Sinful Southern Ink (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Abigail climbed out of her old GTO and tugged on the shoulder straps of the jean overalls she’d had to dig from the back of her closet. She’d spent most of the previous night at the hospital with Jed, who’d ended up needing fifteen stitches to mend the huge gash on his thumb. Throughout it all, he hadn’t once railed at her for causing the injury or cursed her for being so ungrateful when he’d presented her with the sweet gift.

At some point during the evening, she’d had to admit she may have been wrong about him. Maybe the flowers weren’t a Trojan horse but a simple gesture from a man interested in a woman. She grinned. Damn, it felt good to be that woman.

Her boots crunched on scattered gravel as she made her way toward the barn. Jed had around twenty assorted animals, and though Abigail had little experience as a farmhand, she was determined to help him with chores until his hand healed. It was the least she could do. Mucking stalls, moving bales of hay and carrying buckets of water would be next to impossible for the man without the use of both hands.

Any time after ten a.m. in mid-July was hot as hell in Tennessee and today was no exception. The heat amplified the smell of the barnyard to a pungent level. She had no idea how anyone could get used to it.

Crossing the threshold onto the packed dirt floor of the barn, Abigail was surprised by the pristine state. It was obvious Jed had kept the place in good repair since inheriting the property. Very few cobwebs decorated the high rafters and the floor was swept clean. The stall fronts were all wood on the lower half and a series of black iron vertical bars on the upper portion so you could see inside from the hallway. A row of eight stalls stood on either side, each one she passed was open and had a thick bed of clean, pale sawdust coating the floor inside. She paused at one and peered inside, the pleasant scent of sawdust filling her nose. A fresh bucket of water hung from a hook on one wall and a nylon net stuffed with dark-green hay hung from another.

She shook her head and continued on to the back of the barn where a wheelbarrow was parked outside the last stall on the left.

Typical male. He better not have ripped those stitches.

A clatter echoed through the barn, followed by a muffled curse. She stepped around the half-filled wheelbarrow to find Jed kicking the handle of pitchfork.

His back was to her, his bare back. A sheen of sweat slicked his broad shoulders and a couple of drops rolled lazily down the tanned, muscled planes before collecting at the small of his back and disappearing below a pair of low-slung jeans.

Abigail’s breath caught in her throat and her mouth went dry. Damn, but the man was fine. The steampunk spur she’d tattooed on his back was mostly healed and surrounded by a collection of other unique tattoos decorating his skin. There was something seriously sexy about a tattooed, pierced cowboy.

Now, if he’d just turn around, she could get a peek at those nipple piercings that would turn her dry mouth to watering.

She cleared her throat.

Jed spun around, his injured hand covered by a worn leather glove and cradled against his stomach. He quickly dropped his hands to his sides as if embarrassed by the show of weakness, his eyes shifting around the stall as though he was looking for an escape.

Abigail shoved her hands into the pockets of her overalls and rocked back on her heels. “You’re not supposed to be using that hand.”

“Yeah, I know, but there’s work to be done and it’s just a little cut. I managed fine.” He gestured to the other fifteen cleaned stalls.

She raised an amused brow. “Then why were you beating up on that poor pitchfork? Did it say something you didn’t like?”

His eyes narrowed, though he didn’t look angry at her impromptu appearance and needling. “Did you come all the way out here to reprimand me for mistreating my tools?”

“Nope. I came to help.” She allowed a grin to stretch her lips. Then her gaze drifted down, following a bead of sweat from below his ear rolling down his neck, over his collarbone and to the valley between his pecks. It rippled over the defined muscles of his stomach and glided over the cut angle of his hip before meeting the waistband of his jeans. She swallowed hard as her throat seemed to close up.

When she managed to raise her eyes, she realized he’d walked toward her as she’d been leering at him. Looking at a man like Jed Weston, all sweaty and hard and hot from working outside in the summer, it was easy to lose yourself for a few minutes. She inhaled, finding Jed’s scent pleasing. Even drenched in sweat and standing in a dirty stall, he still smelled of pine and musk and clean male, only more so.

“And what was it you wanted to help with, exactly?” Jed’s gem-green eyes heated, lust evident in his hooded gaze and the half smile tilting his firm lips.

“Don’t get any ideas, stud. I came to help with the barn work,” Abigail said, though she didn’t back away from his heated body nor did she do anything to discourage the chemistry snapping between them. Feeling a little naughty, she fluttered her eyelashes and gave him an innocent look. “So, where do you want me?”

He gave an exaggerated groan and clutched at his chest as if wounded. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

“How about you go over there and have a seat on that bale of hay and I’ll finish up this stall.” She pushed past him, taking care to rub up against him in all the right places. A smug thrill ran through her when she felt him shudder as her elbow scraped across the front of his jeans. “No arguing. You’ve done quite enough already. Did you tear any of your stitches?”

The little vixen squeezed into the only stall he had left to clean and pushed him out into the hall, giving a pointed look to the bale of hay sitting a few feet away. He’d almost come in his pants when he’d spun around to find her standing in his barn, her shiny brunette hair pulled into low pigtails and twisted into braids that hung over her shoulders and stopped just above her waist. No one had ever looked so good in a pair of jean overalls, western boots and pigtail braids.

He flexed his injured hand, feeling the sting and burn of the abused laceration and stitches. His pride demanded he not accept Abigail’s help but his throbbing thumb and waning painkillers forced him to take a seat and let her work. Besides, it’d take all of ten minutes to finish the last stall and as a bonus, he could watch her cute ass as she worked.

After sinking onto the bale of hay, he tugged off his leather work glove and checked to see if he’d bled through the bandage. A smudge of red showed through the white gauze. Damn.

He looked up to find Abigail standing in the doorway with a hand propped on the handle of the pitchfork, scrutinizing his hand with concern etched on her face. She shook her head, sending her braids slithering across her breasts and he wondered if the sensation had hardened her nipples.

“I’ll take a look after I’m done here. Wait until we’re inside to unwrap the bandage. There’s about a billion germs out here and I don’t want you getting an infection.” She turned and went back to mucking out the stall.

A persistent ache settled into his cock as he watched Abigail. He remembered what her body had felt like, cradled in his arms and pressed against his chest when he’d carried her inside his house the night she’d learned of her father’s death. Holding her had felt right.

Would Abigail enjoy his rough-edged style of lovemaking? Would her nipples draw tight and her pussy weep as he commanded her to her knees in front of him? Or would she balk, running scared when he brought out the rope?

Didn’t matter, as long as she’d have him, he’d take her however she wished. Long, and slow. Fast and rough. Whatever would make her his.

By the time she’d finished scattering the clean sawdust on the floor of the stall, his dick was painfully hard and pushing insistently against the zipper of his jeans. She rubbed her hands together, knocking the dust off them.

Abigail looked up and he heard a breath catch in her chest as they made eye contact. He stood, slowly, and walked to her with measured steps, never taking his eyes off hers.

He cupped the back of her neck with his uninjured hand and pulled her into a forceful kiss. She opened to him readily and he thrust his tongue into her silken mouth, retreated and thrust again, mimicking the way he intended to fuck her. A breathy moan escaped her as she melted against him.

He pulled back, holding her gaze as he worked the catches of her overalls until the whole mess opened and fell to her knees. She wore a tight, thin tank top underneath and a pair of cropped spandex leggings.

Not willing to wait, he cupped her ass and dragged her against his straining erection. She wasn’t wearing underwear underneath those scandalous tights. He slid one hand up to cup a breast and found her also without a bra.

Abigail wasn’t pushing him away. In fact, she was leaning into him, fumbling at the belt wrapping his hips. He wanted to pump his fist in the air in victory.

Before she could unfasten his jeans, he dropped to his knees and hurriedly jerked off her boots and coveralls. He slowed to inch his hands up the length of her long legs, over the swell of her hips and stopped just under her plump breasts. He caressed her stomach then hooked his fingers in the waistband of her leggings.

“Jed.”

He paused, “Yeah, baby?”

“Are we…are we really doing this?”

He looked up to find her biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip between sharp, white teeth. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I want you. But if you tell me to stop, I will. It’s your call. Do you understand?”

She gave a small nod and he tugged the pants over her hips to reveal a tattoo of a cherry tree branch wrapping her lower hips and pelvis. It was the first time he’d seen the tattoo and the only thing sexier on her was the treasure waiting below. Her sex had been waxed bare and he couldn’t resist leaning forward, nudging his nose between the smooth folds and running his tongue along the length of her slit.

Abigail’s legs shook and her hands landed on his shoulders for leverage, blunt nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck, I need you, Abbey. Now.” He ripped her pants the rest of the way off, then rose and jerked the tank top over her head in one motion.

Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes appear black with lust. He watched as her chest jumped with short, quick breaths, her soft belly quivering in anticipation.

“Unzip my jeans, Abigail. I want to feel your hot palm wrapped around my cock.”

Another moan escaped her and she all but dove forward to do his bidding. Both the barn doors were open, sunlight streaming into the barn and lighting the scene so he’d see every moment of the encounter. If someone stopped by, they’d see it to. Jed didn’t care.

He hissed when his cock sprang free, jutting up from his open jeans. She licked her lips and his shaft jerked, tapping his belly and leaving a wet smear of pre-cum there. “Touch me, Abigail.”

She wrapped her small hand around him and he groaned. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, the taste of her pussy lingering on his tongue mingled with her cherry Chapstick. She pumped her fist up and down his shaft, pausing to run her thumb over the knobby ends of the long barbell pierced through it just below the head. He pushed her hand away.

“Enough. I need to be inside you.”

“Yes.”

Jed leaned down, wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up to straddle his hips.

“Your hand—”

“Isn’t bothering me right now. Lock your ankles behind my back.”

He groaned when she complied, then he shuffled the few steps it took to put her back against the outside of a stall. With each step, his jeans slid down a little farther until they rested just below his ass. Good enough.

She strained against him, her wet heat riding the length of his cock and making a shudder run down his spine. He spread his hands across the smooth cheeks of her ass, squeezed and lifted her enough to seat the head of his shaft at her entrance. “Put your hands above your head and grab the bars.”

A sense of satisfaction filled him when her eyes glazed at the command. She immediately lifted her hands from his shoulders then stretched them high above her head to wrap around the black iron bars. With her stretched out like this, her breasts were in the perfect position for his mouth to close over a nipple. He leaned in, ducked his head and drew one perfect, rose-colored bud into his mouth, sucking hard.

Abigail shivered and panted against him. He sucked hard once more and bit down with a practiced amount of pressure, pinching her taut nipple between his teeth at the same moment he thrust upward and impaled her on his throbbing cock. She yelled out and his patience evaporated.

He released her nipple and buried his mouth in the crook of her neck and shoulder, pounding into her with long, powerful strokes. It wasn’t a gentle lovemaking, his need for her too great for a leisurely pace.

Her muscles clenched and quivered around his shaft and he knew she was close. He rotated his hips on each thrust, grinding against her swollen clit with his pelvis until she tightened around him like a fist and screamed her orgasm into the hot summer air.

He felt his orgasm start at the base of his spine, gathering strength as he thrust into her, two more strokes and sensation exploded through him so hard he struggled to keep his feet under him and not drop to his knees. “Abbey!” His arms and legs shook as he clung to her, her muscles still doing a rhythmic clench and release around his ultrasensitive shaft as it jerked with each pulse of his orgasm.