18. Sylvie #2
Apart from MJ, none of my family had come to visit me on the farm. Some days it was like our own bubble of privacy and an oasis from the sidelong glances and whispers that followed me everywhere I went in town.
After work, Sloane had asked me to hang out for a while.
She was taking her twins to the local park, and I used it as an opportunity to get some fresh air and shake off the annoyance from the gossipers earlier in the day.
Duke had also texted me, letting me know there was an issue with a piece of farm equipment, so he likely wouldn’t be around for dinner.
Sloane and I picked up something for us and the kids, and I was reminded of how nice it was to have a friend to talk to.
She was still reeling from the house fire that took everything from her, but thankfully—and to everyone’s shock—my brother Abel had agreed to give her a job at the brewery.
My oldest brother could come across as callous and harsh, and he had his own darker past, but buried somewhere deep in there was a good man.
It was there in the way he stepped up for my friend without hesitation.
By the time I got back to Duke’s house—I still couldn’t think of it as our home—the sun was sinking behind the tree line.
I had gotten used to the way Three-Legged Ed would bark and circle my car, but it still nearly gave me a heart attack every time.
When I opened the car door, I was greeted with heavy barks and sloppy dog kisses.
I bent over and squished Ed’s face between my hands and leaned down to whisper, “You’re so stupid.” He lolled his tongue and looked at me with affection. I laughed. “You are cute, though.”
In the direction of the barn I could hear movement and clanking but couldn’t see Duke.
“Where’s your daddy? Huh? Where’s Dad?” Ed let out a loud, yippy bark.
“Go on! Go find him.” I gestured toward the barn, but Ed took only a few steps before turning back and barking at me, as if to ask, Well, are you coming?
The house was dark, so I straightened my purse on my shoulder, grabbed the paper bag from my car, and followed Ed toward the large barn. Muttering and a string of curses got louder as we approached. I pulled my sweater tighter around my middle to ward off the late-October chill.
As we neared the barn, Ed left my side to trot over and check on Duck, who I was sure was tucked away somewhere inside the barn.
The huge, boxy blueberry-picking machine was parked outside the barn’s large opening.
It was clunky and silver with smooth sides.
The top held a platform edged with a blue metal railing.
On one end was a single seat and a panel of controls for a driver.
Duke had once explained that the machine was tall enough to drive over the rows of blueberries.
Inside, soft rubber bristles would shake the bushes hard enough to drop berries onto trays, but gentle enough not to damage the plants themselves.
He still preferred to handpick the berries on Sullivan Farms, but often used the machines toward the end of the season if there was a threat of frost.
Now that berry picking season was officially over, I tipped my head, wondering if this was just some kind of routine maintenance.
“You piece of shit!” Duke’s irritated voice echoed across the farm as a loud clatter closely followed. I watched as Duke slid himself out from underneath the large machine. His back was pressed against a rolling board that allowed him to move freely under the blueberry picker.
He sat up, and my mouth went dry. The arms of his T-shirt had been cut off, giving me a clear view of his toned shoulders and biceps, despite the autumn weather.
Duke hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees, and a V of sweat clung to his back.
I took in his scowl and backward baseball hat as heat bloomed between my legs.
My clit throbbed, and I had to bite back the moan that almost escaped me.
Thoughts of having sex with Duke, of feeling his large hard body on top of me, consumed me. Seeing him dressed in jeans and a cutoff shirt with that backward hat did not just make him hot—it made him irresistible. I wanted to straddle him, to feel his hands on my hips as I ground into him.
What would he do if I begged him to ease this ache that neither my fingers nor a vibrator could seem to make go away?
Duke and I had had conversations about how being around each other was helpful, that we would continue to get to know each other before the baby was born.
In theory, it made sense, but in reality, it was pure torture.
I’m sure Duke thought I was quiet and liked my space, but the truth was I mostly kept to my room because I couldn’t get enough of him.
Just being in the same room as him was enough to throw my sex drive into overdrive.
I will definitely be coming to the thought of him in that fucking hat tonight.
My movements caught his eye, and he looked over. “Hey.”
I kept my smile tight in an effort to keep my tongue from hanging out at the sight of him.
I lifted up the small brown paper bag. “Not sure if you already ate, but I grabbed the pulled-pork platter from Momma Faye’s Barbecue.
The fries are probably soggy.” I shrugged. “But it’s better than nothing.”
His dark eyes roamed over me, and flames danced beneath my skin. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I smiled at him and turned toward the house, then stopped and looked over my shoulder with a smile. “I know. ’Night, Duke.”
I closed my eyes and breathed as I took the familiar steps toward the farmhouse. I could feel his eyes pinned to my back. “Good night, Sylvie.”
Once inside, I set his dinner on the counter and went straight upstairs to plop down on the bed with a sigh.
I toed off my shoes and stared at the ceiling, letting the image of sweaty, muscular Duke run in a loop in my mind.
My hand skated over my sensitive nipples and moved lower, teasing over the fabric of my pants and between my legs.
I had tried, really tried , to think of anyone else when my hormones got this out of control, but it was no use.
Hot models, porn on my phone, nothing could even get me close to relief. Nothing except for Duke, that is.
Replaying our beach date again in my mind, or imagining new scenarios, like one in which I was pressed against the counter, ass up while he devoured me from behind, was enough to have me orgasming in minutes flat.
I imagined his rough, calloused hands tweaking my nipples while his mouth burned a delicious path across my skin.
Deep pressure built between my legs as my clit throbbed.
I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my pants and down to my aching clit.
I knew my fingers were a poor substitute for him, but I was desperate.
Downstairs I heard the click of the front door and the familiar clack of Ed’s nails on the hardwood.
He was close, under the same roof, and I could practically smell his cologne waft up the stairs.
I bet tonight he smelled like his cologne mixed with a delicious hint of sweat.
My panting breaths were desperate and heavy as I heard his footfalls ascending the stairs.
In my mind, Duke growled as he devoured my pussy.
Rolling to my stomach, I buried my face in a pillow as thoughts of him drove me closer and closer to relief.
I had an image of Duke tucked away—him sitting in the living room by the fire with black glasses as he read a book.
Oh god. Why was Duke in glasses so fucking hot?
My orgasm rolled over me in rich, delicious waves, and as I pictured Duke wearing those glasses while he filled me, I lay on my side with my hands still tucked in my underwear, attempting to catch my breath.
The faint sound of a shower down the hallway had me groaning all over again as I imagined Duke sudsy and naked.
I pouted and groaned.
Still unsatisfied, even my body knew nothing could ever replace the real thing.