Tasting Candy

by Candy Quinn

  She’d never explicitly said, but I wasn’t surprised to see it when I walked off the plane and found her waiting. That beautiful, curvaceous body of hers a little rounder in the belly, fuller in the breasts, looking exactly to be in her final trimester, right on schedule from our first fuck.

  I grabbed her up there, spun her around, kissed her and hugged her, without hesitation. It was the finest surprise I could’ve expected for my second vacation, but I knew that wasn’t to be all. There’d be so much more ahead for us, I could see that in her sparkling, dark eyes.

  The Fugitive

  Book Themes:

  Barely Legal, Breeding, Bad Boy, and Love

  Word Count:

  26,647

  Life is pretty slow in the countryside, not a whole lot changes. Which is why it was so easy to pick a newcomer like Asher out of the crowds at market.

  Among all the usual farm folk, gathered to sell their wares, make trades and connect with neighbours and friends, that one big, muscly man, dressed in black leather and ridin’ atop a noisy motorcycle stood out for all to see.

  Nobody even rode a motorcycle in all my years livin’ in the country, unless you count the time old man Murphy rode a moped he fixed up. But that didn’t even last long before he tumbled off into a ditch, and his wife made him swear never to go climbin’ on that busted up old thing again.

  So, not exactly a comparison.

  “Who’s that guy?” my cousin said to me, a tall, lanky fella who looked like he weighed no more’n me, despite the fact he was a heck of a lot taller. No matter how much hard farmwork he put in, he never could seem to shake that figure of his.

  It took me a moment to snap out of my starin’ and day dreamin’, watchin’ the guy as he dismounted from his bike, tugged his zipper down and let the whole world see his chest, hugged by a tight grey tanktop underneath. The kind of top that clung to his every muscly bump.

  “Looks like a fool,” my cousin said, his face contorted in annoyance. “Ridin’ a big ol’ noisy bike, like he can’t get enough attention to sustain ‘im.”

  That’s my cousin, a bookworm if ever there was one, he never had much patience for flash or showin’ off.

  But me?

  I didn’t mind if a guy showed off a little bit. I preferred it, actually. Especially when he looked like that.

  Marcus must’ve caught me staring again, because he was nudging my arm with his elbow.

  “Earth to Shelby, hello?”

  I tucked some of my hair behind my ear, still looking at Asher, not that I knew his name yet at that point. I wondered what his story was.

  “I can hear you,” I said to my cousin, getting annoyed that he was intruding upon my quality fantasizing time. “Y’know, if you’re so concerned about people seekin’ attention, maybe you shouldn’t be jabbin’ me in the side tryin’ to get mine so hard.”

  That little dig got to him, I could see. Marcus grimaced, screwing up his mouth and lookin’ at me all annoyed.

  “We were in the middle of what’s called a conversation, Shelby,” he said, but my mind was back on that biker I didn’t yet know. Watchin’ him in those leathers, the big boots, stompin’ his way over to Mr. Fennel’s booth to talk to him about somethin’.

  Mr. Fennel, though, looked like he shared more of Marcus’ opinion on the newcomer than my own, because he didn’t have a lot to say to the big, gruff man, even as he ran his fingers back through his thick, luxurious blonde hair. That caught my attention somethin’ fierce.

  “I bet he’s just some thug from the big city, come to make a ruckus until the sheriff kicks ‘im out,” Marcus said, noticing my look. “What? That’s happened more’n a few times these past few years! You best watch out now, Shelby. Over there on that farm of yours now, with nobody but yer invalid mother.”

  Yeah, my pa passed away years ago from a heart attack, and now my ma is wiltin’ away herself after a horrible accident. She ain’t any help to me, she can barely keep care of herself as I tend the farm.

  “Maybe you could use a man around, y’know. To help out, and keep ya safe,” Marcus said, smiling lightly.

  “Yea, that’s a good point,” I said, taking a step towards the stranger. That’d be a great opportunity, and a totally valid one. He looked like he could toss hay with the best of them.

  If I could convince him to come work on the farm, not only would I be able to spend more time with him, but it’d actually genuinely help us out.

  “Hey! Hold up,” Marcus said, grabbing my shoulder to spin me around towards him. “What’re ya doin’?!” he said, lookin’ at me in a panic, as if I was about to walk off the roof of a skyscraper to my doom. “I was talkin’ about me!” he said defensively. “That fella’s the trouble you need to keep at bay!”

  Marcus was so rarely an excitable fella, unless I got him to talkin’ about his books and such. This weren’t one of those times. So it was strange.

  But what good was he around the farm, with his scrawny arms and his bookish nature?

  I furrowed my brows, staring at my cousin.

  “You ain’t much for farm work, Marcus and you know it.”

  “Hey,” Marcus said, looking genuinely offended. “I can pull my weight and then some,” he said, sticking his chin in the air. I’d stung his pride, that was for sure. Ain’t often I’d seen him so defensive.

  But then there was that biker babe, it was clear his talk with Mr. Fennel wasn’t goin’ well, the big old man was tuggin’ his suspenders and lookin’ away from Asher, refusin’ to meet his gaze. And whenever Mr. Fennel did that, it was because he was bein’ a right prick and couldn’t face up to whoever he was doin’ it to.

  “I’m ready to head off and tend to a farm of my own, and I will soon enough regardless. But I figured if my cousin could use a hand, I’d offer it. Since you’re all on your lonesome and everythin’,” he said, Marcus’ hands upon his hips as I watched Asher pull away from Mr. Fennel and climb back atop his big ol’ hog.

  I stared at Marcus, my eyes going a bit hard. I was getting annoyed, because I just wanted to talk to Asher and Marcus was distracting me. Killing my buzz.

  I took in a deep breath, trying to look intimidating.

  “You got your own stuff going on, and he’s just a guy lookin’ for a lucky break, some work to get him through a rough spell or something, I bet. I don’t know why else someone’d be out here in the middle of nowhere. And we’re supposed to help those in need.”

  “Only as it makes sense to do, Shelby. You can’t put yourself and your ma at risk invitin’ a man like that into yer home!” Marcus declared adamantly, and I’d never known him to be so assertive with me, so persistent. So nagging.

  Asher was already fed up it seemed, and he revved his engine and in a blaring moment, he began to cruise on by, and for a glorious moment his green-eyed gaze met mine.

  “Darn it, Marcus,” I sighed, watching Asher make his way back onto the road.

  “I’m just trying to do the good thing. The right thing. And you’re just bein’ a fuddy duddy. He’s just a guy, not an axe murderer.”

  “You don’t know that, Shelby,” Marcus insisted, eyes wide, and I could tell he was serious. He weren’t kiddin’ around. His concerns were real. “You remember what they used to say about that one farm over on 12th district road? Burnt down because some punk from the city lit it up in flames. Just fer a laugh,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me so serious.

  All while Asher pulled off onto the road and began to drive away, and — then it seemed — out of my life for good.

  I could’ve cried. I hadn’t seen a real man around this place in a long time, and he was hotter than the sun. Great body, that serious lookin’ face... He looked like the kinda guy that I’d regret going after, but I didn’t care about that. I was curious, like the second I saw him I became obsessed with wanting to know everything.

  I licked my lips and then turned my glare on Marcus again before stomping by him, my cowboy boots turning up
little tufts of dust behind them.

  “If you don’t give strangers a chance, you’ll never meet anyone new.”

  Boy, did I not know what I was gettin’ into.

  I took my pa’s old truck back to the farm, left arm out the window as I enjoyed the sunny day, lamentin’ the lost opportunity for a new experience. Though it was all for naught, it seemed, as up there ahead, right alongside the road outside my place, was the fella on the motorcycle come to a halt, lookin’ over what seemed like a map.

  Which was an odd sight, not many folks used paper maps nowadays, they all used their phones and tablets and such.

  It was my chance.

  There he was, sat on his bike on the side, legs crossed in the dirt as he looked over the map, his long blonde hair brushed back as he seemed so serious.

  I pulled over to the side, crawling over the passenger seat and rolling down the window. There were better ways of doing it, I know, but I had an ulterior motive. If I leaned out the window just so, he could look down my plaid shirt a little, which was undone down to the fifth button because it was so darned hot.

  Nothin’ wrong with some harmless flirtation.

  “You lost?”

  The big, broad-shouldered man folded up his map and looked to me, and though he fell for the trap and looked down my shirt, he didn’t make out as if to hide it like all the local fellas did. He took a gander, then slowly trailed his gaze on up to mine, brazen as can be.

  I liked him more already.

  “Was lookin’ for some local farms,” he said, his voice deep and husky, a lil’ gravelly you could call it. Like none I’d ever heard before. “Lookin’ to offer my services, such as they are,” he remarked, tucking the paper map into a satchel along his bike. “Think you could help me, hun?” he asked, his golden hair glistening in the sun. I was amazed he could stand havin’ all that leather on in the heat.

  “Well depends on what types of services you’re offering, partner,” I teased, enjoying his attention, and being his rescue.

  His broad face was highlighted by his chiselled jaw, and scruffy blonde patch of hair, seemin’ like he hadn’t had an opportunity to shave in a while. He provided a wry, half-hearted sort of smile and ran a hand back through his hair.

  “Manual labour,” he said simply. “You need somethin’ done, I’ll do it. And if I don’t know how, I’ll learn it. Just lookin’ to earn some money for my trip.”

  He made it all sound so very simple, but only later would I discover it was anythin’ but.

  At that point, I was too distracted thinking about what manual labour I’d like for him to do to me.

  “Oh? You done any work like that before?” I asked, but really, I was just prolonging our conversation, leaning further and further, trying to tempt his eyes.

  Though he took his first look no problem, he was a lil’ too stoic to let his gaze be drawn off again so easily. Instead, he crossed those thick arms over his hard chest and continued to meet my gaze nice and steady.

  “I’ve been a dock worker, security, all kinds of things. Ain’t never worked a farm, but if it’s hard, heavy work, I’m built for it and I can figure it out,” he stated firmly, in a way that made it hard to doubt he could do anythin’.

  I couldn’t help but indulge my fantasies a little of watching him get hot and sweaty on my farm, tanned and shirtless. It was clearly distorting my understanding of right and wrong, because Marcus wasn’t lying about the arsonist.

  But Asher didn’t look like an arsonist.

  “How old are you?” I asked. That was a totally relevant question.

  He furrowed his brow a little and unfurled his arms, looking me over again — and this time, taking another peek down my shirt unabashedly — as he seemed to mull over my own age in his head.

  “Twenty nine. That a factor in gettin’ hired around here?” he asked. “How old are you anyhow, hun? If it weren’t for that rack of yours, I’d swear you were too young to be drivin’ that beast of a truck,” he remarked. But somehow, his crass tone managed to convey a complimentary air rather than an insulting one.

  Don’t ask me how, it’s just how it sounded coming from him.

  Or maybe it was just the fact that I was eighteen, still a virgin, and had no prospects in sight until I met him. Maybe I was ready for some crassness in my life.

  “Yea, it’s a factor,” I said, glancing down the road towards my farm, then back at him. “How ‘bout you come by my place for an audition, huh?”

  He looked down the road where I glanced, then back at me.

  “Your farm, huh?” he said, mulling it over before he got up off his bike and nodded. “Alright. You lead the way, hun. I’ll be right on behind you,” he said, lifting his leg up and straddling his hog again with a heavy thud.

  He looked good like that, and I let my own eyes wander over his buff body before I sat back in the driver’s seat and pulled off the side of the road. Rocks flicked at the bottom of my Ford truck as I made my way to the farm, my body so much more sensitive to the vibrations of the old piece of metal.

  What would I make him do first?

  It weren’t long before we were both pulled up in front of my farm house. My ma was inside, but it weren’t nothin’. As she was those days, she had no sense of much. Any time someone pulled in, she assumed it was pa.

  As I climbed out of the truck, there was Asher, gettin’ off his bike with a slight jingle of his metal buckles on leather, comin’ up behind me.

  “So what’ve you got in mind, hun?” he asked, direct and to the point, his broad, chiselled face a little pinched as he looked for work. A big man like him was probably not used to havin’ to ask others for help, I reckoned.

  Especially not a girl that looked nearly half his age.

  I looked around at the large farm house, too big for just my ma and me, and the barn that housed a few farm animals. Most of our money was made from crops, but it helped to have a few cows and chickens around.

  But I wasn’t thinking practical jobs. I was thinking I wanted to see him topless sooner, rather than later. And there was a sure-fired way to get that.

  “I’ve been needing to clear a patch over there,” I said, pointing to some overgrown grass and weeds. “Eight by eight, for a flower garden. You’ll need the scythe and the shovel, maybe the hoe,” I said as I lead him towards the storage barn. “Everything you need is in here.” I opened it up, showing all the hoes and shovels and tools we used, all of them past their prime.

  He took just a moment to look over the area, then the tools, then nodded.

  “You got it,” he said, as he stripped off his leather jacket, and I got a look at his guns. No, it weren’t the kind of guns Marcus was worried about, I’m talkin’ ‘bout his big, bulgin’ biceps. Ain’t never seen a pair so big in my life. And those forearms? Geez! Bigger’n Marcus’ bicep and forearms put together, bulgin’ with veins.

  But more’n all that, he sported tattoos all up and down his arms. Curious symbols I didn’t recognize, ‘cept for one with a sickle in it, that I took to mean he had farm experience.

  Without a word, Asher went to the tools, and selected what he needed. First and foremost, he knew enough to fence off an area after measuring it, then got to work. Even though the tools were old and rubbish, he put his substantial strength into it, undaunted by the summer sun as he began to tear up the old shrubs and grass, and clear that plot of land through raw brawn.

  I was trying to look a bit busy, like I wasn’t going to sit back, drink a lemonade, and watch him work, though that’s what I wanted to do. I just figured after a while it’d be awkward, so I went into the barn under the guise of feedin’ the cattle, but really it was so that I could peek through this little knot in the wood in the loft. I could see everything from there, hidden from him.

  And watching him work was magnificent. Beautiful. He was precise and careful, each swing containing such power like I’d never seen.

  Even pa didn’t quite match up to this guy’s strength, though pa
had more practice and finesse with farm tools than him. It was clear, despite the one tattoo, that Asher weren’t a pro at farm work, but he weren’t a slouch and nor were he an idiot, he knew what he was doin’.

  It wasn’t long before the top came off though, and he tugged that grey tank over his head, showin’ off such a slammin’ hot body. Thick pecs and abs, glistenin’ in the sun with their tattoos dark and prominent upon them. He was a hardened lookin’ man, and he did the task without a fuss nor complaint.

  Which was nice. Sometimes you get the big guys that think they’re too good to do anything else. But him...

  Well, he was a real treat. My eyes were scanning over his body, trying to make sense of all the tattoos, my eyes wandering. Sure, he was almost twice my age, and he didn’t look like the kind of guy you should bring home to momma, but she wasn’t gonna know the difference anyways. And it was hard to care for her all on my own, keep her and the farm running smoothly.

  As he was nearing finished, I went down, hoping to look like I was just inspecting his work, and that I hadn’t been spying for so long.

  Seein’ me comin’, he lifted a hoe up over his shoulder, and I realized he’d not only cleared the patch but finished tillin’ the soil for me too. I was so distracted with the show that I didn’t notice the finer details like that, I’ll confess.

  “If you’re lookin’ for a flower garden, I reckon you’ll want me to put up a fence ‘round it too. Don’t want no animals wanderin’ in and messin’ it up,” he said to me matter of factly, unabashed about his near nudity, even as his jeans hung so darn low on his waist I felt like I was half an inch from seein’ somethin’ naughty. “Somethin’ nice and pretty, a white lil’ picket thing maybe,” he said.

  I blinked, begging my mind to pay attention to his words and not that treasure trail leading to...

  Well, I knew, in theory, but I ain’t never seen one in the flesh. Can’t blame a girl for getting curious.