Fifty More Bales of Hay. Rachael Treasure
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Название: Fifty More Bales of Hay

Автор: Rachael Treasure

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Исторические любовные романы

Серия:

isbn: 9780007520602

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ very pretty,’ Randy said, ‘and I’m going to embarrass myself in this here shower if you don’t turn that lovely face of yours away along with those two pretty lady thangs.’

      She looked at him with her deep brown angry eyes. ‘Getting all male on me, are you? And what about my prickly energy … you happy to fuck that too?’

      ‘There’s no need to be coarse and hostile now, Anne,’ Randy said, sipping calmly on his beer. ‘I can see what’s within you. You’re like a scared filly that keeps laying her ears back at the world and threatening to kick. Once you find your place of love and lose the fear, you’ll learn to look at the world with your ears forward, gal. And you’ll learn the words “thank you”. You’re a rare creature. And a beautiful one at that. Worth educatin’, I’d say.’

      Her present mind flashed insult and anger, but beneath the surface flashed disappointment in herself. In her disasters with men. Her anguished relationship with Simon. His distant, cold ways once he was unplugged from the violence of his virtual reality games. She felt she had been lost in the world of drug-induced nights in clubs, along with other sweating unhinged souls, lost in the facades of materialism. But here before her was perhaps the toughest, rudest, yet most peaceful, gentle man she had ever met. She felt a tiny crack in her armour.

      ‘And how would you suggest I find my place of love? Through some southern-drawling Jesus church, like you clearly have?’

      Anne felt Randy grasp her tiny wrist.

      ‘Our capacity to love is all we truly have,’ he said. He pulled her under the jets of the shower and began to kiss her. With a hunger like no other, Anne began to kiss him back. Desperately she helped him peel the sodden shirt from her, reefing off her skirt, dragging down her lace panties, unhooking her bra until she stood naked. The water caressed the skin of her hot, fearful body, washing away the stress of the day and softening her to this foreign world that was such a contrast to the rush and bustle of her life in the city. The aggressive rush and bustle of the city, she realised now, that man-made concrete world of commerce and consumerism. She was swamped by it.

      Not like here, this dozing place of summertime and countryside, where Mother Nature ruled and there was a peacefulness even in the midst of a jostling rodeo ring. Coarse and rough maybe sometimes, but Anne had seen there was a steady, polite and caring rhythm in the people, a calmness in the animals and a grounding presence from the land. It was all so much more gentle than where she was from.

      Pressing herself against Randy’s torso, Anne felt his gentle hands roving over her skin. There was a sureness to his touch and with it, she felt every nerve in her body settling. Yielding to him, like she’d seen the horses yield. Big strong men reining their beautifully educated horses around with the softest of imperceptible cues, like a male dancer leading his partner in a waltz.

      Randy’s lips were full and soft, and his tongue inside her mouth felt warm and sensual. His hands reached for the shower gel and pumped a dollop of pearl liquid onto his palm. Still kissing her, he began to lather the gel over her firm small breasts, and as he did, she felt his knees give a little from the hunger of his own desire. The slide of the lather, the caress of his hands up and over her body, the way he cupped her face, the way he cupped her soft white rounded arse, all made her gasp. A feeling of weakness in her legs from desire overtook her as well, but a feeling of strength in her feminine power suddenly consumed her. She was gone. The thoughts in her head silenced. There was only the beingness of living.

      Randy scooped his hand under each of her thighs and, with rock-solid strength, lifted her up and held her, her legs wrapping around him, her hands reaching for the solidity of his firmly muscled shoulders. Then he lowered her onto him. The tip of his large, blood-infused penis dipping in and out of her, slowly at first. Edging in gently, thrust by wanting thrust. Anne couldn’t wait though for such a slow entry. She tilted her pelvis, pulled herself down and slammed herself deeply onto the rigid strength of his cock. He was so powerful, his thigh muscles like steel, his tanned biceps like rocks. He moved her up and down with ease, pleasuring himself with her, all the while giving her all she needed in the form of the hardest erection she had ever been blessed to know.

      Next she heard him turning off the taps behind her.

      ‘We’ll drain the river and flood the campsite at this rate, baby,’ he said quietly. ‘Come with me.’

      Then he stepped from the shower, still inside her, and carried her over to where the horse tack was stored. He dragged down some rugs and horse blankets and gently lay her in the nest of fabric, of summer rugs and coarse cotton-weave saddlecloths. She felt the rough sensation on the skin of her back as he lay on top of her, the sunburn sting barely registering beyond her longing for this cowboy. His horseman hips began to grind against her, so exquisitely slowly, so achingly deliciously, she thought she would die if she couldn’t pull him closer, get him to ride her faster.

      She cupped her hands around the cheek of each of his pert buttocks and pushed upwards to him, wanting him in every way. He kissed her along the side of her neck, and she shut her eyes and breathed in the smell of horses and working men. He began to ride her faster now, driving into her more firmly and deeply, and she felt the crest of an orgasm build. Lost in a galloping rhythm, she gave in, gave way, gave up and gave to him as her body convulsed in one enormous heave of orgasmic bliss. Then she felt her entire being soften, her whole world soften. Pliable in his hands, he turned her, rolled her onto all fours and pulled her hips and buttocks up to him. In the wet gush of her recent coming, he plunged into her from behind, his hands drawing her to him as he pushed into her.

      From beneath the veil of her bobbing fringe, Anne looked up to the end of the Gooseneck trailer. There she saw Randy’s golden stallion, his ears pricked forward, his excited gaze in their direction, his head held high. And then Anne saw it, the horse’s enormous erection, the mushroom head of his penis inflamed and dripping fluid, bouncing excitedly up against the stallion’s belly. The horse didn’t shift his hooves. He didn’t cry out. Instead, the stallion simply watched.

      Anne watched him back. Looking at the giant sex of the animal, feeling like an animal on all fours herself, she gave way to a primeval urge to sap her lover of his semen. She wanted to feel her animal nature that was buried within. She began to flex her buttocks upwards in a rhythm, answering every slam the cowboy gave. The chains of the Gooseneck’s dividers began rattling; the whole truck started rocking. She slammed and slammed and slammed against the man behind her and grunted with effort, gritting her teeth. Then she felt the strong clutch of his cowboy grip press into the skin of her rump as he cried out an explosion within her.

      Sweating, he draped his body over hers. She kissed the length of his upper arms, their toned perfection. Then Randy rolled onto his back and gently coaxed her to lie in his arms on the horse blankets. He kissed her on her sweating forehead and with a gravelly voice asked if she was alright.

      She giggled a girlish giggle. ‘I’ve never been better.’

      They lay there for a time, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, its tune a fit and steady rhythm. His was a good heart. This she could feel.

      ‘Tell me the truth,’ Randy said eventually, in his mesmerising southern drawl. ‘A girl don’t learn stuff like that from her mama. You’ve been reading that naughty book everyone’s been goin’ on about, haven’t ya?’

      ‘I most certainly have not,’ Anne said, her tone of offence returning. ‘It’s not to my literary tastes. Nor feminist ideology. I would never read a book that—’ But Randy cut her off mid-sentence.

      ‘Ah, never say never, darlin’! Before today, cowboys weren’t your taste. But now you’ve tried one, you’ll want him again.’

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