Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
It’s there again! Who the hell is parking the most stupid car in England right in the middle of my tractor run?
We’ve been working for the past few days, since Kell took the boys back to London, in the fields around Farm Cottage. The idiots who’ve rented it keep parking a Ferrari, bright red and flashy as all hell, in my way. I asked them yesterday to move it and it took them all day to do it. Lo and behold, here we are again, a new day and it’s back. Well they can get it moved.
I sit in my totally amazing, and rather large, Lamborghini tractor. Everyone knows a Lambo is way better than a Ferrari. Maybe that’s why I’m being a bit of a pain about it.
But I need them to move it. The team from Greystone Farm are already on their way, and I’ve tractors coming through carrying all the fertilisers. Not to mention a really busy day of spraying crops. I don’t have all day to wait again.
I’ve even made arrangements for Nikki, my house chef, to use the Farm Cottage kitchen today to make dinner for the men from Greystones. I know we’ll be down in Coulters Fields for the day. He’s set up tents and trellis tables at the bottom of Farm Cottage gardens, backing onto the fields, and we’re all set for 6:30 p.m.
The nights are lighter longer, not getting dark until after nine these days, but I’ve made sure my lights are all working well anyway. I intend to finish all the fields, regardless of the time. I don’t want a bloody Ferrari stopping my day.
I sit with my hand on my horn and blast it at the house in general for a good five minutes solid. No one comes out to see what the noise is all about.
It’s a scorcher, the day getting hotter, and I’m in a strange eclectic mix of clothes, including a bikini top, as it gets really hot under glass. A plaid shirt wrapped around my waist, cut off denim shorts, knee length socks and my favourite Blundstone boots complete my ensemble. To top off my look, my hair is up in a messy bun held in place with my favourite pair of vintage World War II flying goggles that are slightly tinted blue. They stop the flies and midges, and I adore them. I feel a bit steam punk when I wear them, but they always draw a crowd, and cause much hilarity with the lads.
After sitting for fifteen minutes—I timed it—I spot a woman coming out of the front door to pick up a bag that had been dumped there, and shout at her, asking her to move the car. She doesn’t even acknowledge me, just disappears back into the house and doesn’t come back. I’ve been simmering since yesterday and their shitty attitude. It’s my house, they should be moving the damn car.
I clamber out of my tractor—it’s a huge beast and high for a short person like me—ring the bell for what seems like forever, and ask yet another woman who finally comes to the door to move the car. I even add a please. She looks at me disinterestedly, and says, “Sure. I’ll get someone on it.” But I know that ‘someone’ is not coming. Interesting. She sounds American. The agents must have been advertising worldwide again.
I haven’t had a chance to speak to James to see if he knows who the agent rented to, but whoever they are, they’re pissing me off.
Third time a charm. I wait, and still no one has turned up to move the monstrosity. My patience running dry, I ring the bell again. Ages goes by with my finger practically white on the bell from pressing it that hard. When yet another woman answers the door, I demand she shift the car or I’ll run over it.
“Okay, well feel free. It’s over there.” She points imperiously at the bright red Ferrari. Clearly she thinks I’m joking. Pausing for a second, she adds, “Are you an actual farmer?” Taking in my crazy clothing, and my oversized tractor, she shakes her head in confusion and goes back inside.
“What the hell!” I bang on the door, and no one comes.
I’m now beyond angry at how rude they are. I can see Ian coming up the lane with a three tractor team and trailers. I need to sort this or we will never be done. Bollocks to it. I need to move the Ferrari, whatever that looks like.
I check the car and there’s nothing in it, and it’s locked. So I climb back in my tractor and rev the engine. I set off at a fast pace and instead of stopping, I run right over the top of it. The roof caves in like a tin can being squeezed. I reverse backwards and forwards, running over it again and again, getting a lot of satisfaction at how flat it looks.
I run over it three more times as the other tractors turn onto the long tree-lined drive. Waving at Ian, I radio him to run over the car in the drive and I’ll see them in Coulters Field.
Move it now, suckers!
Laughing my head off, I set off past the house, sticking my middle finger up as I go. Lambo does Rari every day of the week. I can hear on the radio all the lads killing themselves with laughter over the car.
“What car?” I ask innocently.
“The one that looks like a pancake,” they shout down the radio.
“Never saw it. Let’s get cracking, boys.”
We work all day, and as tea time looms, the lads are talking on the radio about what we’re having. I’m teasing them with guessing games of the food. I know Nikki has done a hot buffet and has been cooking all day. I’m hoping once they’re fed we can work on towards midnight.
Pete turns up with Jake, leaving a truck for Ian to use to get off quick as he has a new baby and needs to be home by 10 p.m.
I call time at 6:15 p.m. and we all pull up by the hedge that backs onto Farm Cottage. Walking through the cut out gap in the hedge and towards the tents, I can see Nikki and, to be honest, not much else.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, arriving at empty trellis tables.
“They’ve taken it. I asked them not to, but they will not listen. I’ve told them I am not their chef, but they won’t believe me.” He’s virtually in tears. My hackles are rising, no one speaks to Nikki like that.
“Whoa, Nikki, who’s taken it? And what have they taken?” All the guys look around, well annoyed. There’s no food, and they’ve been looking forward to this tea all day. Working fucking hard to get it too.
“The women in the house,” he cries. “I told them it was for the farm workers, but they said I work for them, they were paying ‘top dollar’ for the house and food. But I haven’t been asked to do food for the house.” He looks really upset, and my anger notches higher.
“Evie, leave it, we’ll go to the pub,” Ian says, coming over to me as I pull down my goggles to cover my eyes. “Don’t do it. You’ve already totaled a Ferrari today.”
I look at him steadily, tamping down my growing anger so he can’t see it. “What? I’m not going to let someone upset Nikki and nick our food. We’ve worked all day for that. And they haven’t paid for it. But fair enough, ring Ollie in the pub and get the truck, we’ll go down there. I’m just going to pop into the house to let them know how I feel. Don’t worry, Ian, nothing major.” He looks relieved as I march up the garden and the guys get the truck.
“Pick me up at the side of the house,” I shout back to them as I duck under a gazebo where the boys keep bits of sports gear for outdoor games. Croquet mallets, tennis rackets… Ah, just what I want: a baseball bat.
I swing it up over my shoulder and carry on. I hear Ian shout from behind me, but no way am I stopping now.
Nikki’s running to catch up. “Evie, Evie, no, no!” he begs me.
“Nikki, out of my way.” I push open the kitchen door and can hear laughter coming from the dining room. Perfect, all in one spot, the thieving cows. I walk into the dining room that I paid for. They have my dining set out, and all my food set out into it. Four women, none of whom I recognise, three American and one English from the sounds of their accents.
“Ladies,” I say to them in a quiet, menacing voice.
They all turn and gape at my attire and the bat over my shoulder. I glance back to Nikki who’s standing wide-eyed behind me.
“Having a nice meal?” I ask mildly, but don’t wait for a response. “Who told you it was ok to steal our food? Who’s idea was it to take what was not yours? And worse, speak to Nikki, who has been cooking all day for us, like a piece of shit.”
A blonde, tall and statuesque in a beautiful black dress, who clearly thinks she’s in charge, looks down her nose at me and sneers. “Steal your food? How can we steal what is actually ours? We own this place. Paid a fortune for it, too. And we expected there would be a chef as usual. But he refused to cook for us,” she states in an impossibly posh English accent as she points at Nikki. “What are we supposed to do, cook for ourselves?” She looks around at the other women with a wide-eyed incredulous expression. They all laugh at her joke, like it’s an alien concept.
“If you’ve come to take our food order, you’re a little late. We’ve sorted ourselves out now. You can go back to your field work. Farm workers, the lowest of the low. Always working in the dirt, and it looks like you’re a hard worker.”
They all turn away from me, dismissing me as if I’m not even there. Continuing to pile their plates with salads.
“You haven’t paid for a chef, you paid for use of the house. Who’s idea was it to take our food? You could see it was being set up for someone. And unless you’re as blind as you are dumb, you couldn’t miss us working in the fields.”
My words fall on deaf ears, they don’t even acknowledge my genuine complaint. Getting drinks and carrying on with their meal, it’s as if I haven’t even spoken.
I stand there, feeling the sting of being ignored and disrespected. It’s as if Nikki and I are invisible in their world. I know I dress down when at home, but this goes way beyond that. It’s as if it”s something more fundamental. They’re in charge, there to see and be seen. I’m to go about my work, behind the scenes, invisible and inconsequential.
Well someone forgot to give me that memo. It’s not a memo I have ever subscribed to. Or an ethos. I am always seen, and make sure of it. I believe everyone should be seen.
I grasp the handle of the bat tighter and I hear Nikki make a panicked noise behind me as I smile at them all. Time for the show ladies, time to see the real me.
“Well ladies, I have to say, this will be the pleasure of my life.”
And I start swinging.
They start screaming and running for cover. I smash every piece of crockery in that room. I smash the food into smithereens. Take a run up and hit the drinks cabinet, sending bottles and glasses everywhere, and just keep going. I feel like I’m in a bit of a trance as I smash and smash my own dining room up. The women are all huddled in a corner, shrieking like banshees.
A man runs into the room from the other end in only his jeans, and I do recognise him.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the boyfriend,” I snarl. “Keep these women away from me, and anyone of my association. In fact, get them out of this house.
“Let’s go, Nikki. And don’t you dare clean this shit up, they can do it. After they move that fucking car.”
I hurl the bat so hard towards the women, they all duck and scream as it sails over their heads and smashes a front window.
Nikki moans at my side, but I grin like a maniac at him, and push him out of the door and through the kitchen. “Get in the truck, Nikki, we’re off to the pub.”
I’m the last one on the field. It”s just before midnight and I am totally knackered. I’ve got my music blaring out, and I see the headlights of a truck coming towards me at speed. Jake’s probably coming to tell me to come home.
Pulling up the tractor, I wave at him, grab my shirt, and wipe my forehead. I shout out as he pulls up, truck lights still blazing into the midnight sky.
“I’ve just finished J. I’m knackered. Has Pat got some tea ready?”
I’m climbing down backwards, when I’m pulled from the tractor by my hips and spun around. I scream in panic.
“What the fuck have you done?” he shouts at me. “My fucking Ferrari and the house dining room? You’re fucking crazy, woman.” He’s shaking me and is yelling right in my face. Kellen. OOPS.
“Don’t grab me, get off. I don’t know anything about your Ferrari. And those bitches had it coming. I would have smashed them in if I had the chance again.”
Ripping myself out of his grip and diving for my tractor, I climb back into the cab as he tries to grab my legs. I kick out at him, and hear him grunt as I catch him in the chest, knocking him backwards. I take the advantage, grabbing a riding crop I keep handy to swot flies with, and when he comes to get in the cab, I wallop him with it.
He bellows at me, shouting, “You’re asking for it, Kitten. Think a riding crop is going to stop me? You ran over my fucking Ferrari.”
“I did not!”
“You liar.” He growls the accusation at me. “Admit it and I’ll let you off. Go on, admit it. I know you did, no one else is crazy enough. ADMIT IT.” He’s really shouting now, his eyes wild. “You fucking hit the girls with that bat, you could have killed them.”
“I did not. I was nowhere near them. The only thing I killed is my own dining set, my own food, my own fucking drinks cabinet and window, so fuck off. If I want to smash my own house up, I will.” I’m screaming in his face now.
“Your house?” He steps back in amazement. “Your fucking house.”
“Of course it’s my house. Whose did you think it was? Do you think we would let anyone own a house next to Greystone Farm and Marshall’s? What a joke. Get the fuck off my tractor, and my land, before I whip the shit out of you.”
He grins at me like a beautiful devil. “Bring it on, baby,” he growls out as he grabs for the crop.
We’re in a confined space, the cab is not big, but we’re tussling with each other for the best grip. I decide to cut and run for it. He’s mad as hell, and I reckon he’s going to dish out some serious punishment. I rip my fingers off the crop and jump out of the cab. It’s a long way down for a short person.
“You’re fucking crazy. You’re going to kill yourself,” he yells from the cab.
I set off running for his truck, lights still blazing, hoping he’s left the keys in the ignition in his haste to get to me on the tractor. Nearly there, I fall in the dirt, and can hardly get my footing in the slippery soil as I stand back up.
He clips my legs out from underneath me, and, when I go down with a ummpphh, he lands on top of me. I’m face down in the dirt. I’ve only got a bikini top and cut-off shorts on, and I’m sandwiched between the hard ground and his hard-on. My boobs have escaped the meagre confines of my top, and he has the whip in his hand. Shit.
“Looking for these?” He dangles the truck keys and now also the tractor keys on his fingers, level with my eyes. “Oh baby, you’re for it. You’re going nowhere,” he snickers, and brings the crop down on my arse. “Tell me who did the car and I’ll let you go.” His voice is almost quiet, gentle, coaxing me, but he knows I won’t say. And to be honest, I can also hear the laugh in his voice.
“Fuck your Ferrari, piece of shit car, it was not me.”
“Five for that, Kitten,” and he hits me on the arse with it again. Jesus, it stings. He grabs my hair and looks at my face, dirty and flushed. “I can see your eyes, you love it. Are you wet, Evie? Do you want some more?”
I push up suddenly and dump him off, forcing him to roll into the dirt. I grab the crop off him as he moves and hit him on the back. He shouts as I bring it down again and again, with all my strength behind my swing.
“Of course it was me. Caved like a Coca Cola can,” I shout, laughing at him as I go to give him a shove with my foot to roll him in the dirt. I pull hard at his T-shirt, and it rips. I cackle like I’m some sort of lunatic and set off running again.
He catches up easily, grabbing me in a rugby style tackle, and I go down onto my knees. He’s up and holding onto me, towering over me. When I bring the crop up to wallop him between his legs, he grabs it and spins me round, holding my hair and neck.
“How many for that? At least another ten. Say sorry, and I’ll only do five.”
“Fuck you,” I scream at him. “You never say sorry, why should I? And I’m not sorry. It felt so good to crush it. If I would’ve known it was yours, I would’ve run it flat even more.” I’m mocking him now, feeling more than a bit unhinged.
“Say sorry, or you”re getting ten with this.” He brings the crop gently down over my face and onto my breasts, tapping them with the whip. I can see in the truck headlights his pupils are blown wide open, no green left to see. He must see the same in me, as he kisses me.
And I bite him.
“Like that, is it, Kitten? Well, I’m happy to play, you know I am.”
He spins me round and pushes me down onto all fours, pulls at my shorts and rips them down my legs, and I feel the crop across my bare buttocks. Jesus that stings, but the sting inexplicably morphs into pleasure. And I love it.
The whistle of the wind through the whip before he swings his arm down notches my excitement higher, anticipation pumping the desire through my veins. I’m a bit shocked I love it so much. I’m screaming at him, but not to stop, not even recognizing the incoherent sounds coming out of my mouth.
“Say you’re sorry and I’ll stop.”
“You say sorry to me, you bastard,” I shout as he brings it down again and again. He rubs his hands over where he’s hit me, and moans, pushing his fingers into my drenched pussy as I cry out in ecstasy. I’m practically clamping my thighs together to trap his hand right where I want it.
“Fuck, woman, you’re so wet for me.” He licks his fingers and hits me again, biting my neck at the back.
Not again. He’s not marking me again.
I scramble to get up, pulling my shorts up as he grabs me around my waist. Holding my throat, he pulls me towards the tractor and pushes me to face it.
“Push your arse out.” His voice is pure gravel. “I’m gonna fuck you from behind.” He can hardly get the words out between his panting breaths. “Tell me yes, say yes baby, tell me fucking yes.” He’s hit desperation, his voice begging with everything he has.
He’s massaging my buttocks with one hand and has moved his hand from my throat down to my breasts, plucking at my nipples. “Please, Evie, please yes, baby, yes.”
He puts his face next to mine, pushing his cock into my backside. It’s huge, hard and throbbing. He growls into my hair. When I don’t answer, he continues to beg, to plead, and explain. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I lose my mind, you make me lose my fucking mind. I don’t know which way is up. Christ, I can smell you, taste you. I want to fuck you here and in the dirt. I want to mark you, black and blue. I want everyone to know I’ve done it, that you belong to me, wife.”
His impassioned pleas move to total passion. There’s a violence in his ardour that calls to me. His darkness calls to mine, and as his breath skitters down my neck, I see the hair rising on his arms. My siren calling his body to me, his answering calling mine to order, as it’s done for years, as if the ocean of time apart never existed.
But I’m still fuming. I turn round and look at him, my eyes steaming. “I’m not yours to pass around, like an object. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“Hell, no. I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I never intended to. I wanted to show us off. Please believe me, baby, I’m fucking sorry, so sorry.” His eyes are burning into me. “I lost the plot, but I would never let them touch you.”
He drops to his knees, looking up at me through his long eyelashes. The intensity of the stare sears my heart. “Let me show you how much I want you. You, no one else.”
His hands move from my hips to splay across my stomach. He’s touched me there before, where I would have carried James.
His voice drops an octave, raspy and primal. “You, Kitten, nobody but you. Let me taste you. I fucking need to, woman.” He closes his eyes, as if he’s praying. And when he opens them again, I feel as if they’re pleading directly to my soul
I can’t think straight. My brain may have disconnected, but my body is in full control. And it’s singing a siren song. I want to wreck him, smash him to smithereens. Watch as he disintegrates into pieces for me to feast on. So I nod at him, my voice pulling him onto the rocks. “Do it.”
Pulling off my shorts, he lifts my leg over his shoulder, inhaling deeply, and smirks up at me. “I’m going to whip this pussy. You’re a very naughty girl.” He slaps my pussy with the crop, and I shout out as he does it again and then brings his tongue onto my clit. It feels divine. Running his tongue through my folds, opening me up, his tongue hitting all my pleasure points forces me to drop forward and hold onto his hair. I push his head closer to me, and he growls into my cunt, digging his fingers into my arse cheeks. I thrust forward to get his tongue into my pussy, and arch my back.
“Yes, baby, fuck me, you are beautiful.” He drags my overflowing juices onto his fingers, covering them so that when he moves them to my tight bud, he can move them in and out mimicking his tongue on my clit.
The varying pressure he uses drives me into oblivion as I oscillate between massaging his scalp and yanking so hard he bites my thighs to stop me. I think I might be drowning, my breath in short sharp pants, gasping for air. I’m screaming into the night sky as he hooks his fingers into me and hits the front of my pussy, hard, fast, sucking my clit. I’ve handfuls of his hair as he launches me skyward, and I see the cascade of stars as he carries on, growling like a fucking animal, holding me hard, as he laps up every drop of me. My legs are quaking and my knees buckle, he is the only thing holding me up right.
He drags me up the steps of the tractor and pushes me down, forward over the steering wheel, and enters me from behind, ramming his huge cock into me. Every fibre of him is thrust into me, every sensation he is feeling, he plunges in deep. He bellows my name as I answer to his song now. So full, so fucking heaven, every wave of arousal takes me higher than the last. It tumbles over us both.
Holding me against him, he sits in the seat, bringing me down on top of him. He moves his hands down to my clit and rubs me aggressively as I glide up and down.
My need to destroy him surfaces, my need to obliterate his mind, to drag him back and drown him in the depths of that black tent. Follow me baby, I”ll lead you there, I need us both there.
He’s only too happy to follow. He bites and licks my shoulders, neck, and any skin he can reach. I lift my arms behind my head and pull at his hair with both hands. It”s the most aggressive sex I’ve ever had. And I love it. With him, it”s more than sex, it’s mind blowing.
“Pull it harder, Evie, fucking harder,” he begs, his voice on a cry. I’m scraping my nails down his body, literally drawing blood.
I climb off him and practically lay on the steering wheel, throwing my head back and opening my legs to him. He stands and rams into me, leaning on me, licking my tits and biting them.
“Come with me, come when I say.” He’s back in charge, I’ve already had two orgasms, on his tongue. I moan when he hits me deep inside with his piercing. He hits that same spot again and again, and he’s losing it, as his thrusts become erratic. “Come with me, baby, or I’ll fuck you with the crop.”
Oh God, his voice, the tightening of the black silk, the dirty talk pushing me further. I move against him, the heat building. He grabs me, the wildness in every limb. And when he growls deep in his throat, it pushes me over the edge, as my pussy grips his cock riding that wave, again and again, pulsating around him.
I can’t breathe, my heart is pounding in my chest, there’s no oxygen here, only pleasure enough to kill. I want him to come. I want him to sink into the dark with me. I want to feel him lose his mind, I want the front row seat tonight. I want to stand on those rocks and watch him drown in me. He’s a vessel, covered in dirt, sweat and me.
So I clamp my thighs onto him and squeeze, tightening the noose. He swells and lets go with a huge bellow, like a stag at mating season, pulling my hair and biting me.
He’s lost, and adrift again to total pleasure, incoherent as he sucks on my neck, licking the sweat and dirt from it.
“Eeevvviiieee, Eeeevvviiiieee, my love, you fucking blow my mind, Kitten.” But he doesn’t stop touching me.
I want more. I’ll never get enough. He’s a drug and I’m a fiend for him. I want another hit, I need him to touch me more.
“Don’t stop, keep going.” I stare into his eyes. “I want more, keep touching me.” He pulls out, no condom again. My mind was so scattered, I never gave it a thought.
He moves his hand inside me and wipes it all over my clit, my arsehole. He gets more and puts it all over my breasts, massaging it in and licking at it afterwards.
“You and me,” he tells me as he licks my breasts. He puts more on his thumb and pushes it into my mouth. “Suck me baby. It turns me on when I see your tongue.”
Cradling me in his arms, he gently manoeuvres me towards the door of the cab. Turning around, he climbs down the steps, and lifts his arms for me. When I drop into them, he carries me over to the truck, rips off what remains of his T-shirt, and lays me face down on the truck bed, smacking my arse cheeks hard with his hand and then once with the crop.
He lifts me up, turns me over, and taps my breasts at the sides with the crop. I gasp out, my adrenaline boosting my already flooded system. Fuck I want him. He does it again harder then sucks on my nipples, biting down.
Spinning me around again, he pushes me down, gliding his fingers into me gently at first, working my arsehole. He groans loudly as he moves past the ring of muscle, his fingers inside as he pushes his cock into my pussy, he licks my neck and my shoulders.
“Does it feel good? Tell me.”
“Yes, harder, Kell, more, more.” I’m lost. I’m back in that black tent. It’s dark, just his voice, telling me what to do, how to move. Whatever he says, I’ll do it. I’m totally alive, burning, a spark, dancing above the fire, desperate to join the inferno below. His fingers latching onto the heat within, stoking that fire. Working in tandem with his cock.
“I would never share you around. Never. I didn’t want that, please believe me when I say that. I never would. It is only ever me. Just me, Evie. Believe me, please, I’m sorry.” His voice changes from desperation, pleading, to commanding as he demands, “Come with me, Evie, come now baby, I can feel you’re close.”
I’m scared of the orgasm I know is coming. I try to stop it, knowing it will hurt, but I can’t. I scream as I clench down again and again, shouting his name out to the stars, as he answers with mine.