She would enjoy tasting him, but that would be later; a different time, she thought, returning to her daydream in progress. She began to twist up his shaft, running her hands one after another in a continuous flow, constant stimulation. Above her, Rourke groaned. His wide hips began to cant lightly against the padded breeding stocks, the same way his hips would thrust against her body, slow and deliberate and deep, always so in control, his rough, bovine tongue tasting the salt of her skin as he kissed her neck. Violet was able to hear her own cries of pleasure, the mindless begging that would fall from her lips; the baritone of his own deep groans and animalistic grunts as he fucked her, pounding into her with the same deliberate, measured force with which he rutted against the breeding bench. His heavy balls would hit her skin with every thrust, the percussive slap of them an obscene music that would fill the room, fat and full to bursting as he fucked her into the mattress, chasing his release and making her see stars.
She’d missed him, missed himsomuch, and seeing him—talking with him, flirting with him, hearing the sharp bark of his voice and feeling its reverberation down her back—felt like coming home. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut; the knowledge that while she’d been home with her family—mourning their loss, going through old photo albums and helping her mother clean out drawers, wishing she’d called more often and had come home sooner—she’d been thinking of him . . . but not likethis. She had envisioned going back to her room with the little undersized bed every night and collapsing into his arms, losing herself in his calm control, feeling the heat of his mouth as he kissed away her tears. She hadn’t missedthis, but she had missed his stern voice and deep huffs of laughter, missed their banter and his messy hair and shining chocolate eyes. In her fantasy she would make breakfast together, feeding each other bites of chocolate croissants or blueberry-stuffed muffins, sipping gourmet coffee from the Black Sheep Beanery. They’d go back to bed to snuggle and talk and watch nostalgic movies as the sky outside darkened, but first . . . first he would fuck her until they were both satisfied, filling her with spurt after spurt of his extremely valuable seed.
His deep groan brought her back to the present, his solid, heavy thrusts against the padded breeding bench an echo of her daydream, and she worked the buzzing nozzle over the head of his cock with no time to spare. He continued to rock against her hands when the green light clicked on, lowing as he throbbed in her hands, andgodshow she’d missed him. She wanted to know everything about him—how he liked his eggs and what he would feel like pressed to her side at night; the roughness of his tongue, how he took care of his horns, if he was close to his family and if he would turn her over his knee, as Geillis had suggested. Following the pulse of his balls as his thrusts began to weaken, she found and pressed her thumb against the visibly throbbing point behind his sac, massaging into his prostate, her pussy clenching when he bucked in response. His hooves scraped for purchase against the footrest and he groaned again, filling the machine with a fresh torrent of semen as she pressed against his sweet spot, squeezing her thighs together in time to the ropes of white splattering the glass. A click and whir from the collection unit made her jump, and she turned sharply, just in time to see the second bottle rotating into place.
She’d never had reason to use both of the label stickers that came affixed to the files, but there was a first time for everything, she thought ruefully.
He said nothing as she cleaned him off, giving the customary squeeze with which she always ended things, and remained quiet as she tagged the two bottles, the second barely filled to the quarter line. Turning back to the breeding bench, she was able to see his wide horns still there, laying stock still.
“I feel like I should have paid for that,” he groaned, remaining slumped against the bench as she walked up the small staircase, coming up to his level for the very first time. She realized, freezing on the steps, that from this vantage point, she had a perfect view of his rounded backside and thick thighs, completing the fantasy of what it might be like to have him in her bed.
“I think you may have killed me.”
“You sure are bossy for a corpse.”
His messy hair tumbled into his eyes as he raised himself at last, keeping her locked in his gaze as he pushed himself from the bench, grunting as his back cracked when he twisted. His cock swayed between his thighs, soft and spent and still completely enormous, a hypnotic pendulum as he staggered the half-dozen paces across the room to where his pants rested over the hair back. She watched in fascination as he carefully guided his hooves through each leg, palming his tail and smoothing it through the small slit in the fabric’s seat, bending to fasten and secure each pantleg over his jutting hocks. Dress shirt tucked in and smoothed, cock tucked away and fly zipped, he didn’t look up until he was bucking his belt, and Violet could almost convince herself that they were in some cozy little domestic tableau together, dressing for work before he kissed her goodbye.
“It’s strange,” he rumbled, adjusting his watchband, the picture of brusque professionalism. “You see someone every week, you talk to them, they’re a part of your routine, your schedule. They become part of your life. You share a certain level of intimacy with them. You miss them when they’re gone. You can almost convince yourself you know them, because you start to fill in blanks on your own, but you neverreallyknow.”
A vice had fastened over her heart at his words, so similar to what she herself had been thinking over, and her face felt over-warm; the soft, hazy glow of her daydream giving the past hour and her cheeks both a rosy flush, her eyes pricking with tears.
“You never answered me. Where were you?”
In an instant, the rosy flush fled, leaving the tears behind. She remembered that he’d not actually been there to comfort her over the last two weeks and that he was right—he only knew her in the context of this place, of this job, and that wasn’t likely to change.
“I-there was a death in the family.”
His broad face sobered in a flash, his forehead wrinkling. “I’m so sorry to hear that. My condolences. Was it someone close?”
She had already turned, wondering what had possessed her to come up to the top level, robbing herself of the protective barrier of the breeding bench, where she could hide away with her fantasies and not face up to the reality that it was all they were. Tears blurred her vision and her voice seemed to stick in her throat as she nodded, and she jolted when his giant hand rested on her shoulder, heavy and warm, the way she knew it always would be. His eyes, when she turned, were filled with compassion.
“Let’s get out of here, come grab a coffee with me. You can tell me about them.”
He was close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. The pad of his thumb was velvety soft as he cradled the side of her face in his huge hand, catching one of her tears and smoothing it away against her skin. She’d not expected such softness from him, always so sharp and brusque, but her head tipped up all the same, willing to meet his mouth if he’d leaned down just a fraction more. She was still able to smell the coffee from her dream, the little local coffee roaster’s beans, made in his kitchen as she leaned against him, her face pressed to his strong back. His thunderclap voice too had softened, deep and comforting, with no hint of demand, and she nodded, wanting nothing more than to be there with him, be somewhere—anywhere—other than the farm.
“Go on then, punch out. I’ll get us a table. Probably going to need to flip over a booth of teenagers, but it’s fine, they’ll bounce.”
She could feel the weight of his hand on her back as she drifted down the steps as if the heat of him had burned an imprint on her skin, a glow she was certain the whole world could see as she collected her things and clocked out with her heart in her mouth.This is it, you can do this. Coffee first. Then tomorrow, you can lock yourself into his house and never, ever leave.It was, Violet was certain, a perfect plan.