. I lift her leg, and now that she’s all stretched up for me and has come a few times already, her pussy is so slick that I’m on the verge of losing it.

“Drench my cock, little backpack.” I tip my head back as she pulses around me, my balls contracting hard. “Make”—I say as I sink into her—“a fucking”—I grip her ass in my hand and squeeze—“mess.”

She mumbles something, her hands twisting behind her as her ass wiggles with each of my thrusts. She takes it so well, I might never recover.

“You’re doing great.” She’s so tight, so perfectly made for me, that every thrust brings me dangerously close to spilling out, makes me hungry for more.

I see how badly she wants to please me. How she likes to be degraded, not with my words necessarily, but with my actions. She craves to be my little hole to play with however I want, and fuck if it isn’t everything I’ve always dreamt of. Someone to forfeit all control. Someone to trust me completely.

“Hands on the ground,” I say as I pull the scrunchie off her wrists, and her face rises from the dirt. “Come on, quick.”

Her hands unlock from behind her back, and weakly, she holds her weight on her hands, her body shaking.

I grip her hip while keeping one of her legs up, and now that I can pull her to me while I sink inside her, I fuck her twice as fast, twice as hard.

Her shouts fill the silence, and they prompt me to keep going, to make her come again.

“You think they can hear you?” I ask as I try to maintain some semblance of control. “You think everyone knows that you’re getting stuffed with my cock in the orchard? Hmm? That you lose all self-respect when it comes to getting my dick?”

She throws her head back, mewling as another orgasm has her fluttering around me.

It’s the one that brings me over the edge, and I bottom out inside her, my movements turning erratic as she lowers her chest to the ground, no longer able to hold herself up.

“Here it comes, Barbie,” I rumble. Pleasure mounts in the back of my brain and rushes down my spine. I’m going to fill you up so well.”

“Y-yes,” she stutters. I can’t see her face now that her cheek is pressed on the grass again, but a faint “Please, Logan,” rumbles in the space between us.

“Oh, fuck, Primrose.” I push deep into her, moans flying out of my lips as my movements stutter. I release inside her, losing track of time so deeply that once I’m done, my cock slides out nearly limp.

I breathe out, then set her leg back on the ground. The moment her knees are on the grass, she falls to one side, her back rising and falling as she catches her breath.

But a promise is a promise, and I’m hardly done with her.

I grab her legs and spread them so I’m kneeling between her thighs.

Crap, she’s so beautiful.

My jacket falls open beneath her, and her soft, fair skin is covered in grass stains. Her tits and face and knees are rubbed raw, her legs and waist drenched.

What a perfect, dirty little mess.

Her eyes are half-lidded, and she’s taking shuddering breaths. I push back the damp hair by the sides of my face, then, leaning forward, I do the same with hers. “You good?”

She nods, languid eyes looking into mine.

“What hurts?”

She huffs out a weak laugh. “Everything.”

I bet.

I brush some dirt off her cheek, dropping a soft kiss on her lips as I let my hand roam down and push two fingers inside her, rubbing softly.

Her breath catches as her eyes widen, and it’s as if she’s reminded of what I told her before.

When I bring my finger to her lips and tap, her mouth opens, and she closes her eyes. Her tongue swirls around them, licking them clean. I push them down her throat, and she gags, moaning and drooling until I pull them out.

We repeat the cycle a few more times as our bodies cool down, and by the time she’s reasonably clean, I’m hard again.

“Come, let’s go home.”

I slide painfully into my briefs, then button my jeans. With slow, sleepy movements, she also sits up, but when she tries to get on her feet, I scoop her up.

“I can walk,” she says, her head snuggling against the nook of my neck.

“Uh-huh.”

“I can,” she insists, but she wraps her arms around my neck, her face cozily nestled under my chin. “Thank you, Logan.”

“You’re thanking me for sex?”

“No. Yes, also. Mostly for playing along. I was worried you’d get mad because I wore your jacket.”

I didn’t get mad, but I almost went mad. I missed her so much, and when I entered the bedroom, there she was, naked if not for my riding jacket. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone more in my life.

I walk us toward the house, and by the time I open the front door, she’s almost asleep. I kick the door shut behind us, then walk straight to my room and set her on my bed.

Turning to one side, she smiles up at me with sleepy eyes. “Cuddle?”

“You need to wash up,” I say as I trace the dirt painted on her body with my thumb.

“In a minute,” she insists, but I shake my head. As much as I enjoyed getting her dirty, now I want to clean her up, massage her sore muscles and kiss every bit of skin that stings.

I head for the bathroom, then run the faucets until they’re the right temperature and sprinkle in some bath salts I find lying around. Once the whole room smells like lavender, I return to Primrose’s side, dropping to my haunches to gently shake her awake.

“Where are we going?”

“I prepared the tub for you.”

When I lift her again, she kisses my jaw, skating kisses along my cheek until she presses her lips to mine. Our tongues graze, and the taste of sugar and spring warms up my heart in ways I can’t even process.

If I could keep her in my arms and kiss her like this forever, I probably would.

“Can you stand?” I rasp.

“Yes,” she whispers and resumes suckling on the spot beneath my ear.

I set her down, then pull the jacket off her shoulders. “Get in, the water’s warm.”

“Did you put essential oils in?”

“Bath salts,” I mumble. “I had some old ones here.”

She leans forward, pressing a kiss to the middle of my chest. “Get in with me?”

“I don’t think there’s enough room for both of us.”

“Really?” Tilting her head, she pulls at the sides of my shirt. “I think we’ve managed to fit bigger things in smaller spaces.”

Snorting out a laugh, I raise both arms so she can remove my shirt. I wanted her to enjoy her bath in peace, but this sounds much better, so without further resisting, I strip off my clothes and slink beneath the water.

She follows, settling between my legs and resting her cheek on my chest, her soft body relaxing against mine. Slotting in like the missing piece of a puzzle. It makes no sense that we match so well. Whether we’re fucking or fighting, pressing each other’s buttons or pushing our limits, we work like magic.

And I seriously hope nothing will break this spell.

* * *

Steam rises around us, creating a cocoon of intimacy. I reach for Primrose’s purple sponge and pour a healthy amount of soap as she pops the bubbles clinging to the water’s surface.

Gently, I trace the contours of her skin, and in a way, it feels more intimate than sex. Touching her like she’s mine while she’s nestled between my arms and resting on my chest.

“Hey, now that the police are done chasing after us, do you think Paco and Lola can come back? I miss them,” she says, breaking the tranquil silence.

I let out a contented sigh, reminded of when I found her constant chatting annoying. Now, it’s relaxing. Soothing. “Sure, Barbie. I’ll ask Kyle to bring them over tonight.”

“Thank you,” she says with a grateful smile as she traces the shape of my tattoos. Once she turns her focus to my arm, she asks, “How do you choose what design to get?”

“I’ve always known I wanted some of them, like the cow. With others, I just booked with my artist and chose on the day of my appointment.”

“Is it your favorite animal?” she asks as she traces the shape of the cow’s head. “Is that why you wanted it?”

I move the sponge to her neck, and she relaxes into me. “Yes. Cows are social, emotional. They’re great problem solvers too, you know? Very smart animals. Kind of like the farm version of a dog.”

“That mostly stays still.”

I huff out a laugh. “You’d be surprised.”

“What’s this empty spot?” she asks as she touches the skin below my wrist.

“Hm? Oh, nothing. I haven’t had time to get a new tattoo in years. It’s the last free spot on my arm, but it’s tiny. I’m not even sure what could fit there.”

She snuggles closer, and I feel a rush of affection as I drag the sponge to her chest. “How about a cowboy hat?”

“Nope.”

“Cowboy boots.”

“No.”

Laughter bubbles out of her lips. “You’re no fun.”

I bite her neck, and as she squirms away, her feet rise above the water. “Didn’t look like it back in the orchard.”

“Wait—I know just the right thing.”

She walks out of the tub, dripping water all over the floor.

“No, come back. Where are you?—”

She’s already out the door, so I drop my head back, smiling at the ceiling. A minute later, she walks back into the bathroom and closes the door behind her, holding a Sharpie.

Watching her move around comfortably while completely naked is so good, she could draw a dick on my forehead, and I wouldn’t say a word.

She relaxes against me again, and I watch her draw a small horse. She tsks when one of its ears turns out a little crooked. “There. I think it looks beautiful,” she says as she releases my arm. Once her back rests on mine again, I bring my wrist closer. “Why a horse?”

“It’s a white horse.”

Ah, of course. A white horse, like on her bucket list.

I reach for my shampoo, pouring a generous amount into my hand before massaging it on her scalp. “How’s that a white horse? It’s a black Sharpie.”

“Yes, but it’s not filled in.” She traces the edges of her drawing. “See?”

“So it’s a transparent horse.”

“It’s a white horse.”

I hum, tilting my head. “Maybe a nude horse.”

The water laps gently against the sides of the tub, a soothing backdrop to her laughter. “Whenever I went through something as I grew up—from minor inconveniences to challenging times—I always pictured my prince coming to save me on a white horse.”

“That’s not very progressive of yo?—”

Her elbow sinks into my stomach, and I sputter out a chuckle.

“He’d come back for me every time I needed.” As she dips her fingers in the water and wiggles them, I push up off the edge and grab the shower head.

“What type of things did he save you from?”

“Just about anything. Not being invited to a party, my parents fighting, kids at school making my life hard.”

Her hands slide along my thighs, gently massaging my muscles, and as the warm water descends over her hair, I drop kisses along her shoulder. “Is that why I get the horse tattoo? Am I your savior, little backpack?”

“If anything, you’ve gotten me into a whole lot of trouble.”

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” I mumble, brushing my nose against her neck. She chuckles, and I press my lips to her shoulder. “Perfect,” I mumble. “Your laugh is perfect. Your skin is perfect. You...are... so perfect.”

Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, and the freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks are even more prominent with the steam. She’s so beautiful it hurts, so reactive to me it’s fucking poetry. My erection stiffens behind her, and she responds by twisting to me and tentatively reaching for it.

I shake my head, holding her hand back. “Not now. I’m taking care of you.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Okay.” After a moment of silence, she touches my wrist. “Well, do you like it?”

I nod, staring at the little crooked horse nestled between a crow and an abstract tribal design. It’s ridiculous, but I like it. Just like my Barbie.

“Thank you,” I say as she tilts her head back. “For coming back.”

With a soft sigh, she brings my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles one by one, then mumbles, “So, uh...one more day, huh?”

“Yup. Less than twenty-four hours.” Ignoring the lump in my throat, I peck the back of her head.

What are we going to do? She said she loves me, so she’s definitely not casual about us, but that doesn”t mean she’ll want to have a long-distance relationship. What if she asks me to move? I’m crazy enough about her that I would. What would happen to the farm then? To the animals?

“Maybe I don’t need to leave.”

I tilt my head to the side to look at her, carefully studying her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’d still have my apartment in Mayfield, so it’s not like—” She shakes her head. “I’m not saying I’d move, just...extend my stay. And I could get my own place. Get out of your hair, but stick to Pinevale—or Roseberg.”

She would do that? For me? “But what about Marisol? Aren’t you supposed to start next week?”

“Uh...”

“Primrose?” I insist. With the fight, then the hospital, then the video going viral, we haven’t discussed this in days. Did something happen?

“I, um...I won’t take the job.”

What? “Didn’t they like the strawberry candy?”

“No, they did. They loved it.” With a sigh, she plays with the hairs on my arms. “But they wanted me to use white sugar and gelatine. To cut down costs, I guess.”

So her candy wouldn’t be vegan—it wouldn’t be suitable for many people, actually. It’d be a store-bought candy like all others. “Oh.” I rest a hand on her chest and pepper kisses on her ear. “I’m sorry, Barbie.”

“That’s okay.” She swallows hard, eyes meeting mine. “At least I can stay. If...um, if you want me to.”

If I want her to? I would commit crimes to keep her here. I would buy a TV. Get Wi-Fi. I’d sleep on a bed made of goddamn scrunchies if it meant she’d share it. “You shouldn’t get an apartment. I already know you’re a horrible roommate. Reason number one why I wouldn’t date you.”

“But you are dating me.”

“Right. That’s what I’m saying.” When she narrows her eyes at me, I tilt her head back a little more. “Primrose, are you sure? Life at the farm isn’t exactly your idea of a good time, and?—”

“I love the farm,” she scolds. “I don’t love the no-internet part.”

“But what about your dream? Your candy?”

“It’s okay. I have social media, and I have you.” She smiles dreamily and closes her eyes. That’s more than enough—more than I ever dared to dream of, actually.”

I kiss her forehead, but the happiness I wish I were feeling isn’t there. She’s willing to stay here with me, at the farm. It’s more than I ever dared to dream of, but it also feels...wrong. She’s giving up on her dream, and she shouldn’t. I won’t let her.

Even if it means she’ll leave me behind.