Morning Glory Milking Farm by C.M. Nascosta
Chapter 17
“What is that?!”
Rourke scowled from across the lawn, pushing his messy hair from his eyes long enough to glare before it tumbled back into place. She had previously joked that he didn’t own anything less formal than a three-piece suit, and although it was an exaggeration, it was only a slight one. She wasn’t sure what shocked her more now—the sight of him casually dressed in the white t-shirt, tight around his biceps and straining across his broad back, or the fact that it was emblazoned with the words MEGA MILKER and the Farm’s logo.
“What?” he demanded defensively. “It’s not like I wear it out of the house, I’m doing yard work!”
“Yeah, but how did you get it? She held up a hand, groaning, already knowing the answer to her question. “This was in one of the ‘reward tiers’ I’ll bet. How many loads did you need to shoot to work your way up from the coffee cup? Wait, actually, I don’t think I want to know.”
“Happened a lot faster since you started,” he called smugly, restarting the mower with a roar. “I went from the water bottle to the coffee cup in a month. You start milking me like your little cow boys, we might have a tote bag by Halloween, you can use it for trick-or-treating.”
He easily dodged the shoe she threw at him and pushed the mower away, the rumble of his laughter competing with the motor.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head with a scowl, limping with one sandal into the house. “I do all the work, and you get the free company swag.”
Geillis responded to the text she sent immediately.
How did it go? Do I need to drain one of the neighbors?
She’d had university friends that would have jumped at the chance to have been taken care of by a partner, had had friends who’d done exactly that, trading their independence for the ability to splurge on lunches and shopping and makeup. The thought of having an allowance as an adult had never sat well with her, and she had no doubt Rourke’s home would be open to her if she were to express the slightest desire to not find her own place, and even though he’d made good on his promise of spoiling her both in the bedroom and out, wasn’t willing to ruin what they had by rushing things. She needed the security blanket of having her own place, her own independence, a way to keep herself from growing too dependent on his money and bossiness and desire to have her around all the time.
I want to talk to someone from your LEASING OFFICE. I don’t want you eating your neighbor. Wow, I can’t believe I even need to say that.She sighed, smiling before continuing. I don’t want to jinx myself, but I think it went really well. I told them about how my boyfriend took me to Mapplethorpe and that I thought I wouldn’t need to rely on so much synthetic reproduction for their project. He seemed really happy with that. She’d taken all of Rourke’s little lessons on who pulled the strings in town and banked on there being a rivalry between families, a hunch that had seemed accurate.
Brilliant. Everything’s coming up roses, effluvia. I’ll send the number today.
She heard the back door pull open a short while later. The white noise of the mower was gone, and the only sound she could hear coming from outside was the distant yip of Lurielle’s little dog, probably barking at a squirrel. She could hear him in the kitchen, shifting around at the back door, pressing his hooves into the silicone gaiters she’d learned most hooves residents wore indoors to prevent catching their sharper edges on carpeting and preserving their bed linens. When she heard the shower in the master bedroom start, she was certain he’d be grateful for some company to soap his back.
She’d never get tired of the sight of him, she was certain. Warm, nutty brown, so strong, and so soft for her when she needed him to be. Water ran in rivulets down his broad back, cutting tracks through his hide as she stepped into the steamy, stall-like shower. He was ticklish just under the base of his tail, and she’d discovered that the seam of his scrotum was covered in the same barely-there velvet as the inside of his soft ears. She kissed his sac, laving her tongue against the spot where he was most sensitive until his cock began to thicken and swell, fat and firm in her hand as the glass shower wall steamed completely.
She loved the way his big balls slapped against her clit when he entered her from behind, just as she loved the way his brow would furrow when he concentrated on his laptop screen; loved the way he snuffled and snorted up her skin before dipping his mouth between her thighs, and the way he sometimes made the same sounds in his sleep, huffing against the pillow as she pressed to his chest. He was solid and warm beneath her when she slept in his bed, and solid and steady for her when her anxiety obliterated her good sense, as steadily as he held her then, aloft in his arms with her legs wrapped around his hips.
She fell apart beneath the water as he pumped upwards into her: squeezing shut her eyes, tightening her legs as her inner walls clenched around him, gripping him tight. He’d slowed his movements then, always enjoying the way she squeezed his cock, before resuming his shallow upwards thrusts. The odd angle meant he was barely halfway in her on every pump, but when his cock erupted inside her, spattering her inner walls with rope after rope of his thick release, Violet kicked, twitching in his arms, the pressure and fullness making her spasm once more.
“How did it go?” His voice was a low whisper into her neck, none of the command; none of the snarl; only the tender softness he reserved for her.
“I think I got it.” His arms tightened when her entire body trembled, the act of saying the words aloud so much scarier than merely thinking them in her head, and Violet wondered if he’d be able to tell the difference between her tears and the water still gusting from the shower.
“Good. I knew you would.” His cock slipped from her like a particularly corpulent eel, swinging loose with a gush that sent a ripple up her back, splashing to the shower floor like an overturned bucket. “Fuck, it’s going to clog the drain . . .” She squealed, tightening her arms around him when he reached, pulling out one of the pods from the net around the shower head and ripping it open, sprinkling the enzyme to the deluge below. After a moment, it began to sizzle, breaking down the protein that would absolutely clog the drain, the protein for which he practically earned a second income. “Everything is going to work out just fine, sweetheart. You’ll see.”
* * *“A little higher.”
Violet squinted in frustration, not understanding just how high this minotaur wanted her hand to be. It was the third time he’d made the request, and each time she moved her hands farther apart, and each time it evidently wasn’t enough.
“Just a little bit more . . .”
“Why don’t you tell me exactly where you’d like them,” she cut in, tired of playing this guessing game. The bull was close, so close, but something was keeping him from being able to tip over the edge, and the longer they spent playing hotter-colder, the longer it would take him to get there. “I’ll do whatever you need me to, it’s fine.”
“I-I need them to hit my balls.”
She closed her eyes, thinking she should have known. She understood exactly what he liked, because she too loved it when her face was pressed to the mattress and her ass high in the air, Rourke’s heavy balls slapping into her clit on every thrust. “I can definitely do that.” Raising her hand like a paddle, she slapped into the minotaur’s sac as he resumed humping against the bench, coming with a groan before long. I wonder if he’s a Mega Milker.
A pin had come with Rourke’s coffee mug, small and white and glinting, and she’d put it on the strap of her bag, wearing it as a badge of honor, wondering if anyone would see it and give her a knowing look. The bull’s bottle weighed in at eighteen ounces, not quite the volume of the elite, certainly not tote bag-worthy, she thought, giggling as she loaded the tank on the conveyor belt, her mirth interrupted by an insistent buzzing in her pocket.
By the time she made it into the last collection room of the day, he was already settled against the bench, giving her a lascivious smile as she entered. “I want to be milked like a good little cow today.” A command that brokered no argument.
Violet rolled her eyes. “You’re completely ridiculous.” Thick and veined, fatter than it had the right to be, his cock jerked when she took it up in her slickened palms, and above her, he sighed contentedly.
Their relationship had moved quickly, and she’d fretted to Geillis one afternoon her fear that they would burn out as quickly as they’d ignited, but her friend disagreed.
“It’d be different if you were all passion. I’m not saying there’s not passion there,” she defended herself, raising a hand to stave off Violet’s protestations, “but you actually spend time together. It took him a hundred bloody years to give you the ol’ dickory dock, so I don’t think you need to worry about flaming out too fast. Besides, luvvie,” she added, her voice growing softer, “you lot are here for a minute and then you’re gone. Love the ones you love while you got the chance.”
She stroked down his cock in a constant tugging motion, pulling on his balls in opposite intervals, smiling when he huffed and snorted above her.
His head was leaking by the time she began to pump his heavy shaft in earnest, his hips meeting the padded bench rhythmically.
“Mmm, don’t get any funny ideas,” he groaned. “I’m going to be doing this to you later tonight.”
“Tonight and tomorrow,” she agreed, bringing the tight ring of her fingers over his swollen head. “And Sunday morning.”
“Greedy girl.” She could tell by the way his breath hitched that he was close to coming, and reached back to retrieve the nozzle.
“And Monday I have to go sign papers for my apartment.” Rourke jerked sharply at her words, but she was already working the nozzle down his engorged shaft, grinning at the deep low he let out. The green light clicked on as she milked his heavy balls, feeling the pulse of his eruption thudding through them, as familiar as her own heartbeat. The white-filled bottle was tagged and placed in the corner before she hopped lightly up the short staircase, finding him still laying over the padded bench.
“You got the job?”
“I got the job,” she confirmed, leaning in to meet his kiss. “He called just before I came into the room.”
“I hope that apartment is a short-term lease.”
A riot of butterflies moved through her chest. She loved him, of that she was certain. She couldn’t imagine not waking up every weekend to his heavy arm over her, or having dessert first at every meal, and even though it was wildly premature and a conversation she wouldn’t dream of broaching until well after her lease was up, she secretly wondered if he’d ever consider having another ring fitted through his wide pink nose.
“It’s one year and then month-to-month.”
“Perfect,” he murmured against her skin, messy pecan hair tickling her cheek. “I wouldn’t unpack everything if I were you.” His lips were soft and his tongue was hot, and his kiss left her breathless, as it always did, before he pulled himself to his feet to do up his pants.
It was a relief that the new job would be flexible because she’d hate leaving this place, Violet considered. Morning Glory Farm had indeed been a lifeline, in more ways than one. There was no doubt in her mind that if she hadn’t clicked that listing, she’d be sitting in the loft above the garage, depressed and anxious and still horribly in debt, with nothing but Carson Tinsley from up the street and her mother’s well-meaning suffocation to see her through her days.
No caprine coffee shops, no vampire restaurants, and certainly no Mega Milkerz pin on her bag. She would never have met him, would never know the secret smile he possessed if he’d not been in her life, and she had this place was to thank.
“I have something very important to ask you,” he rumbled, arm drawing around her waist, the picture of corporate professionalism once more. “And I’m really hoping you’ll say yes.”
She turned in his arms, her heart in her mouth. “W-what is it?” His palm was warm as it cupped her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek, tender and soft and uniquely him. You definitely love him. No question. He checks every box.
“There’s something called a chocolate lava explosion at that new arcade restaurant that just opened up, and I need to find out what it is. And I really don’t think I’m going to be able to share it. And that place is going to be crawling with kids, so I don’t want to go in. So I was thinking, if I order online, maybe you could . . .”
“You want me to go in and get your little kid’s dessert that you have no intention of sharing with me?” Her breath hitched when he lifted her, cupping her ass as her legs wrapped around him. Every. Single. Box.
“If it’s not too much trouble. I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.”
She was going to settle into her new life in Cambric Creek, she was going to ace this new job, she was going to listen to his neighbor’s very good advice. If you love each other and you’re good together, then it’s worth it.
“You better believe you will.”
After all, Violet thought. If a job was worth doing, it was worth doing well.
~ Rourke and Violet may return in other Cambric Creek stories! ~
Welcome to Cambric Creek . . .
Where the neighbors are a little unconventional and the full moon affects more than just the night sky. Sexy werewolves, adorable mothmen, and randy minotaurs welcome you to settle in and make yourself at home! Are you tired of the typical, run-of-the-mill romances featuring the boring Chad next door? Are you longing for a bit of fang and claw in your love story (and maybe a few tentacles for good measure?) Do non-human/human love stories with a scorching heat level get your pulse pumping?
If so, then set a trap for love with Monster Bait
Sweet Berries ~ Coming Soon
The people at the farm—Cal and Brogan and Caleia and the rest—had become a second family, welcoming her into the fold easily. When she’d first applied for the job, she wasn’t sure it was going to be enough to put her event planning background to use, but three years later she was busy and happy and wouldn’t have it any other way. It was only occasionally, on nights like this when she was lonely and horny, contemplating poor life choices, that she remembered that despite her general happiness, her love life was seriously lacking.
Grace tried to distract herself. As soon as she dropped her bag on the kitchen counter, flicking on the light in her tidy little house, she tried to find some busy work to do—emptying the dishwasher, rinsing the berries, and laying them on a cookie sheet to flash freeze—but the attempted distractions did little to dispel the way she felt itchy in her skin, or the way she pressed her thighs together as she put silverware away, re-exciting the tingle the minotaur’s teasing touch had ignited. Too horny to think. The swing on her screened-in porch seemed as good a place as any for the tray. The berries, she decided, would keep until morning. The persistent ache between her thighs would not.
The day had been humid and the evening warm, but the light breeze coming in through the open bedroom window was cool, and it was a relief to pull the sundress she’d had on since early that morning over her head. A muffled whump sounded in the tree just outside the window as she turned to toss the dress in the hamper, rattling the branches. Whirling in surprise at the noise, Grace waited for a limb to go crashing to the ground, or for the screech of an owl, but several moments passed and nothing came. Too horny to think, now you’re hearing things.
The soft breeze whispered over her breasts as the lace-edged bra joined the dress in the hamper before she tugged the dampened panties down her hips and kicked them in after. She was able to smell her own arousal, still wet from the big minotaur’s teasing. Not going home with him had been a good choice, she knew. She wasn’t really interested in him, only the promise of a night of good sex, but co-workers were tricky things, and when push came to shove, she could take care of that on her own. The finger she pressed into her folds came away slick, and as she dragged the moisture across her clit, she couldn’t help sighing in pleasure. An answering whicker came from outside the window, freezing her with her hand still between her thighs.
There was something out there.
Instantly her skin prickled at the sensation of eyes resting heavily upon her. Something was there, in the tree, watching her from the darkness. The thought alone of something unknown being just outside her window should have been unsettling, the reality that someone was watching as she undressed was terrifying, should have made her lunge for a towel or her robe, to hide! Instead, her nipples tightened at the thought, a fresh ripple of desire heating her core. You did say you were going to start being more adventurous . . . the wet heat of her sex seemed to pulse in agreement against the fingers still pressed there, eliciting another soft moan from her throat. Sure enough, the branches outside rustled as if her voyeur was trying to get a better look.
If they want to watch, you ought to give them a show…
The bed was in the middle of the room, and her mystery watcher had a clear view as she lowered herself to the mattress, sliding to the middle of the bed and opening her legs wide.
* * *
Grace has a job she loves, a community she adores, and plenty of friends . . . but her lack of bedroom action has left this event planner too horny to think. When one ill-advised night at the bar leads to her giving an exhibitionistic show to an unknown presence outside her bedroom window, she thinks she’d hit a new low. When her voyeur turns out to be a nebbishly charming mothman, Grace needs to decide if she can trust her body — and her heart — with this garnet-eyed stranger before he flys out of her life for good.
Sweet Berries is a monster/human romance novella featuring high heat and a lot of heart, with a guaranteed HEA. It is the second book in the Cambric Creek Romance series