"You don't want me? I'm not good enough for you?" She looked up at him, pure shock on her face.

"I think you should go to bed." She'd hate herself in the morning, but at least she wouldn't hate him too. "Come on." He reached out and helped her up, holding her entire body with his arm. She was dead weight, leaning back toward the couch and dangling herself from his hand. She clearly wasn't up for walking. Instead, he scooped her up and held her close to his body. Instantly, she nuzzled her head up against his shoulder. The whole way down the hall, she kept running her hands over his chest.

Why did she have to make this so difficult? His cock already hated him for refusing what might be his one chance at a little love for a long time. Instead, he was putting her to sleep in his bed, then returning to the living room to crash on the couch. If this was some sort of test, he was struggling to pass.

He moved into the bedroom and set her down on the bed and peeled back the covers enough for her to slip her legs underneath. "Go to sleep."

"Wouldn't you like to join me?" She shimmied beneath the covers, parting her legs as though she expected him to crawl between them.

Yes. God, yes. "I think it would be best if we both slept alone tonight." The words sounded foreign, like someone else was saying them in his voice.

She pouted for a moment, then rolled over and closed her eyes. Within a few seconds, her breathing slowed, and he could hear the slightest hint of snoring. Shaking his head, he turned out the light and left her in the room.

His swollen cock ached, reminding him that after all that work, he still hadn't gotten the relief he craved. Sighing, he headed for the shower.

"You named the cow, Bessie? Creative."

"Her real name is Terra. I just like calling the cows ‘Bessie’." He moved to stand next to her.
Instinctively, she crossed her arms. Left free, she was sure they would start rubbing his body, finding all the crevices she had yet to explore. "So, this is the part of the job where you taunt me while I work?"

He chuckled. "While it would be far more entertaining for me to watch you figure this out on your own, I have other things to get done today. One of those things, getting these cows milked a second time. So, I was thinking I would just help you out. That is, if you’ll accept help."

Delia was relieved. She didn’t really want to sit there for another hour making an idiot of herself. He walked over and grabbed another pail from the equipment area.

"So what exactly is the deal here? You take your first vacation in years so that you can do chores on a ranch?"

She frowned, wondering what exactly her aunt had been telling everyone. "Who says I don't take holidays?"

"Erica told me. You haven't been here in quite a few years. Something about a guy screwing you over."

Her Aunt had a big mouth. After Chris left, she had nothing to focus on but work. Now the emptiness of her life seemed to be catching up with her. She cleared her throat, ignoring the pang in her chest.

"The first thing we need is a clean bucket. Once it’s been knocked over, it's no good anymore."

Feeling more at ease, he hadn't pushed the topic any further, she turned back to the cow. He walked into the stall and stood next to her. Yesterday, when she was wearing heels, he'd seemed tall, but now in her tennis shoes, he seemed gigantic. His chin could easily have rested on her head. "Next, you need to cozy her up. She’s usually pretty gentle, but if she doesn’t think she’s being treated right, she can get a bit unruly." He used his foot to push the stool closer. "Sit down and tuck the bucket between your knees, that way she can’t knock it over again. You wouldn’t want to do all this hard work just to have to start over a third time."

Just as he instructed, she sat on the stool with the bucket tucked tightly between her thighs. He nodded approvingly and grabbed a second stool, placing it right behind hers. He straddled the bench, his chest pressed to her back. His manly scent drifted to her nose—musk and pine. Just one whiff made her ache for him. Her juices flowed at the thought of his member pressed up against her lower back. How in God’s name was she supposed to work in these conditions?

"Why are you sitting so far away from me?" He patted the space on the couch between them. "I know you have a wonderfully large couch, but I was kind of hoping you would at least sit close enough for me to put my arm around you."

The lump in her throat kept her from speaking; instead, she slid down the couch to his open arm. As soon as she was near him, he pulled her toward him. The heat from his body engulfed her, running through her veins until every inch of her skin tingled.

Between his fingers dancing over her knee and the sensation of his hip pressing against hers, it took every bit of effort she could muster to pretend to be watching the movie, let alone actually know what was going on. Leaning forward, she placed her mug down on the coffee table. The alcohol in it had sufficiently warmed her insides, and she was afraid if she kept drinking, her judgment might be compromised. Of course, one look at his dimples and her sanity would leave her, and a little impaired reaction would lead to a morning of regret.