Page 50 of Hearts Don't Lie
“What about your father?”
“Nope.”
“Sisters? Brothers?”
Hardin shook his head. “Just brothers. Three. All older. They weren’t much interested in their little brother.”
“How little were you?”
“Nine years under my next youngest brother.”
“Like you were an only.”
“Kind of, yes.”
Stowe nodded, looking considerate. “I like to fish. Fly-fish. Do you… do you maybe want to… want to do it sometime?”
“I’d like that. You’ll have to guide me.”
“I can do that.” Stowe flashed Mac a look, then focused on the Lop, who had hopped into his pen. “I really am tired, Mom. So is Homer. We’re gonna say good night.”
“Good night, Stowe.”
“Hardin.”
“Night, honey. I love you.”
“I love you more, Mom.”
Her cup runneth over. “Impossible. Sleep tight,” she said softly, closing the door and smiling up at Hardin.
They walked to the front door holding hands. Hardin pressed her against the wall gently and began kissing her, quickly deepening it. She returned it with equal need, fire sparking through her veins. Soon they were grinding against each other, using the wall to brace themselves.
He separated from her when she whimpered, breathing heavily. “God, how I want you. Not here.” He pushed the hair away from her face, his eyes full of heat. “It’s been precarious tonight. I don’t want to chance making it worse. I’m going to go. You need sleep. I need sleep.”
He opened the door. Lightning cracked overhead, so bright that it lit everything, including the sheets of rain.
Mac stilled him, grabbing his forearm. “Hardin?” He should leave, but everything in her was screaming for him to stay.
He spun around. His mouth crashed against hers, his tongue seeking, ravaging.
She returned his passion, coming up for air to beg. “Please.”
Hand in hand, he tugged her out of the house, down the slippery steps, and around to the shed in the side yard, practically ripping the door from its hinges to get them inside from the pelting rain. Clearing the workbench in one sweep, he lifted her onto it.
Their mouths were still sealed as Hardin laid Mac back and shimmied her rain-soaked skirt over her hips and wet panties from her body, then climbed onto the bench, hovering over her. She impatiently fumbled with his shorts—unbuttoning and unzipping. He was commando, thank God. She lost no time freeing and guiding him into her, out of her mind with lust through the first rough thrusts.
He pushed up on his hands, suspending himself over her, buried deep within her core, and growled. “Look at me, baby.”
Through the dirty cracked window, lightning split the night and illuminated his features. Thunder boomed loudly, reverberating in the shed and through the workbench she was spread out on. His aqua eyes had turned almost black as he slammed into her again. Looking into his eyes was her undoing. His expression seared her, and she whimpered and moaned and came apart, struggling to breathe as wave after wave of euphoria rippled through her entire body.
Hardin was right there with her, groaning loudly as she bucked under him, trying to take him even deeper, milking him dry. His arms shook as he lowered himself onto her, spent. “I’m really loving your workbench, honey.”
Chuckles intermingled with her pants. “Got it at a garage sale. I’m just glad it held.”
