Page 23 of Big Burly Foreman

“Technically, you’re the ranch manager, and I am but a humble servant. A foreman, whose power could never compare . . .”

I throw a work glove at him to shut him up. When Ashley’s father promoted me ranch manager and put me in charge of overseeing everything, I thought he was doing me a favor, but little did I know the responsibility the position held. Ashley has even pointed out a few gray hairs at my temple, and no way were they from turning forty.

It was important to Ashley that her dad and I get along, and it happened faster than I expected. I guess protecting his daughter from a con artist gained me favor in his eyes.

“Fine,” I say with a wave. “Y’all can take a break.”

We’ve been working on the land in preparation for harvesting season, and I know the guys are exhausted since I was working right alongside them.

Some of the men leave for the bunkhouse and others head for the kitchen to sweettalk Magda into giving them something cold, and I decide to go to my wife, but when I turn around, she’s not on the porch of the little house her father built for us, where she’d been standing earlier.

I consider calling her, but I left my cell phone . . . somewhere.

Fuck! I’m always losing the damn thing.

I figure she must have gone to the main house, and I wonder if she’s left for the city. She’s been working alongside her dad ever since she graduated with her economics degree a few years ago.

I’m starting to think that is the case when it hits me.

The barn.

Three years ago, our hay barn burned down from an accidental fire, and Ashley was so heartbroken, I had to build her another one on the same spot before fucking her on every inch of the large building, recreating some of our favorite memories.

I find her just where I figured she’d be, and like the first time I saw her and every moment since, I am overwhelmed by her beauty. She leaves me weak. Claiming her for myself has done nothing to sate the desire I have for this woman.

She is leaning up against a haystack in a floral skirt and a crop top that does very little to hide her puckered nipples. My cock hardens in an instant when I realize the top she is wearing is thin and nearly see-through.

Fuck, she’s hot. She seems to get hotter with every passing day, making it hard for me to focus on anything but her.

Five years of marriage, and I still want her like I did the first day.

“I thought you would never show up,” she whispers, running a hand over her chest, and my eyes follow hungrily along. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make it up to you,” I say, closing the distance between us. I wrap a hand around her nape and crush my lips down on hers, swallowing her needy moan as she arches into me. She whimpers deeply as I plunder her with my tongue with the urgency of a sex-starved man.

One would think I haven’t touched my wife for days, perhaps weeks, with the way she melts in my arms and pushes hard against my touch, but I’ve fucked her twice today, and it's barely noon.

When I woke up with my wife’s lips around my shaft, it was inevitable that I would end up inside her, making slow, torturous love in our bed. I was barely out of the shower before she was whining for my cock, and I fucked her against the bathroom wall, forcing me to take a second shower.

And now, my cock throbs in my pants like I’ve been celibate for years and not mere hours.

I trace my lips over her jawline to her neck, laying open-mouthed kisses against her even as I circle my thumb over her nipples.

“Oh,” she whimpers when I kiss my way down and lick her nipples over her thin top. She wraps her arm over my shoulder and draws me closer, her lips parting in a cry when I suck the bud into my mouth through the fabric.

I slip my hand beneath her skirt and tug her panties down her thighs, and she steps out of them a second before I lift her into my arms, sitting her atop a stack of hay.

I draw my lips from her nipples before crashing my mouth with hers once more, all the while, working on the closure of my jeans. I push them down my hips along with my briefs, my angry cock bobbing out.

“You taste so fucking amazing,” I whisper against her lips as I bend my knees and guide my thick shaft to her dripping sex. “I want to taste the rest of you. Lick your pussy and take my time fucking you with my tongue . . .”

“Oh, fuck, Logan!” she cries when I rub my cock against her wet pussy, my precum mixing with her creamy juices. “Fuck me, please.”

I grab her knee and lift it to my hip before thrusting home, filling her dripping hole with my rigid cock.

“So fucking naughty,” I growl as I pump my thick shaft into her. “Look at you, getting all wet and needy in an open space where anyone could walk in and see you . . . hear you . . .”

“Oh!” she moans, her back arching and her pussy clamping hard around me, almost sending me over the edge.

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