Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Cassidy
P ros to this situation: Hunter is super-hot, not even just a little hot. The hottest man I’ve ever seen. Hunter is driven. Hunter is a family man. Hunter is humble. Hunter is sweet.
Cons to this situation: Hunter might be the kind of guy I could want as a repeater. Hunter lives ninety minutes away… wait. Maybe that’s a pro.
If he’s so far away then I can’t keep seeing him, right? If he’s so far away, I’ll never run into him again. So, no matter what happens here tonight, I might not—no, will not—see him again.
“Dig in, you’re in for a treat,” I say. I grab one of the burgers and take a huge chug from my milkshake. I know when I tell Georgie that I ate this she is going to push me to join her little gym kick.
Hunter reaches in the bag for the other burger, and I pay close attention to his forearms, without being obvious, of course. They are tight and corded with muscles and veins. He looks so sturdy. I don’t know why I imagined farmers to be these old guys with potbellies, because Hunter doesn’t look like he has an ounce of fat on him. He’s built like a workhorse. The jeans he's wearing do little to hide his strong legs and what seems to be a healthy package.
Thank you, Lynn.
I watch as he unwraps his food. He brings it to his mouth and with perfect teeth, he bites into it. Who knew eating hamburgers could double as foreplay? Now I feel like the food in front of me is emitting an aphrodisiac.
I watch him chew for a minute before I delve back into my own meal.
“Not bad; mine are better, but this is good,” he says, taking a sip of the milkshake. “This is nothing like the milkshakes on the farm. We have our own fresh milk and ice cream that we use. So, this,” he holds up his cup, “I can’t even say this is good.” He digs back into his burger.
“You cook?” I ask, taking a sip. The man is a fool. This milkshake is heaven. I chug away because I know culinary art when it’s in front of me. This shake is a masterpiece.
“I do. We’ve got so much on the farm available it would be silly to eat out. And there aren’t that many restaurant options out by me. Then there is the added fact that my farm isn’t right next to the square either. So, I would have to clean off after a day’s work and drive into town for a meal I could probably just make at home.” He finishes his food and sits back into my couch.
A man that can cook is like a dream to me. I’m not the best in the kitchen, and a lot of men have these ideas about women being in the kitchen. I like that he can take care of himself. We’re about finished eating our takeout, and when I’m done, I ask for more details.
“What’s your favorite thing to cook?” I know I should stop, but I want to know more about him .
He rubs his stubbled chin for a minute, and I catch the sight of a piece of lettuce caught there. “I’m going to go with fresh fish fry, fresh fries, with some steamed vegetables.” Not a terrible meal choice; I saw him as a steak man. But I guess that’s just as bad a stereotype as a woman in the kitchen.
My eyes laser onto the food stuck on his chin, close to his lips. I look back to his eyes, but now he’s focused on my lips.
“What’s your favorite meal?” he asks.
I stand and cross the small space, then sit in the compact spot he left open next to him. His eyes widen a fraction, and he stills himself.
“I would say I love fried chicken with macaroni and cheese. That would be my dad’s dinner for us on special occasions.” I reach my hand out toward him to grab the lettuce off his face, but Hunter apparently notices and acts.
He grabs my small wrist in his strong hand and pulls me onto him, my face only inches away. He makes quick work of that space too, first gently brushing his lips on mine, testing before diving in. Only a second of the gentle grazing happens before he presses his perfect lips firmly to mine.
I let out a sigh and a small tension held right between my shoulders releases.
My mouth moves against his and his lips start to part.
I reposition myself to straddle him, only breaking our connection for a second. Bringing my lips back to his, he hums in appreciation. I part my lips a little and he takes the cue, sliding his smooth tongue across the seam. My own darts out to tangle with his and we quickly find a rhythm. Our lips move in sync as he slides one hand up my thigh, gripping it tight while the other slides to the nape of my neck under my hair. His hands are calloused from their constant use and as they graze me, I feel a trail of goosebumps flit across my skin.
I can feel that healthy bulge in his denim grow beneath me, and I send another silent prayer to Lynn. Seating myself deeper into him, I swivel my hips and moan into his mouth. He groans and lifts his hips.
Pulling back and catching my breath, my face is just inches from his. His ocean eyes are staring into mine. I look down to his lips and spot that pesky piece of lettuce. I let out a small giggle and reach up to grab it.
His eyes widen and he looks at what’s between my fingers.
“Was that what you were reaching for?” He blushes, and I find it surprisingly endearing.
“It was, but I liked where you went with that.”
I flick the lettuce off my fingers and run my hands through his messy hair, pulling his face back to mine. I trace my tongue around his lips, and I feel him shudder beneath me. I feel the confidence from his reaction wash over me. I want him to react to me; I like that he’s into me being on top and taking control.
I slide my tongue into his mouth, and he groans, putting both hands on my hips. He pulls me down deep onto him and I mix my moan into the rhythm of our kiss. His hands slide up my hips, underneath my shirt, and encircle my waist. It makes me feel tiny but fierce. I make a small noise to let him know I like it and want him to keep moving forward. He instead drops one of his hands. I sigh disappointedly, but only for a second.
Hunter slides that free hand under my ass and flips me in the blink of an eye so I’m lying on the couch below him. A quick small squeak escapes me, and I see his bright smile quickly light up the room .
He brings his lips back down to mine and moves his hand from my ass to the arm of the couch behind my head. He braces his weight there and pushes his hips into the juncture between my thighs. Not missing a beat, he slides his hand up from my waist to my cotton-covered breast. I wish I had worn a cuter bra, but I don’t tend to dress up for a night at the bar with one of the girls.
The air in the room is thick and the energy is damn near searing. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a hot make-out session. Those small-town girls are idiots for letting this Casanova slip through their fingers. His hips and that enticing ridge press into me, searching. Once his jean-clad erection lines up with my clit I shudder, and he smiles into our kiss. How is he so coordinated? His tongue is still mingling with mine, while his hand expertly massages my breast, and his hips are keeping rhythm.
I’m feeling out of my league and overstimulated, but not in a bad way. He deepens the pressure at his hips, and I feel a hot energy burning inside me. This buildup has been one of a lifetime and I can feel my tongue growing lazy because I’m starting to pant.
My hands have been secured around his neck but I start to pull at his hair, making him growl. The sounds in the room are only his and mine. Mine are growing more erratic as he pushes harder and deeper.
I start to feel myself beginning to reach that peak, and he’s catching the cue. He slides his hand under my bra to play with my pebbled nipple. In contrast to his hips and mouth taking a forceful claim on my body, his fingers dance across the skin of my breast softly. I moan loudly into his mouth, pushing my hips hard into him, and jump off the cliff into my climax. He smiles as he backs away, his eyes reverently exploring the details of my face.
I sigh and gaze into his eyes, seeing a wicked yet sweet look.