Ask No Questions (6 page)

"Fucking take it," he
rasped savagely.

He felt her tense and go at it harder. She was going to come. She had found her perfect angle on his cock and she was ready.

Her lusty shout was muffled by his neck but he gloried in it all the same, screwing her right through it until it died away into piteous little whimpers.

"Good girl," he whispered. "Nice and hard, eh? Keep doing what you're doing." She was going to make a mark on his neck but he was well past caring now. He could feel his climax building up, all his senses aligned, ready to be torn apart.

When it happened, his eyes flew wide open and he pushed her bum cheeks into him, needing to find maximum depth of penetration, wanting to give it all to her.

"Oh
God," he spluttered, holding on to her until post-orgasmic dizziness stopped swooping through his head. "You perfect dirty little marvel."

She snuggled close to him, yawning into his ear.

"I could just stay here, joined on to you, forever," she said.

"Sounds like a plan."

They rested for a while, her damp skin pressed to his stout farmer's garments, his hands clasped loosely around her waist, his eyes shut. He could drift away like that, nod off in the cab, dream of everything being like this always.

"We've steamed up the windows," he said eventually, wiping away a patch.

"Tractor of lurve," said Kim. She drew a heart in the mist and wrote 'R 4 K'. "When you offered me a ride in a tractor, you really meant it, didn't you?"

"I think you should work on the theory that
everything I say is an invitation to sex, however veiled. That's going to be my default."

He kissed her, blinking the sweat out of his eyelashes.

"I like that theory," she murmured, still collapsed against him as if all her muscles had decided to stop working at once. "God, I love the countryside. Why didn't someone tell me about this sooner? Fresh air, nature all around, fucking gorgeous hot shaggable farmers everywhere."

"Ahem. Not everywhere. Don't go expecting market day to be like some kind of feast of male flesh. Anyway, you're only going to be shagging one farmer and he's right here."

"You'll do, I suppose." She sat up, wriggling off his softened cock, and grinned impishly. "You might be bloody amazing in bed but you're not very good at mowing meadows, are you?"

"You've got a point there," he said. "Go on, get off me then."

She reached for the jumper but he tapped her wrist and frowned.

"Who s
aid you could get dressed again? You're staying bare-arse naked for the rest of the day, my girl."

He smiled and looked sidelong at her as she hugged her knees to her chest and laughed.

"You're just so
bad
," she exclaimed in delight. "I love it."

He looked up to the skies through his blurred windshield  and uttered silent thanks to whomever might have set this up. Then he put the vehicle into gear and went back to mow his meadow.

Chapter Six

She was still naked when they ate dinner, a more elaborate affair this time, consisting of a chicken casserole and another bottle of red wine. She had chopped vegetables under his supervision, wearing nothing but an apron. It had taken an incredibly long time to get all the vegetables into the pot, because he couldn't stop himself coming up behind her and holding her tight and kissing her face and neck and lips until the water boiled over or the dog burst into the room.

Although the meal was relaxed, Rhys was aware of an intentional skirting round of issues. Th
e conversation was fenced in by 'do not enter' signs. He couldn't ask her about her background, her family, her job, her friends and lovers. Living in the present was one thing, but this was starting to feel ridiculous and not a little uncomfortable.

"So you’ve never done it in a tractor before?" he asked, clearing the plates.

"I've never done anything in a tractor before."

"City girl. Come on – you wash, I'll dry."

"You were a city boy once, you told me."

They carried the dirty dishes to the sink and Kim turned on the taps.

"Yeah, I was, and I tried to feel like one, but I never really did."

"Fish out of water?"

"Absolutely. You can take the boy out of Wales…"

Kim smiled, squirting washing-up liquid into the sink.

"Yeah, I get that. This is where your roots are."

He nodded. "I felt like I'd been torn out of the earth, when I was in
London. I gave it my best shot, but…"

He shrugged.

"What made you come back, in the end? A redundancy package?"

"No, no." He reached across her and turned off the taps. "You're filling it too full. Way too many bubbles too."

"Are you changing the subject on me?"

He caught a glimpse of something in her eyes, a kind of rebellious regret. She put a glass in the sink.

"Hardly seems fair," he said, "to give you my life story when you won't even tell me your full name."

She plunged the glass
in the water and wiped around the rim, watching the bubbles burst and the suds glide on the stem.

"Is the holiday over already?" she said softly.

"It's more than a holiday, isn't it?" he said. "It's a holiday from being you."

"Actually, no, it's not." She handed him the glass to dry.
"It's a holiday from being who people think I am."

"OK," he said. "I'm sorry. We all need one of those from time to time."

And I don't want to scare you away.

He reached for something on the windowsill.

"Here, put these on," he said. "You'll ruin your pretty little hands."

Kim snorted with laughter and picked up the yellow rubber gloves.

"Phwoar," she said. "You won't be able to resist me in my plastic apron and Marigolds. Is it a fetish?"

"I can see
you don't have hands that do dishes," he said, picking one up. "That water's hot. Put the gloves on."

"I hate the smell."

"Put them on."

"No."

"That's a very dangerous position, love, when you're standing naked in my kitchen."

"Why? What are you going to do about it?" Kim grinned from ear to ear, flapping the gloves in his face.

His reply was a flick of the tea towel to her irresistibly presented rear.

She grabbed at her bottom and shrieked.

"You bastard! That really hurts."

He simply laughed and brandi
shed the tea towel like a fencing sword.

"Gloves, Kim."

"Never." She dipped her hand in the washing-up bubbles and flicked them at him. Blobs of foam settled in his hair and a drop of water ran down his cheek.

"Right, you're asking for it now."

She shrieked again and leapt away across the kitchen as he made a lunge for her. The rubber gloves were dropped on the floor, surplus to requirements. She dodged around the dining table, laughing and squealing, but she stood little realistic chance of eluding Rhys and she obviously knew it.

He caught her by the back door, dragged her back to the sink and lifted her on to the draining board.

"That's wet," she objected, shifting her bum on the cold metal surface.

"But are you?" he murmured, pushing inquisitive fingers between her spread thighs.

"Yeah," she whispered before giving in to his ravenous kiss.

He had his jeans undone, cock out and rubber on in the time it took to get his tongue into her throat.
He devoured her with his mouth for a few seconds more, then took hold of her hips and plunged in. No finesse, no gentleness here, just a hard, primal thrusting that showed her what she was getting.

She held on around his neck and leant back, tilting herself up for an angle of deep penetration. He felt her body quiver in shock every time he ploughed forwards but he kept going, deeper, harder, making her take it.

His jeans and boxers fell further and further down with each thrust but he barely noticed. Nothing existed in his universe but Kim's cunt and his cock, the friction and the force. Her dark heat drew him in, bringing him to a madness of need and desire. He would give her what she needed. He would make her yield everything, especially those things she hid from him.

She whimpered into his mouth and he put his hand inside the vinyl apron and teased her nipples. Her tongue pushed frantically at his
. She put a hand on his arse and squeezed. He slid in deeper, as deep as he possibly could, ignoring his trembling calves and protesting thigh muscles, and worked her even harder.

When she came, from somewhere way down low inside her, he pressed his mouth to the side of her neck and sucked at it. This drove her even wilder and she howled and dug her nails into his back, kicking out behind him.

Her loss of control precipitated his, like orgasmic dominoes, and he hammered home his final thrusts, making her slip all over the draining board, making her know what she had unleashed in him.

She fell forward, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh God," she groaned, a precious dead weight slumped against him. "My pussy's going to need a holiday after all this."

"No holidays here," said Rhys, kissing her ear. "Just hard, hard work."

"Yeah. I'm getting that."

"You certainly are. Now. Pick up the gloves and put them on."

She wore the Marigolds.

Days passed like this, golden sunny days
interspersed with cloud. Rhys and Kim had no need to leave the farm, so they didn't.

She helped him dip the sheep, taking charge of the pen while he did all the hazardous work with the heavy-duty chemicals, dressed from head to toe in protective overalls.

"Kinky," said Kim when she saw them, a mischievious grin on her face, but Rhys took the sheep-dipping and its potential dangers seriously and he simply shook his head at her and motioned her to keep well back.

She followed him wherever he went, she and Skip flanking him like faithful handmaidens. When they could get Skip to
bound off in pursuit of an errant sheep, Rhys would find a suitable stile to bend Kim over, lift whichever shirt of his she was wearing that day, and shag the living daylights out of her. The open air was a strangely powerful aphrodisiac, with its lingering warmth and the smells of nature rich around them.

They found themselves doing it everywhere – piles of cut grass, the hayloft,
the combine harvester. Anywhere reasonably clean and safe would do. Just having her, laughing and careless beside him with her sleek tan legs striding out below one of his old rugby shirts, was enough to get him hard. He lost count of how many times and in how many positions they did it over the course of those days. It was as if there were a fever in the air, turning him into some kind of satyr.

Sometimes it took him back to the first years with Hannah, and then he had to stop and put it from his mind.

Kim was a different creature altogether. She seemed formed from the elements and made for sex, a free spirit who had come to release him from his lonely prison for a season. He tried to bear in mind that this couldn't last forever, but as each long summer day merged into another, time itself seemed to stretch out for them.

Hard work, good food, sunshine and lashings of sex – it was the life he had always dreamed of.

In the evenings, they shared a bath, drank a bottle of wine and played some sexually-charged version of chess or Scrabble until their yawns could no longer be contained and he would carry her up to bed.

"Chess," she
said, wrinkling her nose with distaste the first night he suggested it. "That's boring."

"Not the way I play it," he insisted
.

"What's different about the way you play it?"

"Every time you lose a piece, there's a forfeit."

"Oh yeah?" Her brazen smile showed that she knew what was on his mind. "Good at chess, are you?"

"I'm not bad."

"Well, I'm rubbish. So you'll beat me easily."

"That's what I was counting on, actually. Come on. You be white, I'll be black."

His attack was swiftly mounted and she soon found herself short of pawns.

The forfeits were easy enough at first.

"Take off your shirt."

"Come over here and snog the face off me."

"Show me if you can get your nipple into your mouth."

She managed to take a pawn off him, and made him get on his knees and kiss her toes.

But when the pieces of higher value started to fall, he grew more demanding.

Taking her castle, he looked her slowly up and down, enjoying the way she seemed to hold herself taut under his gaze, waiting for the blow to fall.

"OK," he said softly. "I want you to spread your legs nice and wide, that's it. Show me what you've got."

As she had been, as usual, naked under the shirt, this was easily done. She leant back against the armchair and parted them, watching him with challenge in her eyes, keeping her knees drawn up.

"That's nice," he said. "Now I want you to touch yourself. Show me how you do it."

She looked swiftly over her shoulder, as if to check for observers.

"I think we're alone, love," he said with a chuckle.

"Just in case Skip…" she said.

"She's asleep in the kitchen. You're fine. You won't
be corrupting an innocent dog." He nodded, with a deliberately wicked flash of his eyes. "Go on, then."

She was blushing, he noted with satisfaction. He liked to see the colour creeping into her cheeks.

Her frank stare was gone now and she looked down at her hand as it headed towards its destination. She kept her movements small and contained. She was embarrassed.

Was it cruel of him to find this even more exciting? Did it make him a bad person? He dismissed the shadowy thoughts the moment her fingertip made contact with her little peeking clit.
She pressed into the deep pink bud for a moment, then lifted her arm again and licked her fingers, swiftly, with her head bowed, as if she hoped he wouldn't notice.

But of course he did, and his blood shot to his groin, making his already stiff cock painfully harder.

Now, with her wettened fingertips, she began to circle the swollen oval of flesh, then to rub at it, keeping her brows low and her hair over her face as much as she could.

He could see that she was trying to hi
de as much from him as possible, holding her hand over her mons, and he clicked his tongue in reproof.

"I want to see it," he reminded her. "Hold yourself open with one hand and use the other to touch yourself. I want to see everything."

She huffed and puffed and tried to squirm out of it, but eventually she held her labia wide with the fingers of one hand while she used the other to manipulate her clit, slowly, under Rhys' instructions.

Much as he enjoyed watching her rub and stroke, he was almost more involved with her face. He wanted to know what she was thinking when she shut her eyes and parted her lips and seemed to drift away from him.

"What's on your mind?" he asked quietly.

"You," she whispered. "Things we've done."

This answer made him want to push his hand down his trousers and wrap it around his cock. God, the thought of him was enough to bring her off! He had never felt so like a king.

But perhaps she was just flattering him.

"What things?" he asked.

"Oh, Rhys, you know what things. Yesterday, when you bent me over that hay bale and pulled up my shirt and smacked my bum. I wanted you to do it. That's why I poked that straw in your ear. You just knew it was what I wanted, and you did it. Go
od and hard too, until I was sore. And then you fucked me. Oh, oh."

He loved the way her voice cracked and trailed off, overcome with the erotic weight of its words.