I wrote this for an old friend, to explore the subtleties at the intersection of consent and control. Humans are complicated and beautiful. -Rue
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Damn, it was hot. And humid. With rain in the forecast, we had to get the hay in now. It had already been a long day, and my shirt was stuck to my back. Hay dust exploded out into the barn with every bale we threw into place. I heaved the next one out of the pickup. I'm strong, lean and wiry, but shit, this girl Charley was putting me through my paces.
On top of that, she was getting snippy. "Fuck, Tom, seriously?!" she said now. "Didn't I just tell you we're stacking on the north end first?" Her shirt was sweat-soaked too, but loose enough that I'd been getting glimpses of her midriff and sports bra all day. Damn. I wanted her so bad. She knew it, too, but we were just friends. Right?
"THAT north!" she practically shouted, stomping into my personal space and pointing. She scowled up at me. I guess I'd dropped the last bale in the wrong place again.
Her hair was coming out of her ponytail and falling in her face, and there was a smudge of dirt across her cheekbone where she'd tried to push it away. Anger surged through my tired frame and I sucked in a sharp breath. I smelled her then, sweet and musky and warm with hay and sweat, and desire crashed like a wave.
Without meaning to, I grabbed her by the upper arms and half-carried, half-pushed her backward to the north end of the barn. I shoved her up against the wall of bales. "This north?" I growled.
"Ow!" she said. "Let go!"
"I will," I rasped, my deep voice rough with dust and desire. "In a minute." She writhed in my grip, grabbing handfuls of my shirt in her fists. I pushed my hips against hers to hold her still. Damn, that was a mistake. I could feel the heat of her against my thighs as our boots scraped briefly for purchase on the dirt floor.
"Charley." My voice dropped deeper. It took all the control I could muster to simply hold still. My body was screaming at me to take her, to rip away her clothes, devour the panting mouth so close to mine. My hips ached to thrust deep and show her who was really in control.
But months of working beside her on the ranch, keeping a tight rein on my feelings, had taught me well enough. I took a deep breath. "Charley," I said again, keeping my voice to a slow rumble. "We're gonna do this. We'll get the hay in. I'm here. But you gotta take a minute, OK?"
At that, I felt her relax a little: Her muscles were still tense against mine, but she stopped trying to escape. She took her own deep breath, and I could feel her ribs expand. Her breasts pushed against my chest and her nipples were hard through the thin cloth separating our skin. Fuuuuck.
She sighed in an exasperated gust and dropped her forehead onto my collar bone. "All right, Tom," she said. "You're right. Thanks for being here." Her voice sounded muffled, half lost in my shirt. I let go of her arms then, but she didn't move away.
Instead of unclenching her fists, she simply used her grip on my shirt to drag me closer. She looked up then, into my eyes. Maybe she saw the naked need there, I don't know, but she pulled me down and kissed me.
What the fuck?! I couldn't move at first, not believing her mouth on mine. How many times had I dreamed this?
Charley's kiss was like Charley: strong and assertive. But her lips were so soft and my God, she tasted so fucking sweet with her tongue against mine. In a heartbeat my body responded and I wrapped my arms around her, moaning in the back of my throat as I finally felt the full press of her body.
The kiss deepened, if that was even possible, and now she was writhing again -- this time with pleasure, rocking her hips against the thick muscle of my thigh and pressing her breasts against my chest on purpose this time. I had long been fully hard inside my jeans. My hands splayed across her narrow back, and I felt desperate to touch more of her.
