Vanessa Roland stood in front of the kitchen window, the dishes still only half done in the sink, and decided that a good cry was in order. The tears were spilling down her cheeks before she could stop them, anyway. They wouldn't have cared whether or not she thought they were in order.
Outside the window, she could see mountains in the distance, and half a dozen big black cows chewing on alfalfa much closer. In her own backyard. How had she gotten here? It wasn't fair.
She missed the city. She missed her friends. She missed movies and shopping and good restaurants. She missed clean nails and hair that wasn't pulled up in a utilitarian ponytail.
She didn't want to be a farmer's wife. Especially when the farmer wasn't really a farmer. Carl had a business to run. The ranch was his childhood dream, and he was content to come home to it on weekends and spend his weeks in the city. Vanessa hadn't decided how to confront the fact that she knew that the apartment he rented was for more than sleeping and showering.
She allowed herself a gulping, hiccupping sob as she remembered the voice that had answered his phone earlier in the week. The very young feminine voice.
And now she was stuck here, in this god awful place, far from everything and everyone that she loved. And she didn't even have a faithful husband. It just wasn't fair.
"Mrs. Roland? Are you here?"
Vanessa was torn from her self-indulgent cry. She turned off the water, wiped her hands on the floral apron she'd found in the back of one of the kitchen drawers when they moved in, and walked to the door. Her face was red and blotchy. She knew that without looking in a mirror, but there wasn't anything she could do about it.
The man standing on her front porch looked like he'd walked out of someone's cowboy fantasy. Tall, leanly muscular, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, boots and a cowboy hat. The brim threw his face into shadow. "Can I help you?"
He took his hat off with one hand and held it near his hip. "I'm Jackson Anderson. Your husband asked me to come by and check on you, make sure you didn't need anything while he was gone."
"He did?" Had Carl seen this man? His face was amazing. Strong bones, startlingly light eyes, skin that had been weathered by the sun. His hair was dark, and matching stubble colored his cheeks. She wanted to run her hands over his face. She fisted them in her apron instead.
"My farm is down the road. Your husband hired me to take care of his cattle during the week."
Vanessa raised her eyebrows, anger bubbling up again. "Cattle? Including his wife, huh?"
"Excuse me?"
"That's what I am to him. A fucking cow that he owns and keeps tucked away during the week, to play with on his days off."
"Mrs. Roland, I—"
"My name is Vanessa."
"Vanessa. You need to take a breath, honey. You look like you're about to pass out."
She felt it. She leaned against the door jam and tried to do as he said. He took her by the arm and ushered her into her living room. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I've met your husband."
A slow blush spread over Vanessa's face. "He's not that bad...he just—"
"He's not that good."
What had Carl said the last time she caught him cheating on her? "It doesn't mean anything. He just needs things that I can't give him."
"Can't?"
"It doesn't usually bother me so much. When we lived in the city, I had things to distract me. Now all I have is the damn cows." She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.
Jackson led her to the couch, and she sat, looking up at him. He had a really good mouth. Amazing mouth. A complete foil for the hardness of the rest of his face. "I can't imagine what he's getting somewhere else that he couldn't have right here."
Vanessa didn't know how to explain it. Or why she would even consider trying to explain the sexual component of her marriage to a stranger. "He loves me."
Jackson sat next to her. Close to her, so that she could feel the summer sun that had stored its energy in him while he stood outside. She thought he was going to argue with her. Instead he reached one big hand out and smoothed it over her hair. His fingers caught in the clasp holding it back into a ponytail, and he tugged at it.
Her hair fell over her shoulders and halfway down her back in a mess of neglected honey blonde curls. Jackson dug his fingers into it, his hands cupping the back of her head, and lowered his face until his perfect mouth covered hers.
His kiss was hot, demanding. He held her head, and tilted her face up to him. Her lips parted for his tongue. He moved one hand down to her waist and tugged her into his lap.
"Wait a minute." She leaned back, but settled her legs around him instead of getting off his lap. "I can't do this."
He reached for her again, this time his thick fingers moved with surprising grace over her dress buttons. She tried to breathe as he undid them to her waist. His fingertips brushed against her bare skin and took her breath away.
Work-roughened hands slip over her shoulders, under her dress, and eased the soft, light cotton down until from the waist up all she wore was a white cotton bra. He bent his head and kissed her neck, sending a rush of heat to her core.
She felt good for the first time in so long that it was impossible to try very hard to stop Jackson. He slipped his thumbs under her bra straps and tugged on them until they hung loose over her shoulders. His kiss moved from her neck down one shoulder as his fingers flicked open the clasp between her breasts.
Her full breasts spilled out of their confinement, and a low, deep growl rumbled through Jackson. She had the most perfect breasts he'd ever seen. Carl Roland was the biggest fool he'd ever heard of. If this woman were his, he would never let another man near her, much less hire one to make sure she was happy while he worked in the city and screwed little girls who were less than half the woman his wife was.
Her body was like a luscious gift. Her waist was narrow under his hands as he bent forward and sucked one of her berry-sized nipples into his mouth. Her hips were full and round in his lap, and they tilted forward as she reacted to his pull on her nipple.
"Please—" Vanessa wasn't sure what she was asking for. More, or for him to stop. His fingers plucked the nipple he wasn't sucking, and she slid her hips forward until she felt his cock through his jeans against her pussy. The bulge was startlingly large and hard. "Please."
He pulled harder on her nipple, his teeth biting into the tender flesh, and the spark of pain was like a livewire to her clit. She felt her panties dampening as her body responded violently to him. She put her hands to the back of his head, letting her fingers tangle in his black hair.
His moved his hands behind her waist and pulled the tie on her apron, then lifted the hem of her dress and she raised her arms over her head so he could take it off of her. She started to work on his shirt buttons, wanting to see the heavily muscled chest she could feel under it. He helped her, shrugging out of his shirt once the buttons were undone. She grabbed the hem of his white t-shirt and tugged impatiently at it. He laughed, a slow rumbling that moved his cock against her, and took his shirt off.
His chest was broad and strong, a patch of dark hair swirled over it, narrowing to a peak that disappeared into his jeans. She wanted to see all of him, her fingers slipped down between them and caressed the huge shape of his cock through far too much clothing. He was large, more than large. He stood her up off of his lap and stood himself.
When he was naked in front of her, his cock was more amazing that she'd thought it would be. It stood between them as hard as iron, too thick for her fingers to reach around. Kneeling down was a reflex that she could no more stop than she could stop her heart beating.
He put his hands back in her hair and led her forward until the smooth, fat head of his cock was against her lips. She swirled her tongue around it, tasting the salt of his precum. He pressed against the back of her head and the tip of his cock pushed into her mouth, stretching her lips and sliding along her tongue until it hit the back of her throat and she gagged slightly. She had barely half of his cock in her mouth.
She tried to move her head back, to fuck his cock with her mouth, but he held her still. Instead of moving back, he pushed forward. Her green eyes looked up at him with alarm, but he was relentless. He had to feel those lips around the base of his cock. He knew she could take it, and was determined to show her how far she could go.
She gagged a little and he stopped, waited for her to start breathing through her nose, and for her fingers to tighten on his hips, for her to push a little forward on her own before he pressed deeper.
Her tongue danced against the underside of his cock, sending sparks to his head. Her eyes never left his as he pushed her down on his cock, taking her mouth until he owned it. A rush of primal need pounded against him when he finally felt her mouth around the very base of his cock, her nose pressed into his groin. She was his. His.
He finally dragged her back, his fingers tangled in her hair. When only the head of his cock was in her mouth, he started pushing her down again. Using her mouth like a cunt, enjoying the wet heat of it. She tried to push her mouth faster down, and he felt a thrill at her small show of greed.
