I’m so fucking honored to give her that.
My thighs burn as I trudge up the hill to the greenhouse. The barn door needs to be replaced, and I’ve got to change the oil in my zero-turn lawn mower, but that shit can wait. Today I’m having some more fun.
Stepping into the greenhouse, I whistle in appreciation as Grace bends over to grab a flowerpot.
She spins around and waggles a shovel in her hand. “You ready to get dirty with me, baby?”
I cock my brow. “Isn’t that my line?”
“I say it better.”
I prowl closer, hungry for her like always. “Is that so?” Lifting her dress up and over her head, I let it fall to the ground as I nuzzle against her throat and growl, “You ready to get dirty with me, baby?”
“Never mind,” Grace says breathlessly while I lick her throat. “You say it best.”
She squeals when I pick her up and crush my mouth on hers. We turn into feral animals for each other. I like my girl covered in mud.
I fucking love her filthy.
“Everyone’s going to be here soon,” I warn.
“Then fuck me fast, Mountain Wood.”
She’s covered in dirt and all she did was pot one plant. “Did any soil go into the containers, or did you manage to dump most of it onto yourself?”
“You think I look hot, don’t you?”
“Fucking right, I do.” Dirty Grace is even better than Glittery Ballgown Grace, who is just as amazing as Murder Podcast Obsessed Grace. “I love you any way I get to have you.”
I drop her sweet ass onto the wooden bench in the greenhouse and knock half the terracotta pots off it. Then I go in for a taste of the sweetest motherfucking thing to ever touch my lips.
“How can you want to do this again already,” she gasps as I lick her pussy. “Aren’t you sick of it yet?”
“Never.” I lick her again. “And if I don’t keep my beard conditioned, I’ll have to shave it off.”
Her eyes widen with horror, and she grabs me by the hair and yanks my head to her cunt again. “Don’t ever say that again.”
My laughter tickles her pussy, making her giggle.
The weight of her legs on my shoulders feels good. Grounding.
The sweetness of her arousal coats my tongue.
The sounds of her enjoying my touch echoes in my ears.
I make her come in no time. Sweat drips down my back. It’s hot, humid, and hard to breathe in here.
Grace gently kicks me back, but I stop her from hopping off the counter. “What was the rule about what’s on the table?” My fingers dig into her ample hips. “I finish what’s on it.”
“This is a bench.”
“The rule applies to wherever you are.”
“I did finish,” she huffs. “It’s all over you.”
“Once isn’t enough, sugar.”
“People are coming!”
