by Sosie Frost
Her panties.
I shouted, but she threw them to the floor, attempting to dissuade Alicia from her attack.
I was right. The alpaca was a demon. A monster with exceptionally shitty timing. Her red, bulging eyes stared only at me.
Then…she began her ascent.
Since when could alpacas climb ladders?
10
Lady
The worst part about falling in love was losing the man of my dreams to his farm’s alpaca.
This wasn’t possible.
First, I was blitzed in a torrent of emotions, unwavering desires, and stark fantasies utterly redefined within his arms.
Then, a body-consuming, soul-rendering, mind-melting orgasm had decimated my control and nearly lost me within an oblivion of confusion and ecstasy and absolute inhibition.
And now this…
An alpaca hell-bent on destroying our perfect moment via murder and mayhem.
I didn’t know if the animal had the worst timing or the best. Either way, her desire for blood and quest to rend the flesh from our bones was a total mood killer.
Just my luck.
In one breathtaking moment, everything had changed. But we had no time to recover from the terrifying intimacy that had nearly suffocated us in our shameless pleasure.
For the first time, I thought to myself…
Screw it.
What words could I possibly say to apologize for my behavior? Nothing would sound as genuine as when I’d beg Quint to pleasure me once more. I longed to dive into his arms, give myself to this amazing man, and damn every consequence until I was certain I had taken my fill and experienced all that life had to offer.
But first, we had to make it out of the barn alive.
“She can climb?” My voice echoed too loudly, even though I’d just moaned Quint’s name moments before. “Did you know she could climb?”
Quint rubbed his face, dragging his lips along the back of his wrist.
Dear God. That was embarrassing.
Sexy, but thoroughly embarrassing.
He shrugged. “She didn’t exactly come with an owner’s manual.”
“They live in mountainous areas, right?”
He studied the beast, attempting to dissuade her from her awkward, shambling climb up the ladder. “I have no idea. This one lives in our garage.”
I peeked over the edge. Alicia snorted, her nostrils flaring.
How sharp were alpaca teeth? I didn’t want to find out.
I searched for a weapon, but the loft contained only hay. Everywhere. On my dress. Under my dress.
…Stuck in more sensitive locations.
“Has this ever happened before?” I asked.
Quint grunted. “You mean, has this fucking bag of bones ever tried to murder me before? Yeah. Every goddamned day. She’s a psychopath, and she’s got it out for me.”
“Do you have a…procedure to corral her?”
“Are you kidding? We’ve been throwing peanut butter into the pastures to keep her busy so we can plant in the fields. When the jar runs out, we run home.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Still want that tour of the farm?” He grinned. “We’ve got a deaf pig who ruts everything in his path, a blind rooster who hedges his bets and crows all day and night, a three-legged goat who takes great pleasure in shitting in your shoes, a hen who has never laid an egg but still pecks your ankles if you get too close to her nest, and the world’s oldest horse.” He shrugged. “At least, I think the horse is still alive. He doesn’t move much. That makes him the best behaved out of everybody on the farm, me included.”
I’d never been so grateful that the animals we dealt with at the market came ground up and wrapped in plastic.
The alpaca crashed the ladder against the base of the loft. Once. Twice. She’d bring the damned barn down on us all.
Quint took action. He hopped over the ladder, climbing down three rungs. His extended, kicking foot was meant to be a deterrent.
I could’ve told him that was a bad idea before Alicia snapped.
Quint yelled, struggled to free his foot from her mouth, then abandoned his shoe to the angry pachyderm.
Alicia lurched again, either intending to steal his sock or filet his toes.
“Jesus Christ.” Quint hobbled over the ladder. I dragged him into the safety of the hay. “The fuck has gotten into her?”
He surveyed the loft, shifting aside a hay bale to reveal a rope slung in the corner. I wasn’t as concerned about the alpaca anymore. He limped across the floor, leaving a tiny stain of blood with every step.
“Quint, you’re bleeding.”
“I am?”
“Oh, my God. I didn’t know alpacas could bite that hard.”
He paid more attention to the rope, but he glanced at his foot. “Oh. Doesn’t hurt.”
Last thing we needed was for him to be macho and get an infection. God only knew what sort of dirt and debris piled up in the loft. It was a thought I should have pondered before I set my bare butt down on the wood.
“Let me find something to bandage you…” I said.
He interrupted me. “Don’t worry about it. I got a plan. Jules and I use these ropes to store the hay bales up here. I bet I can climb down them.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like get eaten by an alpaca?”
I nodded. “Exactly that.”
He grinned. “I’ve always wanted the chance to save a damsel in distress.”
I crossed my arms. “Yeah, but who’s gonna save you?”
“I can take care of myself as long as I get plenty of booty as my reward.”
He smacked my ass before I could react, tested the tension on the rope, and leapt over the edge.
This wasn’t something that dangerous for a Payne boy, but as a Barlow girl? No one in my family would ever have done something so reckless and thoroughly antagonizing to a wild, enraged alpaca.
But Quint was athletic, even with the injured foot. He landed on the ground and took off sprinting, searching for anything that might have soothed the savage beast.
This did not amuse the alpaca.
She grunted and flattened her leathery ears against her head. The muscles flexed beneath her thin, gangly skin. I’d never seen a creature so hideous before, the poor thing. Every part of her twitched, including the low hanging utters that nearly scraped the floorboards.
She prepared for a charge.
I shouted for Quint. “What are you doing? Come back up here. We’ll call for help.”
“And what should we tell them?” He dove for one of the workbenches built into the wall and ransacked the cabinets. Saddles, ropes, and tools scattered across the floor. “That I’m getting cock-blocked by an alpaca?”
“I’d leave that part out.”
“How about I tell the town that I snuck a Barlow girl onto the property, and now our alpaca is trying to eat her?”
It probably wouldn’t help our cause.
I groaned. “You’re better off saying we were screwing around.”
Quint ripped open a few boxes, casting nervous glances over his shoulder. “We didn’t even get to screw around. This crazy alpaca has been trying to kill me for over a year. But blue-balling me? That’s a step too far.”
The alpaca charged.
I shouted, nearly tumbling from the loft. “Look out!”
Quint dove out of the way, knocking over a temporary workspace and casting boxes of gloves, boots, and other equipment to the floor. One box tore apart, and intricately woven, sunshine yellow, beautifully crafted sweater popped out.
Quint scrambled backwards, falling onto his hands and knees as the alpaca roared. He seized the sweater and swatted it like a whip, but his grip failed and the shirt sailed out of his hands…
And smacked Alicia square between the eyes.
The alpaca went still as the sweater coiled over her head, covering her face and wrapping neatly around her neck.
&n
bsp; “Shit!” Quint hustled to his feet, leaping for the rope to haul himself up to the loft. “Shit, shit, shit!”
But Alicia stayed motionless. The tension drained from her wiry muscles, and the little snake of her tail actually wagged back and forth.
For the moment, she had found peace.
“What did you do?” I whispered, my voice the barest hush so as not to disturb Alicia’s grunted breaths.
Quint climbed the rope, but he stopped halfway up. His biceps and shoulders tensed with thick muscle as he waited for the alpaca to make a move. We exchanged a glance, and he gently lowered himself to the ground. He kept to the perimeter, sneaking around the barn until he reached the box which had housed the sweater.
Someone had tucked the note inside.
He squinted, reading from the card. “To Alicia, From…The Butterpond Knitters’ Korner?”
I nearly tumbled out of the loft. “They actually knitted her a sweater?”
“What the fuck are the chances…” He flipped the box in his hands, shrugged, and studied the completely placated alpaca. “I’d only suggested a sweater because someone keeps mailing me pictures of Alicia out in the fields.”
“…Why?”
He laughed. “You tell me. Maybe it’s some PETA shit? They’re tired of seeing her naked too?”
“It is rather indecent for Butterpond’s standards.” I rubbed my temples. “How the hell did you reunite the knitting groups?”
Quint didn’t need the boost to his ego. “I told you to trust me.”
“I can’t believe it worked.”
“I can’t believe you doubted me.” He winked. “How many other ways do I have to prove my prowess to you, Ladybug?”
There wasn’t much left to prove. Only the biggest, scariest thing.
Quint waved me out of the loft. “I think she’s calm, for now. It’s safe to come down.”
With the beast momentarily placated, I took a chance, swinging over the ladder and gently stepping along the rungs. Quint met me at the bottom, guiding me to the floor. I slid into his arms, nervously giggled, then distracted myself with the fashion statement of the millennia.
“That’s a nice color,” I said. “She looks like a sunflower.”
Quint disagreed. “She looks like a demon dunked in mustard.”
I shushed him, examining the stitching patterns. “It’s actually really intricate. Look. It’s got buttons on the back. I think she supposed to wear it like a smock.”
Quint backed away from the alpaca, frowning at his bleeding foot. “You want to give her a makeover? Be my guest.”
I hated to remove the sweater, but Alicia deserved to wear it properly. I gently tugged on the closest sleeve and shushed the animal as I pulled the material off her thin skin. Quint retreated, watching us from across the barn. He held his hands behind his head, quietly panicking.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” He braced to run. “We should get out of here before she goes rabid again.”
I wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll need your help to put it on her.”
“She fucking hates me.”
“Maybe she won’t hate you so much if you give her something to wear.”
With the sweater removed, Alicia thumbed her front hooves. But she waited, patiently, as I passed Quint one side of the sweater from under her body. His wrists grazed her utters. She snorted, but I silenced his profanity.
“Don’t do or say anything that might offend her.” I kept my voice light and chipper. “We’re going to wrap the sweater over her tummy and up her sides…”
Quint squeezed his eyes shut and braced for a kick or bite as the sunflower yellow sweater wrapped over Alicia’s skin. The poor thing had flushed pink. Sunburnt. No wonder she was so cranky. Her whole flank was tender.
Her flabby skin wrinkled and bunched under the material, but I hurriedly wrapped the sweater over the animal and fastened it with six magenta buttons the size of half dollars. They secured the garment, and we slowly backed away.
“Don’t make any sudden movements,” I warned.
Quint used an arm to shield me from the animal. “It doesn’t matter. Just existing pisses her off.”
Maybe once, but not now. Alicia gave her entire body a shake as she tested the limitations of her sweater. Though not a girdle, the material did hold firm while cloaking her in softness. She nibbled on one end, tugging the yarn, but when it didn’t yield, she settled into the sweater with a soft huff.
She flipped her head back, her neck rolls quivering as she breathed. With only a mildly irritated stomp, she sauntered out of the barn.
I waited for her to escape into the early evening before celebrating, diving into Quint’s arms with an excited twirl.
“Did you see that?” I grinned. “That was amazing!”
“What the hell just happened?” Quint stared out into the pasture. “Did you get a video that? My family won’t believe this shit.”
“Quint! Your alpaca isn’t mean after all!”
He pointed to his foot. “You sure about that?”
“She’s just upset because she’s naked.”
This concept still bewildered Quint. “Who wouldn’t want to be naked?”
I batted his shoulder. “You did a good thing. Now she’s more comfortable, and the knitting group is back together.”
Quint didn’t share my enthusiasm. He checked his cell phone and hissed between his teeth, reading his texts.
“Well…we used up all of our good luck,” he said. “Just missed the ceremony at the dance. We didn’t show up, so they picked different winners. The new Butter Monger and Mistress are Sandy Felice’s newborn twins.”
My spirits fell. “But they’re too young to talk, let alone give a speech.”
“Don’t worry.” He pocketed the phone. “Jules filled me in. Apparently, everybody at the dance assumed that we refused to share the stage together, and we’re protesting the results.”
“No.”
“A giant argument broke out, and everyone had to pick one side or the other. A fist fight started during a botched promenade, the usual chaos ensued, and there’s not enough impartial people to finish the square dance. Everyone’s pissed, as usual.”
My stomach pitted. “Oh no. This is horrible.”
His smile returned, wicked and wild. “At least we have a good excuse for not attending.”
“Attacked by an alpaca?”
“Overcome by lust.”
I frowned, looking away. “One of us at least.”
No matter how hot Quint had made me, nothing rivaled the flush of humiliation that washed over me, head to toe.
I squirmed under his gaze. I’d thrown my panties from the loft. Heaven only knew where they’d ended up. I twisted my legs together, tight.
But did it even matter?
He’d just enjoyed a front-row seat to everything hidden under my dress. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Nothing had prepared me for this. No conversation with my sisters had ever included a rulebook for what happened when a man came up after he’d gone down.
This was shameful. Mortifying.
And so thoroughly erotic that I nearly dropped to my knees then and there.
Quint smirked as he approached. I had the good sense to back away.
“Looks like our evening opened up, Ladybug.” He took my hand before I could escape to the loft. “No sense for me to stay here all alone tonight.”
His touch reawakened the embers still smoldering in my core. I couldn’t risk fanning those flames.
I whispered my confession. “I’m not sure I can trust myself.”
“Well, you sure as hell can’t trust me.”
“Too late.”
Quint’s green eyes flared with mischief. “See what that got you?”
“I don’t always make the best decisions…but I think I’m starting to like the wrong ones.”
Quint lost his smile. He rubbed a hand over his face with a groan.
“You have no idea what you did
to me, Lady Barlow. The things I want to do to you…”
I didn’t know where the courage came from, but I stole a moment of bravery.
“Show me,” I said.
“And ruin our friendship?” he teased.
“Or start something more?”
“You’re not the kind of girl who fools around.”
“And you’re not the kind of guy who makes friends.”
Quint sighed. “Do you know how badly I want you?”
“Just as badly as I want you.”
He turned away, kicking the scattered equipment and ropes from his path. “Don’t say that. Fuck me, Lady. You’re tormenting me.”
“No. I’m offering you something special.”
“What makes you think I deserve anything special?”
“What makes you think you only deserve a night of meaningless, regrettable sex with a stranger?”
Every muscle in his body tensed. “Don’t you get it? Any night with you is going to be special. But no man in his right mind could take you, kiss you, fuck you…and then walk away without wanting more.”
The answer was simple. “Then don’t walk away.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
My heart broke. “Why?”
Quint shook his head, but I didn’t let him escape. I dragged him to the ladder and stepped up two rungs until I looked him in the eyes.
He wouldn’t like what I had to say.
“Why are you so afraid of getting close to a woman?” I asked.
He scowled. “Lady, I’m only looking to get laid now. I don’t want to get mind fucked.”
“What if that’s what you need?”
“That’s not what either of us need.”
“Do you even know what you want?” I went still as he reached behind my ear, flicking away a piece of hay trapped from our few precious minutes together. “What matters most to you?”
“Nothing that I would dare admit to a woman like you.”
“Try me.”
“Why? What would it do?” He laughed. “Getting my cock wet isn’t a noble goal.”
“If you’re ashamed of it, why do you keep doing it? Why keep going out night after night looking for trouble only to drink so you forget it by morning?”