Chapter 3 Cyrus
Cyrus
Just when I think time will drag by while having company around, Millie’s happy to prove me wrong in every way possible. Time is coasting forward, moving in a blur. Still, the suffering remains the same either way.
It feels like pure torture having her around. Every morning, by the time I’ve woken up, she already has a pot of coffee waiting for me and a plate of food ready to be consumed. Can’t rush off and get started if she’s forcing me to eat with her.
Here I am making it sound like the worst thing to happen in the world, when in fact…
I don’t mind it as much as I should. It’s been quite…
pleasant to have someone around. Someone who can carry on a conversation, at least. The animals are wonderful listeners, but they’re useless when it comes to replying.
Maybe I’m lonelier than I care to admit. Having company is nice and all, even if the thought of her leaving eventually is simmering beneath everything.
We’re already on day four. Four days of lowering my guard in a way I never have before. Doesn’t help that Millie isn’t trying to be shy when it comes down to knocking down my walls. Sometimes, I don’t think she knows she’s doing it, either. She’s a force to be reckoned with.
Like when she offers to refill my cup, a smaller cup she’s placed by my breakfast instead of my usual go-to tumbler, she leans over me in a way that makes the temptation of drinking her too impossible to fight against. Hell, just breathing in that addictive sweet scent is a temptation in itself. Something fruity like tangerines.
It’s that body wash she uses. I hate to admit that I’ve breathed it in during my last shower just to confirm my suspicions.
Shamefully, my body reacted the same way it always does.
For someone who looks so damn innocent, my cock doesn’t know any better but to do the most vile things, reacting and stiffening at any reminder of her.
At least I was in the best place to get her out of my system without her having the slightest clue.
Now, it’s hard to meet her gaze without thinking of what I’d done.
Instead of feeling shame for my actions, I’m more concerned about a repeat of the past and what I might do if she’s near me the next time it happens.
Damn body has a mind of its own. That’s what really has me nervous.
This morning, she’s already got a cup full by the time I stroll inside. Already ready to throw on my boots and just get started to avoid any awkward run-ins, I silence the demand and sit at the table.
While I take a sip, I watch her fuss around with the oven. How long has she already been awake? Despite being a light sleeper, I may as well have been dead to the world. I couldn’t tell the difference.
Today, she’s got on another pair of jeans that hug her thighs just right. From this angle, I can appreciate her other curves for a few seconds before I catch myself in the act. Thankfully, I’m quick enough to turn my gaze away just as she spins around on her heel, a plate in hand.
Already imagining what she’ll have for me this time around, a light laugh leaves her at my furrowed brows once I get a good look at what is waiting for me.
I’ve scrambled, panfried, and boiled my eggs countless times before.
Sometimes poached them when I wanted to mix things up.
I thought I explored most of the options. Apparently not.
“Quiche.” Setting it down in front of me, she plants a fork next to my cup. “It’s a little hot, so be careful.”
Lifting my gaze from the food to her, I realize how little space is between us. Breathing in, my lungs fill with that tangerine smell once more, and I can already feel the swell against my thigh. At this point, it feels more like a trigger than anything else.
Should I ask her to buy something else, or will my body adjust to whatever she picks and react the same way?
“Thanks.” My appreciation comes out rough, to the point that I barely recognize my voice. “Though you don’t have to keep doing this.”
Yesterday, she made me some kind of jiggly dessert. While hers didn’t look its best, she made sure to give me the perfect one. Called in flan. Never had anything like it.
I’m willing to bet her goal is to make me tired of eating them. Fortunately for her, it’s working.
I already took her advice and shoved a sign down for anyone traveling, and even got a few new faces at first. Then she caught wind and suggested we make a post on the town’s social media. Having no clue what was going on, I let her handle it.
Now we’re lucky to keep a full carton stocked in the fridge. She’s owed some appreciation, and I’ll give it to her. Just… once I get a handle over myself first.
She bites that plump bottom lip at my words, and pauses long enough to make my fingers curl. Wanting to reach up and touch her should be off the table, too. “I don’t mind. Breakfast is really important to start the day, Cyrus.”
She keeps doing that, purring my name like she purposely wants to torture the hell out of me. She knows it’s working. It’s why she keeps flashing those smiles at me, making them feel personal and mine.
Grunting at the thought, I tear my eyes away and eat. The sooner the food is gone, the sooner I can start my day and pretend everything is normal. By now, such a thing is routine.
For a few seconds, she doesn’t leave my side.
She watches, waiting for a reaction. For a compliment, probably.
Today, she’s lingering even closer than usual.
Close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her.
Ordering myself not to look her way, not to notice what kind of shirt she’s wearing, something with buttons, by the feeling of something plastic scraping my arm, I sigh after my fourth bite.
“It’s good.” Against my better judgment, I look up at her and watch as the delight drifts over her eyes. “Hurry and eat some.”
She then does something that catches me off guard.
She squeezes my shoulder. It’s probably friendly, has to be with this woman.
There’s no way in hell she’d mean it as anything else.
Not to a man twice her age. Yet, her touch burns all the way until she drags her fingers away to turn and go fetch her own helping.
With her back turned, I’m forced to reach beneath the table and adjust myself before she can notice. My bites slow down. It’s going to be a minute until I can stand up without drawing any attention. May as well enjoy the meal and take advantage when she asks if I want seconds.
* * *
Millie doesn’t complain about any of the farm work. Collecting eggs is the novice stuff, but when I get her to clean out the barn, I expect a string of complaints to come streaming out. After all, this job is a dirty one. Doesn’t smell too nice, either.
Instead of calling it quits at the piles she’s going to have to attend, she’s plucking at the boots I dug out. They’re a little big on her, but they’ll get the job done.
“Dad said you lived alone.” Her foot wiggles as she tests it out. “You just keep boots half your size around?”
Good to know Jerry knows my lack of a love life has remained the same despite never bringing it up.
“They belong to my sister. She didn’t need them anymore, and I’m a hoarder.
” Keeping it simple, I fetch her a pitchfork and hand it over, with a pair of gloves.
“Wear those. Don’t need your hands getting blisters. ”
“Yes, sir.” She accepts both and doesn’t notice the way I flinch as she tugs them on next. “You sure are bossy, you know that?”
Turning away, I make eye contact with the few cows lingering by the fans running. “Just making sure no one gets hurt.”
That’s the truth. What I don’t understand is why I’m feeling something in the pit of my stomach at her words. It’s the same hunger as before, but much quicker. Far more intense and sudden.
Thankfully, I don’t have much time to think about it too deeply. Not when she’s already starting to fill the wheelbarrow I’ve got readied.
“Where does all this stuff go, anyway?” she asks after a few minutes. Probably doesn’t like the silence. I can’t blame her, not while I’m left alone with my thoughts.
“Gets sold to the nearby farmers.” Nudging one of the cows out of their stall so I can work on it, I get an aggravated moo in return before continuing. “Used to have a farm when everyone lived here, but now that it’s just me, I take care of the animals, and that’s about it.”
I’m talking too much. She didn’t ask about all the extra bits.
“Everyone?” Lifting a brow, she pauses long enough to swipe away the beads of sweat clinging to her temple.
The simple motion pulls the thin fabric of her t-shirt taut across her chest, and I have to force my gaze to stay fixed on her face.
“I thought the place was a little big for just a guy and his dog. You’ve got family, I assume? ”
The conversation is pleasant. Telling her about Abigail and Caleb should bring a small smile to my lips. It does, but it feels distant, secondary to the awareness humming under my skin.
Having all of her focus pointed in my direction is a warmth against my side, a pull that makes the muscles of my stomach tighten in response. Half of me wishes it would stop, while the other half wants to welcome the intrusion.
“Even if my siblings did hit the ground running as soon as they both turned eighteen, I don’t hold anything against them. Not when they deserve to live whatever lives they want.” Rolling my shoulders to ignore the discomfort forming at the topic, I turn my attention to something less distracting.
I don’t get to talk about my family much. Makes it too obvious how alone I am now that they’ve all left.
“My parents retired and moved down south.” Plucking my gloves off, I pause to get a drink. I can’t help but notice the flush painting her skin, the sheen of sweat making it glow in the dusty light. The barn is hotter than hell, and the fans only push the thick air around. “Come get one, too.”
She gives me that damn salute motion, and a curse lodges itself in my throat. My jaw clenches, an unfortunate reaction to her playful response. It’s an effort to keep my breathing even.
“Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine.” Offering her the bottle of water she brought, her fingers brush mine as she accepts it.
The contact is fleeting, a tingling against my knuckles that doesn’t fade.
It travels through my body, settling low in my gut.
“All I do is care for things, all day, every day. Don’t usually have to ask them to do things, either. Ordering them around just happens.”
It’s an excuse, of course. There’s no way in hell I can compare how I feel toward her to any of the animals. Thankfully, she doesn’t question me about it.
“I won’t lie, it’s kind of nice.” Her throat bobs with a few swallows, and I watch the movement, mesmerized. “I feel like I’m a pain in your butt. Having you worry about me tells me that’s not the case. No complaints from my end. Keep bossing me around.”
Saying it so playfully, almost teasingly, she has no clue what she’s asking for.
Hell, I don’t fully understand the reaction she triggers.
There’s the constant tug on my chest, the twitch in my fingers to reach out for her.
By now, I’m exhausted from holding myself back, and it feels like we’ve barely started.
What I do know is that the next order that wants to roll off my tongue has nothing to do with cleaning this barn.
It’s a demanding urge that involves the heat of her mouth, the submission of her knees on the straw-strewn floor, and the absolute silence of her while she takes care of the relentless ache she keeps stoking in me.
My damn cock needs relief from being hard all the time.
The thought is so vivid, so wrong, that a fine tremor runs through my hands. I curl them into fists. After today, she’ll know enough tasks to work on her own. After that, I’ll have some space between us, and my mind can stop spiraling like this.
“Cyrus?” Dragging me out of the treacherous current of my thoughts, she flutters those eyelashes.
Her gaze is too perceptive, seeing the tension coiling in my shoulders.
“You should really swap that coffee out with water. One of these days, you’re going to pass out from dehydration.
No offense, I don’t think I’m strong enough to catch you. ”
Grunting, I’ve got nothing to say. Especially when a wave of lightheadedness hits me as I chug a mouthful, but it’s not from thirst. It’s from the proximity, from the scent of hay and her sweat, from the way her lower lip glistens as she finishes sucking down another mouthful.
I keep drinking from my tumbler. Can’t say anything stupid or make any demands when my mouth is preoccupied like this. Even if the coffee is bad for me, it’s better for both of us. Even if she doesn’t fully understand why.
Thankfully, she just rolls her eyes, a gesture that’s both exasperating and endearing, and pulls her gloves back on. As she bends to grab the pitchfork, the worn denim of her jeans strains, and every nerve in my body goes taut. I have to turn away before I lock onto her ass.
I’m just trying to make myself suffer at this point.
“It’s smart selling this stuff, even if that’s disgusting.” Her nose wrinkles adorably as she fills the wheelbarrow with another forkful. “Dad was worried you were drowning with everything, but it seems like you know what you’re doing.”
Her words are as effective as getting doused by a bucket of cold water, but it doesn’t douse the heat she’s built in me—it just makes it steam and crackle with a new, defensive energy.
My skin prickles. While I know she doesn’t mean it as an insult, my pride takes a direct hit, and it mixes violently with the attraction.
The two feelings braid together, a rope pulling me tight.
Jerry had shared his worries during our phone calls, and I thought I had done a good job of calming him down. Everything is fine here, and the ranch is wonderful. However, it seems like I’m the only one who feels that way.
Fuck. That’s not why she suggested the egg sign, is it? If she’s anything like her old man, that’s exactly why. What if all this talk about choosing her college major is really just a story? What if it’s a way for her to come onto my property and see how I’m doing?
God damn it.
Feeling my mood souring, I grasp the handles of the full wheelbarrow. It’s full, and I need some space away from her before I accidentally say something I shouldn’t.
I’ve already snapped one time too many, and I’m not getting any better.
With this tension coiling in my gut, I know if I don’t snap, I’m going to pounce. At that point, there won’t be any going back.