Wargasm

by Sosie Frost

  No man had a right to look as strong as Julian. Not even rugged. Just…practiced. Honed muscles and a strong core, broad shoulders and a heavy jaw. Of course, that perfect chest was minced with cat scratches, but he wore the injuries well, no matter if the bruises came from a bar fight or an angry little kitten.

  The sight of a half-naked Julian Payne did nothing to quell the churning, aching heat that slurred my words in my watering mouth.

  “Ta…” I tugged the goat’s leash and attempted to bring Clyde to Julian. “…Da!”

  Clyde had other places to be, people to meet, and a whole farm to explore. He launched from the porch and hopped onto the railing, knocked over the potted plants, and began to poo.

  Julian wasn’t impressed.

  “What…” He ran a hand through his wet hair, his towel accidentally slipping further down his hips. “Where…what the hell is that?”

  “It’s a goat.” I gave Clyde a scratch behind the ears. I…assumed goats liked that.

  “What?”

  I smirked. “A goat, Farmer Payne. E-I-E-I-O.”

  “But…why?”

  “His name is Clyde. He’s yours now.”

  Julian’s eyebrow cocked. “Where’s the rest of him?”

  “This is all of him.”

  Three legs didn’t slow Clyde down. I unhooked the leash and sent him to raid the garbage can. He hobbled off without a problem, as if all goats were born with three legs and a ravenous appetite for trash.

  “I had an idea,” I said.

  “Yeah?” Julian frowned. “I got a lot of questions.”

  “There’s a provision in the county ordinances that state exemptions can be made for repairs to agricultural structures that are currently housing animals outside the scope of domesticated companions, as defined by cats, dogs, and chickens.” I winced as Clyde toppled the garbage cans and frolicked in the empty pizza boxes. “Well, there’s your scope. Clyde needs a home, and housing him should get you the variance, simple and easy.”

  “Where the hell did you find a goat?”

  “Apple Orchard Farms, over in Marshall Township. One of the farmers owed me a favor. He said I could borrow any animal I needed to satisfy the ordinance.”

  “O…kay.”

  I gave him a moment’s pause before arching an eyebrow. “You can thank me now.”

  “For borrowing a goat?”

  “Well…technically…”

  I bit my lip as Clyde returned to the porch, eyeing Julian’s terrycloth towel as a likely dinner. He gave it one good chew and attempted to bolt down the stairs. Julian shouted, nearly losing the towel. His bare ass flashed for a teasing second before he was decent once more.

  He wore the towel better than the scowl.

  Didn’t make the next part any easier. “Um, see…you didn’t actually borrow Clyde. He’s kinda…yours now.”

  “Mine?”

  “Permanently.”

  Julian thrust a hand towards his empty farm. “Princess, I don’t even have a barn! Where am I supposed to keep a three-legged goat?”

  The damn hormones. Tears prickled my eyes—again. It wasn’t Julian’s tone or raised voice. I’d wept during a Lady Gaga song, cried when I’d forgotten my water bottle in the office, and bawled when Clyde had brayed from the back seat. In my defense, his baa baa had sounded like mama, and I wasn’t able to cope with that flurry of emotion.

  “They were going to put Clyde down…” I fought the tears. Crying over this made less sense than sniffling over my salad because I only had four croutons. “They thought…cause of his leg…”

  The tears came. Julian froze, eyes wide.

  “Oh, princess, I…”

  “And he’s okay. He’s a wether—means he’s neutered and everything.” My words blended into one wail. “And he gets around well, just needs a farm where he won’t be bullied by the other four-legged creatures.”

  “Okay…” Julian said. “It’s okay!”

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. Droplets cascaded down his biceps and chest. Suddenly, my cheeks weren’t the only part of me that got wet. The tears stopped, and, in its place, a burning, aching, desperate lust blossomed.

  Pregnancy was exhausting.

  “He can stay,” Julian said. “We’ll…put him in Quint’s room.”

  Clyde bleated, gnawing on the leg of a wicker chair, and took his lunch to go, exploring the rest of the porch. Julian ignored him, his gaze focusing on the car bounding up the driveway. His grip tightened on the towel.

  “Fucking great,” he said.

  I frowned as the car parked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Trouble’s here.”

  “What sort?”

  “My sister brought my brother home from the hospital.”

  A pretty girl hopped from the driver’s seat. Her skin was a shade darker than mine, but that didn’t make her any less of a sister to the Paynes. I’d heard the gossip in town—Cassi might have been adopted, but all five of her brothers fiercely protected her.

  Which made the brother she was bringing home…

  “Marius.” Julian hadn’t busted out any balloons to welcome home the wounded warrior. “This oughta be good.”

  Cassi raced to the passenger side of the teeny little Ford Fiesta, but the door had already wrenched open. A prosthetic leg crunched in the gravel first, the cane second. Their hushed voices rose.

  “Marius, let me…” Cassi reached for him, had her hand batted away, then reached into the car to smack him herself. “I am not taking you back to the hospital if you fall.”

  “I don’t need your help.” Marius grunted as he un-wedged himself from the teeny car. “I’m fine.”

  Cassi gave an exasperated sigh and allowed him to take the lead, a position I was certain a man like Marius Payne had assumed often.

  The injured SEAL was just a rumor around town. Hurt overseas in a secret mission only to return home after years of absence without a leg. I doubted the injury would slow him down. Marius was well over six feet of stoicism, quiet aggression, and muscle. The man was built for raw physical strength. Bulging biceps. A leg like a tree trunk. A core that rippled even under his t-shirt.

  And yet, the steps to the porch gave him pause.

  So did the goat.

  Marius scowled. “What the hell is that?”

  Julian didn’t greet his brother. “My new goat.”

  Cassi gathered her brother’s bag from the car and sprinted to help him with the stairs. The luggage dropped to the dirt as she raced to greet the goat instead.

  Her aww cut short.

  “Where’s…” Cassi slapped Julian’s arm. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Julian shrugged. “What?”

  “He’s missing a leg!” Cassi fumed, pushing him from their path as she marched into the house. “You have one sick sense of humor, you know that?”

  Marius ripped open the screen door and glared at his brother. Julian shouted after them.

  “It’s not what you think. He’s for the…” The door slammed. “Barn.”

  I flinched. Julian didn’t. Tensions apparently ran high at the Payne Farm.

  He collapsed on the porch swing and attempted to adjust the towel. It didn’t hide much.

  “You shouldn’t be standing,” he said. “You’re…”

  “Pregnant?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah. Just keep it down.”

  I approached, but I didn’t sit, planting my hands on my hips. “You didn’t tell your family yet?”

  “Did you?”

  “That’s different. I don’t get along with my father, and my mother is off in France, sipping champagne out of some artist’s belly button.”

  Julian curled a finger. I really didn’t trust myself to sit next to him, especially as nearly every inch of his tanned skin was exposed, begging to be touched, licked, caressed…

  What was it about this man that encouraged a woman to make bad decisions?

  He’d make a good girl go naughty, and a naughty
girl even better. Or would that be worse? Regardless, he was particularly dangerous for fertile wombs and foolish women.

  He held the swing steady—a relief as my tummy treated climbing stairs like a roller coaster ride anymore. I sat and crossed my ankles. If only I had done that a couple of weeks ago. Too little, too late.

  “My family is dysfunctional,” I said. “But yours…”

  “Is the very definition.”

  “I doubt that.”

  He stretched, arms crossed behind his head. Every muscle in his chest tensed, but he winced. With a twist, he rubbed his lower back and sighed.

  “After Dad died…” His words were shadowed with a grief that he tried so hard to hide. “We all moved home. Had no choice. Dad’s will stated that every decision about the farm had to be made in unison. We’re not allowed to subdivide or sell our own parts. Either the parcel goes as one piece, or we all work together to rebuild the farm.”

  “And your siblings…”

  “Not on board.” He pointed across the field. “Five years ago, we lost the barn to the fire.”

  I’d heard the rumors. “What happened?”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. But we lost a lot of equipment. A couple animals. The structure itself. Caused a lot of stress. My mom got sick first, trying to take care of everyone. She passed three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He frowned. “That was the catalyst to every fight and problem. After her funeral, we all scattered. Everyone except Cassi left the farm, just trying to avoid the fighting and problems. Dad had always had a bad heart, so when his health started to slip, I knew I had to come home. I just…” He shook his head. “I didn’t. I waited too long. He died, and…”

  “And?”

  “And I wasn’t there.”

  My heart ached for him. “I’m sorry.”

  Julian switched the subject, his voice hardening. “So, the farm is my problem now. No one else wants to deal with it.”

  I leaned a little closer. “So…why do you want it?”

  “Someone has to manage it.”

  That wasn’t the truth. “There’s more to it, cowboy. You’re fighting me tooth and nail on this damn application. A man doesn’t just snap one day and decide to be a farmer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a guy like you was supposed to be some big-time athlete.”

  His expression flickered—wavering between pride and shame. “That was a long time ago.”

  “But you did play football?”

  “Once.”

  He didn’t want to talk about it, but I wanted to hear it.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  His jaw clenched. “Same old story.”

  “Well, I haven’t heard it.” I pointed to the goat, balancing on the hood of Cassi’s car. “Clyde hasn’t heard it either.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  I winked. “Don’t be baashful.”

  “That’s a sheep, Old MacDonald.”

  “Do I have to get you one of those too?”

  He swore. “Better get me the barn first.”

  “I’m working on it. Least you can do is provide me some backstory. Who knows what might help me get this variance approved?”

  “Fine.” His arm stretched against the swing, almost wrapped around me. “I played football years ago. Ancient history now.”

  He talked like he was old and grey, not young and mouth-watering.

  “I was good,” he said. “Good enough to go pro. My parents realized it when I was just a kid. They…did all they could. We never had a lot of money, but they scrimped and saved to get me into a couple different programs. Traveled with me across the state. Got me trainers and extra coaching. And it worked. Had my pick of colleges. Full scholarships. Played my four years, and I had…prospects.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Yeah…” He rubbed his face. “But then I blew my back out.”

  “Is that why you have scars?”

  “Surgery.”

  “That bad?”

  His mouth thinned. “Pretty bad. I should have had an all-star career. Instead I landed on the operating table in the middle of my first season with the Rivets.” He ground his jaw. “And that was that. My chances slipped away twelve years ago.”

  “What have you done since then?”

  “Nothing that I should have been doing.” His fingers wove over my shoulder. Like a fool, I let him pull me to his side. “I never planned for the future. Never thought to start a family.”

  I snorted. “Well, check that off the list now.”

  “Surprise.”

  I smirked. “Surprise.”

  He shrugged. “Not a bad one.”

  My heart fluttered. “No?”

  “Man’s gotta start a family sometime.”

  Perhaps, but usually the wedding, stable career, and houses came first. “This probably isn’t the best way to do it.”

  “But what a way to make it.”

  “Really?” I laughed. “Rushed, clothes on, in the middle of an office?”

  “Lucky I didn’t take you on a bed with some rose petals—you’d be having twins.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re so damn cocky.”

  “I earned it.”

  His fingers brushed my arm, casting shivers deep into me, where everything centered, warmed and waiting.

  “You only think you earned it,” I said.

  “I don’t remember you complaining…” He grinned. “And you complain a lot, princess.”

  “Only about men who bother me.”

  He teased, his voice a squeak. “We’re out of money for the fireworks. We need another sponsor for the festival. We need more volunteers.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Can’t remember you complaining about a bad fuck.”

  “I’m sure I’ll mention it over the next seven months.”

  He smirked. “Pregnancy isn’t all bad. Show me one woman who’s never wanted bigger tits.”

  I wrapped an arm over my chest. “Excuse me?”

  “Think I hadn’t noticed?”

  “Thought you would be polite enough to not mention it.”

  “You don’t know me at all.”

  “No shit. I don’t know anything about you.” I sighed. “So, let’s start a family.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Oh, let’s see.” I rattled off the most pressing concerns. “Having a stranger’s baby. The potential destruction of my career. My breasts growing so large they’re mistaken for mountains.”

  “That’s all? Hell. I can take care of that.”

  I had no idea I’d been knocked up by a miracle worker. “Oh?”

  “First, I’m not a stranger,” he said.

  “You’re just a pain in my ass.”

  “Don’t worry—when we do that, I’ll be gentle.”

  I batted his arm away. “Perv.”

  “Don’t lie, little girl. You’re curious. Practically squirming onto my lap.”

  I didn’t care how many of his babies I had or how many weeks I’d known him, I would never, ever admit to being curious about that sort of intimacy.

  Even if I was.

  Just a little bit.

  Damn hormones. They confused me. Heated me. Drew me closer to Julian’s embrace.

  I shouldn’t have let him kiss me, but his lips grazed mine, soft and tender. A tentative nibble. A soft pulse of desire and hesitance.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  I needed a lie. “I’m…I’m sick to my stomach.”

  “I bet I give you butterflies.”

  I wished I hadn’t parted my lips. My words murmured over his kiss. “You already gave me a baby.”

  His hand brushed my cheek. I wished it had fallen lower.

  “You never answer me honestly,” he said.

  “And what would you do if I did?”

  “Take you to bed right now.”

  I had no doubt
of his intentions. Problem was, I didn’t trust my inhibitions.

  “But what would you do for me?” I teased.

  “Anything your heart desired…” His hand drifted over my shoulder, the swell of my breast, the curve of my hip. “Besides, you still think I’m a stranger. Only one way to fix that.”

  “Dinner and a movie?”

  “One night. My bed. Taken again and again until there’s not an inch of our bodies we don’t recognize.” His words thrilled me. “What could go wrong? I’ve already knocked you up.”

  I swallowed. It was easier when we kissed. Less to speak, so much less to reveal.

  “Maybe the pregnancy isn’t the worst thing that could happen.”

  “What is?”

  Falling for this man.

  Letting him touch me. Hold me. Promise so many delicious and naughty pleasures.

  What was I doing?

  This was Julian Payne.

  I hated him. The insults and the arrogance, the problems he caused and the amount of work I had to do to cover for him. I wasn’t supposed to feel these things for him. Wasn’t supposed to wonder and hope and imagine what would happen during a night in his bed, curled in his arms, pinned beneath him.

  I also wasn’t supposed to be pregnant.

  I’d already screwed so much up. Already wrecked every plan I had for myself, and I hadn’t even begun to reorganize my already fraying life. I couldn’t let it get any more out of control.

  Not just for my own heart, but to protect the little life inside me.

  I pulled away, still tasting him on my lips. “I need to get back to the office.”

  “Come back later,” he said. “I’ll make dinner.”

  “No.”

  “Fine. You bring dinner.”

  “Cowboy.”

  “Princess.”

  He stared at me, jaw set, eyes burning through the damned dress that clung to the wrong parts of me and felt suddenly too rough and scratchy against my heated skin.

  “Tell you what…” I said. “If, by some miracle, you can solve the funding problem for the fair and get me my fireworks, then I’ll be yours all night.”

  “That a promise?”

  “That’s a problem. There’s no money. No chance.” I shrugged. “But you’re free to try.”

  “If it gets you in bed with me?” He adjusted the towel. It did nothing, still tented and so very tempting. “I’ll make you see fireworks.”

  “And then what?” I asked a question that had no easy answer. Nothing we’d want to hear. “Let’s pretend you take me again. Then what?”