Page 13 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
I scribble it down and smile to myself. Yeah. That’s it. Iamwinning this. I start jolting down ingredients I’ll need. The list grows until the page is filled with scribbled lines of groceries. As my pen slows, my thoughts start to wander.
Finley.
I picture the way he stepped in front of me when that bull came charging, his body a wall between me and danger. That big, broad frame. The deep rumble of his voice. The beard that frames his face. The way his hands were so steady—unafraid. Strong hands that could probably break me.
I press the pen harder against the page, trying to drag my mind away from those hands wrapping around my neck.
I snap my notebook shut with a little groan. What the hell am I doing? Thinking aboutFinleylike that. Not only a vendorof mine, but a man who clearly hates me. And I don’t like him either.
I shove my pen across the coffee table like it’s his fault, like it’s him sitting there with that stormy glare and gravelly voice.
I set my empty bottle of pumpkin ale on the counter and shuffle into the bathroom.
The hot water runs down my body, seeping through my thick hair to my scalp. For whatever reason, I can’t stop thinking about Finley.
He’s clearly attractive. I do have eyes; I can see that, but there was no other reason why I would desire him. No. I don’t desire him. He’s rude, grumpy, and I don’t think he even knows how to smile.
But damn is he sexy.
I run my soapy hands down my body, imagining how those big, calloused ones would feel instead. I move down the outside of my thighs, my nails grazing my skin gently as I glide my palms back up the length of my torso.
Cupping my breasts with one hand, I run the other to the inside of my thighs. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? The way his eyes roam over my body like he can see every dip and curve through my clothes.
“Stop Alex,” I breathe to myself.
I try to push him out of my mind, but the image of his strong hands and long fingers linger.
I run my fingers down through the space between my lips. I immediately notice how my body reacts to the thought of him.I’m soaking wet, and my clit is swollen and aching as I trace my finger back and forth over it. My head falls back as I let out a sigh.
Closing my eyes, I push two fingers inside myself and begin pumping. I can’t stop myself from imagining what Finley’s large, calloused fingers would feel like inside me.
I just know he wouldn’t be gentle with me. He wouldn’t take it slow or easy. He would take what he wanted and use me, releasing all of that pent up rage he carries.
I move my fingers faster, curling them slightly, going deeper with each plunge. I quickly pull them out and grab my shower head from its holder. I switch the settings until I find the one that pulses quickly with the right amount of pressure.
I bring the blasting water down to my clit and move it in small fast circles. The sensation of the pulsing water sends jolts through my body. Using my other hand, I thrust myself with two fingers.
It doesn’t take long for my orgasm to build. Thoughts of Finley flood my mind; his fingers deep inside me, his mouth sucking my nipples, his hand around my throat.
My breath comes in short pants as I feel my muscles clench. I throw my head back and cry out as I cum. The wave of pleasure rocks through my body, and the sensation of the water on my clit becomes too much.
I drop the shower head, and it bounces off my leg, spraying water over me as I catch my breath. My legs shake and I put my hands out to brace myself against the shower walls.
After getting out of the shower and drying off, I walk to my room to get dressed. I pull on one of my ex’s oversized worn t-shirts and some thick knit socks. No matter how much I hate that man, his old raggedy t-shirts will always be the comfiest thing to sleep in.
I slip into bed and pull the blankets up to my chin. The TV flickers with a fall romance movie. It’s one I’ve seen countless times, but it makes me feel cozy.
I try to focus on the movie, on the couple laughing in the pumpkin patch, but of course my brain wanders. It keeps tossing Finley into the scenes—him in the flannel leaning in for the kiss. It’s completely unbelievable because I’m almost certain Finely has never laughed in his life.
I sigh, rolling onto my side. At some point my eyes drift closed, and I fall asleep with the movie still playing and Finley still on my mind.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FINLEY
I drive the tractor through the field, plowing the land for planting. The sun’s starting to break over the horizon, and the weather is warmer than normal for an early fall morning. It’s almost strange how bright and warm it is.
It’s the day of the annual event and I have to have all my work done before I finish setting up. I look over my shoulder at the freshly tilled field, and I see someone walking toward me in the distance.
