Chapter 20 #2
When I first saw the cherry harvester—Linden’s sister Hazel confidently maneuvering through the rows of low-growing cherry trees—I thought this would be an easy job.
But then Linden led me all the way back to the older trees with their perfectly plump fruits, one darker than the other, waiting to be delicately handpicked with the stems still attached so they can be sold at the local farmers’ market.
Machine harvesting, I learned as I balanced on a ladder that would make Coach Wagner blanch, is only for the fruits the family uses and sells for juice production.
The significantly higher-priced, peak-quality cherries need to be harvested by hand.
With the endless rows of trees, I understand why the Woodrows were happy about any help—even though my buckets filled a lot slower than theirs.
“Oh? I thought you had big plans for tonight?” Linden chuckles as he steps up to the bed, towel still in hand. He’s already wearing one of his oversized shirts again. Its seams are frayed, the faded logo of a high school volleyball team printed on the front.
“I did,” I whine, then correct myself: “I mean, I do. I just need to recharge for a second.”
“You know we don’t have to…uhm…do sex stuff tonight, right? Or any night, that is.”
“Yeah, sure, but what if I want to do sex stuff?” I ask, a satisfied grin spreading on my lips when I detect a splash of pink blooming on his cheeks.
Linden rolls his eyes at me, hiding behind the towel as he pretends to rub his already-dry hair.
“You’re terrible.”
“I’m just trying to be a good student! C’mon, throw me the book.”
Linden raises his eyebrows. “Last-minute cramming before the mock exam?” he jokes, but still steps over to pick up the book from the nightstand and put it into my outstretched hands.
“No, I just…I thought I saw something in here that doesn’t require too much movement. Because I won’t be getting up from this spot before the sun rises again.”
“Aw, did those cherries wear you out?” Linden teases as he sits on the bed beside me.
“Screw you. Who could’ve known—” I break off when I find what I’ve been looking for, clearing my throat before I start to read out loud.
“The moment Noah’s hot tongue lapped over his puckered hole—so incredibly slowly as if he were savoring the sweetness of his favorite ice cream flavor—Owen’s world was reduced to two conflicting sensations: more and too much.
Forgotten were the hard floorboards of the rustic kitchen beneath his elbows and knees; forgotten were all the worries that swirled in his head and kept him up at night.
Instead, he squirmed and writhed under the attention while simultaneously trying to preserve a smidge of dignity by keeping himself from thrusting his ass at Noah.
But when his lover’s tongue slipped inside of him—hot, greedy, ravenous—that last resolve vanished completely from his brain.
“Noah!” he groaned—no, yelled—no…begged—”
“Ohmigodshutthefuckup, the window’s still open!” Linden gasps, jumping up and launching over to press a hand over my mouth for the second time today. I laugh from behind his palm, swatting his shoulder with the paperback I’m still holding.
“Stop laughing; I’m serious!” Linden complains exasperatedly. The pink bloom in his cheeks deepens to a full-on crimson. It’s a stark contrast to his pale skin, and for a moment, I have to think of the red apple in Snow White.
“I’m going to take my hand away now, and you’ll stay quiet until I close the window, understood?”
I nod solemnly at his questions, even though the corners of my mouth twitch again.
“Good boy,” he praises me teasingly, and I roll my eyes at him. At the same time, an unexpected tingle starts in my stomach. My surprise must reflect on my face because now it’s Linden’s turn to grin.
“Aw, you like that,” he points out as he draws his hand back, then climbs off the bed to close the window.
“Fuck off,” I huff, the exact moment a loud moo comes out of the barn, sending us both into another fit of laughter.
“So, you game?” I ask once we’ve calmed down again.
We’re both lying on the bed now, feet dangling off the edge.
Linden collapsed a few inches away from me after finally closing the window amid our suppressed giggles and the continuous moos of the cows.
Our bodies don’t touch, but I can still feel his warm breath ghost over my skin when he turns his head and huffs.
“Rimming, you mean?”
There’s that fake casualness again, a thin calmness in his voice. By now, I can hear the tiny fractures in it, the soft vibration of nerves.
“Yeah? It involves a lot of lying down. Fucking and not moving—sounds great!”
“Right, but it also involves some…hm-hrm.” Linden sits up and gestures helplessly before darting a glance back at his closed door. Only then does he carefully stick out his tongue to mimic a licking motion.
I snort at his obvious embarrassment. “Don't worry, I understood what I was just reading,” I promise with an eyebrow waggle. “And I've done that before.”
“You've rimmed another guy before?! I thought you said you never—”
“I meant I've eaten a girl out before,” I explain before he can talk himself into another frenzy.
Linden's eyes widen until they look like silver saucers, his mouth forming a silent “oh”. For a second, silence spreads between us, then he clears his throat again.
“But…but this is another…entrance.”
“Yeah, your ass.”
“Micah!”
“Oh, c'mon, it's true! You don't have to tiptoe around saying it! I wouldn't suggest it if I weren't down!”
“How…how can you just be so casual about this?!” Linden groans.
I shrug, only to regret the slight movement when my shoulders burn like someone poured a bucket of hot water over them. Getting back up on that ladder will be hell tomorrow.
“I dunno. I mean, it seems fun? I’ve never done it before, and I guess you haven’t, either, which is the whole point of this, right? Trying new things together?”
Letting out a big sigh, Linden rubs both his hands over his face, visibly torn.
I don’t want to talk him into something he’s reluctant to explore, but I also don’t want him to lie about his desires because he thinks I can’t handle it.
There’s a slight flutter of nerves every time I think about experimenting with Linden, but it doesn’t mean I’m less eager.
I want to do this—not because I necessarily believe Mike will want to get rimmed by me, but because I want to see Linden like Owen is depicted on the page: squirming and writhing and begging, his reserved shell cracked open and not a single worry left.
Next to me, Linden is gnawing on his lower lip, and I can already feel him pull back from me. Not physically, but the air between us is shifting.
“Don’t take this the wrong way.” He sighs, and my stomach cramps—which is utterly stupid. We’re trying stuff out; if this isn’t on his list, that’s fine. It probably shouldn’t be on my list, either.
“But that’s…I don’t feel comfortable with this at the moment. I…I’m not as casual about…sex…as you are. I really wish I were, but…” Linden’s voice trails off, but his hands continue gesturing for another moment, and I nod hesitantly.
“It’s a Linen-Pants-Guy thing, huh?”
“A what now?”
“The guy you’re involved with? Who told you to gain some experience? That’s reserved for him, right? Like anal.”
Linden frowns, one of his hands absentmindedly rubbing over his nose.
“You mean Colin?” he asks, and I bite the inside of my cheek, giving a nod.
“Right, Cooooliiiin.” I overemphasize the vowels in his name, so they stretch in my mouth like old gum.
“Why do you call him Linen-Pants-Guy?”
Clearing my throat under Linden’s quizzical look, I scratch my neck.
“Well…that’s how I pictured a guy you’d be into, you know?
Loose button-downs and linen pants. Poetry book in his back pocket and kinda…
floppy hair.” I gesture to describe the hairstyle I have in mind, but, judging by the way Linden just stares at me, the vision isn’t coming across.
Then, a moment later, he bursts into laughter again.
“Hey!” I complain and stick my lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “What’s so funny?”
“He looks nothing like that!” he wheezes, wiping the back of his hand over his teary eyes.
“Well! How was I supposed to know that?”
“I can show you a picture if you want? Just so you know ‘what I’m into’,” he suggests with a sly grin, his fingers drawing quotation marks in the air.
For a moment, I consider it, curious what a guy like that even looks like—the kind of guy who tells someone to prove their sexuality to him. And honestly, no amount of supermodel looks could make up for that character.
“No,” I decide as I grab his hand and gently pull him toward me. “I’d rather look at you.”
“Is that so?” Linden teases but doesn’t resist when I pull him on top of me to straddle my lap. He's only wearing boxer shorts, so my fingers dance over the bare skin of his leg. The hairs growing there are so fine, I can’t even see them, only feel them under my caressing fingertips.
“Yeah. You can admire Linen-Pants-Guy once we’re back in Bonham. But for now, you have to put up with this ogre.” I wink at him, which earns me a soft snort.
“Oh yeah, poor me, I should put a paper bag over your h-head,” he quips, his words coming out breathlessly when I use that opportunity to sneak my fingers inside his boxers to brush over the inside of his thighs.
“But how would you put your dick in my mouth then?”
Linden lets his head fall back with a loud groan. “You’re unbelievable.”
I lick my lips while I watch the heat return to Linden’s cheeks, coloring them like a delicious apple.
“And pretty confident for a straight guy who’s never sucked a dick before,” he adds a moment later, rushed and low, but this time without a stutter.