The jug of lemonade slipped from her fingers, but she never heard it hit the ground. Beck didn’t see her, being that he was in the process of loading crated peaches into the back of his red truck…oh, but she certainly saw him. Today marked the first time she’d visited him in the grove and realized—with what little remained of her working brain—that he must have been showering in the bunk house before coming home each evening…because he was distinctly unshowered now. Dirt streaked his shirtless body. Every sinewy inch. Some splotches had even made it up to his jaw, his neck. Rivers of sweat interrupted the dirt throughout, leaving beads of moisture on his stomach, lower even, where that V disappeared into his worn jeans.
His back flexed as he loaded the crates, chords of muscle bunching all the way down to his ass, the top of which swelled above his waistband. Sweet Jesus, she didn’t know where to look. There were several tears in his jeans around the thigh area—had his thighs grown even bigger since they’d driven south?
Kenna’s mouth was parched, her palms damp. An invisible fist ground itself along the inside of her pelvis, creating such an immediate pressure to find relief, she must have made a sound, because Beck’s head whipped around, twin blue eyes homing in on her with a mate’s precision. He loaded the crate in his hands and started in her direction, those long strides making mince meat of the ground. And she couldn’t help her baser nature, gaze dipping to the crotch of his jeans, where his manhood was clearly outlined by the sweat-moistened denim. No underwear today. As if Beck heard her thought out loud, his hand dropped down to adjust his bulk and the sight almost killed her.
“Hey, darlin’. You walked all the way out here?” When Beck’s towering form reached her, he stooped down to pick up the fallen—and forgotten—lemonade jug, before rising to run concerned eyes over person. “I would have come and picked you up.”
Pick me up. Pick me up now. “No, I…I enjoyed the walk.” For the first time, she became aware of the grove workers watching just beyond Beck’s shoulder. At once, her arousal and need for Beck felt so obvious that hot nerves forced her back a step. She’d come out here in a thin, white cotton dress carrying lemonade—couldn’t even wait until he came home for a fix. His fellow workmen probably thought her shameless and horny, which was sadly accurate at the moment. “I brought lemonade to the menfolk. How lame is that, right?” She tugged on the hem of her dress. “Like some wannabe Martha Stewart.”
When she tried to take back the lemonade container from Beck, he pulled it out of her reach. “Kenna, you standing in my orchard, holding this lemonade is just about the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.” His eyes trailed down the front of her body, then shot back up, as if he still found it disrespectful to ogle her. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, in that dress you look about the furthest thing from Martha Stewart.”
Beneath the cotton, her nipples turned to tight peaks. “I didn’t realize you got so…dirty when you worked out here.”
She couldn’t believe it when the tips of his ears turned red, his hand reaching for a rag that had been stuffed into his back pocket. “I try and get it all off before I come home to you, darlin’…”
Before Beck could use the rag to wipe away the dirt, Kenna stepped forward and snagged his wrist. “Leave it. I like it.”
With an audible swallow, Beck’s gaze fell to her staying hand. “Why?”
His thickened tone of voice grabbed Kenna by the ovaries and shook. “You look…um. I don’t know if I can put it into words.”
“Try for me?”
“Hot.” Kenna’s breath shuddered out. “Male. Just huge, hot and male. A male that uses his body to make a living, then comes home and uses it to—”
“Say it,” he rasped.
“To fuck,” she whispered, made bolder by the way his eyes blazed. “Fuck his girlfriend until she forgets how to speak properly. Or can even make it through an afternoon without feeling him moving inside of her.”
Conscious of the men watching, Kenna tried to be discreet about dropping her attention to Beck’s erection, so heavy and prominent, she sucked in a breath. Without taking his eyes off her, Beck turned his head and shouted over his shoulder. “Head on out to the south orchard. I’ll be along in a while.”
They both stood perfectly still as the group of men climbed into their vehicles and started to depart, one by one. “You can do that?” Kenna breathed, not giving a damn that she sounded like a starry-eyed teenager. Maybe she was one just then, looking at her boyfriend in all his rugged, masculine glory, watching him order men around.