Malcolm County in Southeastern Oklahoma
She lay sprawled beneath him on a frayed horse blanket in the gloomy hayloft. There had been no greeting, no posturing, nothing except a harsh entry followed by a sweaty, steamy lustful explosion. He aimed to hurt, but she was a match for him, absorbing his anger and frustrating his attempts to reduce the assignation to the level of just a roll in the hay.
“Bitch!” He dragged the word across the breadth of his powerful orgasm.
“Bastard.” A self-satisfied smirk hid in her breathy drawl. His had carried nothing but longing and suppressed fury. She sighed, already drawing breath more easily than he, and ran scarlet-tipped fingers through the pale flame of the candle she had lit to watch him labor over her. “I do like the way you get it on.”
“Not…make love?” he panted.
“Wouldn’t wanna screw up a good thing by calling it wrong.” She laughed low in her throat at the way he vainly fought to keep his eyes off her shadowed curves.
A snarl tore out of him, ending in a sobbing shudder. “I oughta kill you. Someday, I will.” Without another word, he threw on his clothes and left, moving stealthily through the moonless Oklahoma night.
She lay on the rough, scratchy fabric of the blanket, allowing his aura of carnal fury to dissipate. Caressing her violated flesh, she inhaled the heady redolence of the barn: manure, urine, and the heavy aroma of the big animals masked by the woody hay, her own fragrance, and his stimulating musk.
The thick, humid air crackled with the charged atoms of an approaching thunderstorm, although she preferred to believe it was the lingering essence of the most exciting and sexually competent man she had ever known. Drowsily, she mused over her conquest.
Dangerous? Of course, it was. That’s what made it so wonderful.
Next week: I probably won’t know until Wednesday night!.
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