Her Homecoming Surrender

"Fucking bullshit." She thought, trying to stay still as she stared at the blank ceiling in Declan's flat in Arbor Hill. The studio was small, crammed with his photography, but she found it romantic, and she wanted to spend as much of her fleeting time in Dublin with him as she could.

In the morning she was flying back to the States, the Midwest, the farm with a capital F. She hadn't seen her parents in almost three years, not since the door closed on her dorm room the day they moved her up to school. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She hadn't meant to let three years go by. The time felt like a gaping hole. An impassable crevasse filled with its own gravity - sucking her mind and all of her energy into it.

She stared at the blank soulless ceiling, its emptiness contrasted by the beauty of the pictures on display around the room, soft moonlight washing in from the windows at the top of the space.

She wished time would stop.

Dublin was everything the farm and school and the states were not. It was modern yet ancient, European and cultured, with all of the flourishes that entailed. Living in a real city in a new country was hot and enthralling in a way that was hard to describe. It pushed every button inside her. She'd spent most of her third college Autumn trying and failing to move on from Graham - we'll get to him - but he faded almost the moment she walked the city for the first time.

Living with her host family in Stoneybatter, she strolled through Phoenix Park the first day and almost every day after. She fell in love with the park and the city and the people.

It was on the Ha'penny Bridge while sketching the cityscape that she met Declan. He was taking pictures that put her drawings to shame, and his passion for the place put her under an immediate spell.

Everything about him tugged at her senses; the stray lock of hair that peeked out of his hat, his deep green eyes that always found the perfect frame for every photo, his fair, rosy skin that was always just a bit pink - particularly when it was windy outside, as they often were.

They fell in together immediately. He knew she was his for only the spring. There was an expiration date on this romance, and he didn't waste it.

The ceiling seemed to grow and shrink like it was mocking her. Chastising her anxiety at returning home to the family she'd neglected - the farm, the smallness of her childhood; mocking her melancholy at, once again, losing a love that filled her with passion.

She breathed deeply, trying to keep quiet. Eyes on the ceiling.

His hand found her leg, sending a familiar tingle through her body.

"You should be asleep," she whispered. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"I didn't want to sleep through your last night," he gave back in the cute Irish accent that always made her smile. His hand traced the inside of her thigh while his lips found her shoulder, softly kissing her arm. As he knew she wanted, his fingers began to dig into her leg more firmly. It felt very good. He'd learned her body well in a short time.

She'd already had him tonight, but she was glad he was awake for one more time together before they'd part.

She reached for his head. He always responded to her when she ran her fingers through his hair as he worked on her. She liked the feel of it, the control, guiding his head where she wanted him.

His kisses left little tingly spots all down her chest and stomach, a warmth growing inside her as he slid down the bed. Tugging a bit at his hair, she spread herself for him and he obeyed, immediately covering her mound with his mouth and tongue, wetting her and giving just a bit of pressure. She pulled his face into her, but he pulled away.

"No, no," he teased. "Not too quickly. This is my last time with you."

She loved when he made her wait.

Slowly, he started again. His tongue first found the outer edges, tracing around her inner thighs, the walls, just the outer lips - her hands pulling his hair again. She closed her eyes; the ceiling passed into the abyss.

Her mind started to calm as his tongue entered her, probing and dashing a bit, denying her clit any attention, waiting to build tension for her. Her legs widened as her whole body started to feel warm. He continued, slowly, carefully, methodically, never missing a beat. Every part of her sex getting attention, his hands moving over her ass - pulling her into his mouth and caressing, yet denying the one area she craved. Her neck strained and her hands and hips pushed into him, trying to move him to the spot.

He moved up, very slowly. Her hands yanked his hair as he slipped first one, then two fingers inside her, slowly tapping. Her mind focused only on her spot, waiting for him to tease it, then press into it.

At last, her head rolled back, body arching, hips meeting his face as she ground into him. His lips covered her clit as his tongue pressed down, lightly at first, his fingers still keeping their rhythm. She felt everything rising around her, almost floating. His pressure built slowly, holding steady as she tried to merge his face into her.

She gasped, letting go. Her vision blinked out as her body shuddered. Warmth flooded her as she pressed harder into him, everything on fire, like a conflagration of bliss. He held steady, unmoving, letting her squeeze onto him as she held onto every second. Her legs locked onto his head as she came.

Slowly opening her eyes, they once again found the ceiling. All frustration was gone. She glanced down at Declan, his face still tucked between her legs, green eyes gazing up warmly at hers, a sort of proud look in them. "This is how I want to remember you," she said, rustling his curls once more and giving his face a last squeeze between her legs.

He smiled, kissing her before tossing the cover over her just so, legs still dangling out, her chest bare. He walked to his setup, grabbing his Lecia M6 and winking at her. She blushed a bit, grabbing the covers to pose for him.

"And this is how I want to remember you," he rebutted, jumping onto the bed and taking a few shots of her from above, her bare legs and breasts exposed, hair tossed just enough to suggest what might have taken place. She was sure he'd get the perfect shot. He always did.

She never felt so alive.

--------------------------

Sitting in her window seat she gazed at the endless sea. The Aer Lingus flight gave her plenty of time to reflect - on her time in Ireland, on her college years, on what she wanted to say to her family, on why she stayed away for so long, on Declan, and Graham, and the others.

As she settled into her seat her mind began to wander on her journey to Declan. How she had come to have a whirlwind affair with a hot Irish lad for that short semester.

Really, it all went back to her brother's best friend, Clint. She'd chased him and Nate around for years, secretly hoping he'd kiss her. He never did. He was her first fantasy - the first reason she touched herself, before she even knew what that meant. But that was all when they were kids. Six years was a long time. She'd grown up a lot since then.

She'd made it through the homecoming backseat fracas with Tom, trying to play it cool and not get caught and pretend like she knew what she was doing. She definitely did not. She had no idea what to do when she felt him for the first time. It was exciting! A penis! What the fuck do I do with this? Rub really fast? WTF? Help?!? And, well, let's just say Tom sure as shit did NOT know what to do with her. Her vagina might as well have been the lost city of gold.

She'd made it through her first love with Miles. The first semi-serious, sort of long-term, kind-of real thing. They'd tried to be a real couple. He really did care for her, and she for him. She'd given her first blowjob. He came in her mouth. It was like a BIG surprise when it happened. Uh... Hello! WTF now?!? Miles tried to please her too, seeming to be interested in learning what she liked. But they were young and didn't really know what their bodies responded to. And Miles moved away, which sucked.

There were the inevitable flings. The moments in high school. The dances and the dates and the hallways and the movie theaters. The backs of cars. The nervous, uncomfortable petting and groping and fumbling when neither she nor her partner knew how to do it right. Her hands were too quick or too slow. The boys who were too quick, or never interested in warming her up, or too frisky, or too rough.

But when she went off to college she figured things would get better. She'd settle in and find a rhythm. The capital letter M-E-N at a university would know what they were doing, right?

Right?!?!

It turns out they teach a lot of stuff at school, but not everything. Some things are self-taught and best learned through rigorous experimentation.

RIGOROUS.

Not that she minded. She had a couple of regulars and they were pretty generous, willing to experiment with her, letting her learn and give and receive. Sort of a minor in human sexuality, which should really be a mandatory course for everyone.

That first year was like a dream. She wanted to be the stereotype - THAT girl from the small farm town who made it to the big school and just went fucking wild. She found herself enthralled with the newness of it all. Experiencing passion and romance and wildness; taboos, all the things she was NOT supposed to be doing.

She had her first one-night stand. It was way better than it should have been. Not because he was particularly good; he wasn't. He was fine enough - a cute guy at the frat party. Just the perfect catalog picture of a college boy, with the collared shirt and the blonde hair - not too short, but tucked back slightly, behind his ears. He was taller than her, and strong enough to make her feel small in his arms when they were naked together. The sex was like totally drunk frat house C- stuff. Exactly the shit people laugh about years later. Mostly she remembered liking the kinky feeling that she didn't know him at all. That a party hookup was a B-A-D girl thing, a thing you read about in THOSE BOOKS. The thing the church ladies gossip about to their friends about the other women's daughters who had gone astray.

It made her feel really, really naughty.

She also felt really horny when she walked home the next morning in her dress from the night before. Like, incredibly turned on. Watching all the guys just take her in with their eyes as she walked down the hallway, down the stairs, past the main room, and out the door. She could feel each of them imagining that they were the ones with her the night before. She really liked it.

It's not like she did that on the regular though. Rarely. But she did learn something about herself. About novelty and newness and kink.

After a couple of months, she met Graham at the animal shelter she volunteered at on the weekends. He had the softest eyes she'd ever seen. They just sort of gathered you to him, like the soft comfort of your favorite teddy bear or a picnic blanket in a field on a warm clear summer day. There was this relaxed energy around him that just made everything radiate. They caught on pretty quickly and spent most of his final two years together.

She loved his writing - he studied English literature; often coming to her with some random thing he'd written her, a flourish. She found it endearing and romantic. He also was talented in bed, and extremely unselfish, allowing her to unpack what really drove her and pleased her. It was the "core" portion of her minor studies in sexuality.

He was the first person to properly go down on her. Most of the previous guys had done it as a precursor to get a blowjob. You know, kind of an obligation or as a payback or something. He did it like he was ravenous. Like his only object in life was to eat her pussy. He took his time even before teasing her, kissing her mouth, touching her back and thighs. When he finally touched her properly she was so hot for it she barely needed much to get pretty close to cumming. He did it in a way that made her want his hand and mouth like she never knew was possible, but still, he'd go slow, not rushing, denying her, holding back, making her crave it. Everything he did heightened her pleasure. The other guys couldn't wait to get her underwear off, most of the time they couldn't wait to get to intercourse, like foreplay was an STI.

Graham would make it a special game, almost making her beg him, like he was doing her the favor, like she needed him for this thing, without his help, without his fingers, without his mouth, she'd be frozen forever in this torture. Then he'd slowly take them down and trace around her, first with his fingers, softly, slowly, followed by his mouth and tongue. He never rushed, never stopping or neglecting or failing to tend to an area of her body. His hands were always in motion. His tongue slowly built pressure into her, first inside her and then on her clit as she'd press back into him. Even now on the plane, she could almost feel his mouth on her. How he'd take all the time to tease her to the edge, then, when she was nearly there, he'd maintain his pressure, adding his fingers and driving her over to bliss.

She missed him.

The last year since he'd graduated had been hard. She really struggled to find her way without him. But the trip to Ireland had been a break through the malaise. She hadn't really set out to find Declan, but he really helped her on the path forward in a healthy way. He was a perfect next step.

She'd miss Declan like she missed Graham. Both now parts of her, pieces of who she was, a part of her journey.

The sea continued on below as the anxiety began to creep back. Her dad would be at the airport to meet her when she landed. How were they going to be? What was she going to say?

--------------------------

The driveway turned from asphalt to the familiar dirt she remembered from the long childhood summer days on the farm. Her memories started flowing back as the truck began to shudder and lurch along the road home. The white wooden fence lined both sides of the road marking the pens for the livestock, horses on one side with workers attending the cows on the other. Her dad, typically silent, driving a bit too fast as usual, seemed pleased to have her back.

It happened by accident, really - the three years since she'd been home. She'd left for school assuming she'd be home for holidays and summers and all the things kids and parents tell themselves when they stand at the dorm entrance with tears flowing as they part. But she hadn't been home. She loved it at school. She had everything there. A life, opportunity, occasionally love, certainly adventure. And she'd spent the previous spring in Dublin, studying architectural and landscape design in an amazing place meeting amazing people (and Declan of course). Because she'd been in Dublin all spring, she didn't have a room at school for the summer, so here she was, back home.

Looking at her dad felt nice. His face was familiar in all the good ways. He didn't make her feel guilty for all the time away like he could have, probably should have. He'd helped squelch a bit of her anxiety.

The farmhouse was flanked by the large barn on the south side. She looked forward to reuniting with Rascal. Her horse had been her primary companion in middle and high school, helping her through her awkward phase and teaching her how to push through the difficult moments and find her stride.

As the truck came to a stop, she caught a glimpse of her brother Nate and her mother, both looking happy to see her, another piece of her stress falling away.

"The story is the Prodigal Son" Nate quipped as she opened the door. "Not the Prodigal Daughter!"

"Stop it." Mom slapped a dishrag at him, rushing over to give her a hug, eyes already watering.

"Hi Momma, I'm sorry it's.."

"Shh"

As she collapsed into her mother's arms the emotions came tumbling out as the place folded back into her mind, filling her with a kaleidoscope of visions. She was ten again, chasing Nate and Clint through the woods, begging for them to let her fish with them in the creek. Then she was thirteen, dying inside as she watched Clint saddle Rascal for her.

The night flew by as she caught up over dinner and several bottles of Pinot Noir. Dad brought his favorite Cliff Lede out for the homecoming. The fear and anxiety she held for so long was unnecessary, they were happy to have her here. She was surprised to be happy to be home.

As they were finishing the last bottle, she walked to the front porch with Nate, taking in the stars.

"Are the hands still here?" She asked, noting the lights still on in the barn.

"Oh, yeah. Clint usually stays pretty late working with the horses these days. He likes to make sure everything is finished the way he likes before he goes home."

"Clint....."

"Oh, you probably don't know. Clint manages the whole operation now. When he graduated, he came here. Took over as full-time manager last year. Showed up pretty much as soon as you left."

Sparks ignited in her mind. Clint was the first boy she'd ever crushed hard on. She hadn't seen or spoken to him since he graduated high school and left for college six years ago - a lifetime ago.

Clint was here. Clint was HERE.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

--------------------------

She took longer than she was proud of getting dressed the next morning, trying to find just the right combination - something that said: "I'm an adult and I'm hot, but I'm also classy, and I'm definitely someone you want to fuck, but also I'm someone you can put that ring on, and your mom will love me, and I look good naked."

Basically, she tried on everything, eventually going with a pair of jean shorts, her nice riding boots, and a matching top for her good cowgirl hat.

When she entered the barn, she went to Rascal, who immediately began neighing. Her heart fluttered. She missed her horse. She placed her hand on Rascal's face, rubbing her between the eyes. It would be fun to ride again.

After saddling her, she headed out, taking the trail south to get Rascal used to having her on her back again. They trotted around the property for an hour, moving between the pens and fields, making their way down the stream where Nate and Clint would never let her fish with them when they were all little.

It felt good to ride Rascal again, having the wind flowing around them both as she galloped. The feel of the ground underneath them as she cornered and trotted. It all came back to her like the three years had been one long weekend.

As they walked back towards the barn, she saw him. It was definitely Clint. But not Clint from those years ago. This was a full man, a cowboy. He filled out his jeans and shirt well, sleeves rolled up as he tossed the bails of hay out to the feeders. His eyes were cloaked in shadow under his hat; his boots - well broken in. His face was lean from the farm work, a strong jaw tanned by the sun.

She continued to pace Rascal towards the pen where he was working. He paused, removing his hat to wipe his brow, giving the sun a chance to light his face. His dark hair tossed about his neck as he turned toward her, his eyes finding hers.

She waited, not sure what she would say if he spoke.

"Well, well, well. Look who's back," he said, clearly recognizing her.

"I hear you're the boss around here now," she said, playfully. "Do I need permission to ride in your fields Mr?"

He laughed. "I think Rascal would run me over if I didn't let her take you out."

"She's still got legs under her, good strides today." She sensed an opportunity, so she took it. "You should grab one of the others at the barn tomorrow and see if you can keep up."

"I know these horses and these grounds better than you now. You'd have to bring it all just to stay within view," he fired back, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

"You're on" she offered, giving him an opening.

He salvoed back. "I'll be riding tomorrow with the cattle. We should have them all in for grazing after lunch. Out past the big oak, the one you always climbed too high in."

"Make sure you pick a good horse. Rascal will be ready." She flashed a smile, stood up in the saddle letting him see her a bit, then gave Rascal a quick nudge into a full gallop. She wanted him to watch her ride off.

Just a tease for now.

She'd set the hook later.

--------------------------

The warm summer breeze streamed over her face as she trotted Rascal out south of the farm. The fields where the cattle would be were flanked by a stream and an old oak tree where she'd get stuck out on the limbs regularly as a young child. It was annoying that Clint remembered.

The cattle were all in the field. Clint sat astride Ember, one of the younger fillies in the fold. She had no idea what to expect from this horse but knew Clint was competitive. She'd need her focus. But he looked fucking good on that horse.

"Wasn't sure you'd show up?" He taunted, almost begging her to engage.

"You're just afraid you might lose to a girl."

"What's our aim here?"

"You're the BIG... BOSS... MAN." she mocked in a deep, semi-sultry voice. "Plus I'm not sure what you all have changed out here in the last few years. Suggest a good ride. Something that will push the girls and give them room to stretch their legs."

He thought for a minute, taking his hat off as he gazed around the space. She took the time to gaze at him.

"Alright. We're already by the creek, so let's follow it down to the bottom where it meets the bridge. We'll head up to the old barn from there, cross into the trail through the woods up to the hanging tree. Then down the hillside road to the hen house, from there, it's the open field all the way back to the barn."

She went over the route in her mind, memorizing it, playing it in her head. Figuring out where she'd have a chance to pass him and Ember.

"Let's do it," she said. "What's the winner get?"

His eyes blanked for a moment. "Uh... not sure..." He clearly hadn't considered what might come next.

"How about... loser buys first-round drinks at Maggie's tonight?" She quipped.

His eyes opened wider, recognizing the implication, the corners of his lips again bending up ever so slightly. "Let's make it the first two rounds since I'm not losing." Then he gave her a real smile.

She swatted at him with her hat, dug her heels into Rascal who seemed to know what was up, and immediately dashed into a full gallop.

"Hey.." She heard trailing off behind her as the wind picked up, the horse beneath her finding her full speed.

She glanced back and Clint was only a few paces behind. Ember was no slouch. And any mercy he might have shown was now out the window with her little cheating stunt.

She tucked her head down letting Rascal move beneath her, absorbing her thundering pace as the creek slowly bent eastward. The field on the other side was fenced in with some of their other horses grazing. A few lifted their heads watching the two fillies blazing by.

About fifty yards from the bridge, she started to plan the turn, easing into Rascal, slowing her just a bit for the uphill climb. The old barn was about a half mile away and the terrain was pretty open, Ember would have a chance to pass. But it was pretty steep, and Rascal was not a young girl anymore. She needed to save her legs for the home stretch.

Making sure to give her horse plenty of space, she began a slower trot up the hill. She felt Clit behind her to her left as they started the climb.

"Bad girls get spankings..." he tossed at her as he pulled even, his horse only a couple of feet away. Rascal was working hard.

"You're doing great, Rascal. They'll get their spanking at the end."

She watched Ember slowly pull ahead as the broken, battered, barn with missing boards and peeling paint came into view. If she could get Rascal to the barn with good energy, she'd be fine the rest of the way. The trail wouldn't give her a chance to pass. It was narrow, but she could let Clint set the pace... and maybe admire his ass for a bit.

Rascal took position behind Ember, trotting just a couple of paces behind, in perfect position for the home stretch. Clint rode on Ember as a confident cowboy. His back tapered from strong shoulders, built from tossing hay and moving the livestock, down to a slim waist. His legs were strong, holding tight to Ember's sides. His hands gripped the reins with confidence, a man who'd ridden before and knew where he was taking his horse.

She smiled to herself when she did sneak a peak as he'd occasionally lift out of the saddle, standing. Her imagination started to run.

Ember picked up pace as they neared the edge of the wooded trail, Rascal matched - without any direction. She wanted to win the race too.

They emerged from the trail and found the hillside road. This downhill run allowed for passing, but she wanted Rascal to draft off Ember, to let Clint set the pace, let him stumble into the final stretch thinking it was in the bag. Use his confidence against him.

Both horses handled the dirt well, digging into the downhill grade and moving quickly, though not at a full gallop. Clint occasionally looked behind, and every time was met with a smile and a wink just to play with him a bit, keep him on edge.

Near the bottom, the road began to level out, allowing both horses to regain the gallop and start to pick up speed with the ninety-degree turn at the hen house only meters away.

The two hands working the hen house looked up, amused as the two of them thundered by at speed. Ember first, then Rascal only a pace behind as they straightened up for the dash to the barn.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Clint looked back at her again.

Now!

She dug into Rascal, and her old friend responded perfectly, launching to her top speed in a burst, giving everything she had left.

His eyes widened as the gap closed.

Both horses thundered down the main stretch at full speed neck and neck.

With meters left they were side-by-side. She could feel his eyes on her, exactly where she wanted them. Her eyes were straight ahead, focused, one goal, the finish line.

As they crossed the threshold into the main field she turned to him and raised her hand.

She pulled the reins, bringing Rascal down to a trot and then a brisk walk as Ember pulled beside her.

"I mean, it was probably a photo finish." He quipped.

"Oh COME ON" She shot back. "Rascal totally had you! You were too busy looking at me!" She smiled and winked again, beaming.

He reached out, tipping her cap. "Alright. Drinks for the lady tonight."

"I'll see YOU at eight. Bring your dancing boots."

--------------------------

Exactly at eight, she waltzed into Maggie O'Brien's, an older bar on the edge of town, well kept up and always with a band on Thursday nights. The owners were friends of her folks.

The space was bigger than typical for a small town bar, hosting a large seating area with a dance floor in the middle and a stage for the band. High tables, games, billiards, darts, and a long wooden bar occupied the side opposite the restaurant seating.

Clint was on a stool at the end of the bar, an open seat beside him. He was watching her as she entered.

She made her way across the dance floor, pausing to join the line dance in progress for a few measures, loosening up a bit and letting her body relax. She hopped in between two older gentlemen who both seemed quite happy to have her join. After a couple of turns - her body warmed up, she continued to the bar.

"How does an old Irish gal know how to line dance?" He teased.

"Gosh, the people here are just so nice. They showed me all the moves. Did I do it right?" She mocked, tossing her hair and touching his shoulder as she gave him a wink. He rewarded her with a laugh.

The bartender pulled up. Clint was already nursing what looked like a whiskey on the rocks. "What can I getcha?" She asked.

"Gin and Tonic, please"

"Coming right up."

She turned to Clint, who had a shocked look on his face.

"What is that for?"

"No Guinness?"

"I was there for, like, 14 weeks. They don't make you swear the Guinness Oath unless you've lived there a full year."

He smiled again. She liked his smile. And she was pleasantly surprised by how quickly he was responding to her. This might work.

"Tell me all about it. I've never been out of the country."

They spent the next hour talking about Dublin, the neighborhoods: Temple Bar and Portobello, Ballsbridge, and her place in Stoneybatter. She gushed about the landscapes at Phoenix Park and the Botanic Gardens, the views from Ha'penny Bridge, the architecture at Trinity College and Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin Castle. She filled him in with tales of the pubs: The Brazen Head and O'Donoghue's. The food at The Winding Stair, the Avoca Cafe. He kept eye contact throughout.

She thought it best to leave out Declan.

As Clint drained the bottom of his second Jack Daniel's, the band started Sam Hunt's Body Like a Back Road.

"It's time you showed me your moves, Mr Boss Man." She grabbed his hand and pulled him to dance, not giving him the opening to protest.

They made their way to the floor, finding space in the middle and joining the line dance already in progress.

Clint moved well, keeping pace and staying in rhythm, looking at her occasionally as he took his cues from the lady leading upfront.

She reached out for his hand, which he took, and she spun for him holding his gaze as she did so, capturing his attention and disrupting his movements, throwing off his timing a bit. He laughed and she giggled back as he regained his footing, again matching the group.

The song ended and the line dance broke. The band played the first few notes of Cruise by Florida Georgia Line, and she grabbed his hand, shaking a finger at him to let him know he wasn't getting away with just one line dance.

He didn't shrink away, instead matching her swaying, placing his hand around her waist as they began to prance around the floor, moving away and back together in a similar fashion to their race earlier in the day. His eyes looked into hers, but she couldn't read them. They weren't distant or cold, but there was something she couldn't see, something there - keeping him from engaging fully with her.

As the dance wore down and the band switched to Chris Stapleton's Tennessee Whiskey, Clint broke away asking if she'd like a refill on her drink.

Something was wrong.

She could see in his eyes he wanted her. She could feel the chemistry. It was there from the moment he was under the tree on Ember that morning. But now there was something else, some distance, some gulf keeping them apart.

As they sat at the bar she tried to bridge the gap, but he had put up a wall. They finished the final drink, he gave her a hug, a good, nice hug, but just a hug. When they broke she could see it was there in his eyes - he wanted more. He wanted her. He wanted to taste her lips, to feel her skin, to take her and hold her, and fall over the edge together. She could see he wanted all of her.

She looked right into his eyes, inviting him in for all of it.

But he just walked away.

Shit.

--------------------------

She sat in her room staring at another ceiling.

Goddamn ceilings.

This time was different. She knew what she wanted. And she knew he wanted her. She just needed to get him in a place where he wouldn't be able to deny what he already had inside him. She had to break through his wall, force beyond his boundary. Get him somewhere his body would override his mind. Somewhere he'd trip up and allow the passion she saw in his eyes flow, let his mind follow the rest of his body.

How would she get him to do that?

What was the problem holding him back?

Why was he keeping himself from her?

She lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all she remembered about Clint. The times they shared as kids. His family and how he struggled in high school, how getting into college was such a big deal. She remembered his scholarships, her brother bringing him extra stuff from their place when he'd need it for their sports. The trips they'd take where he'd tag along. The extra stuff her dad would sneak into his bags before their practices, sometimes without him knowing. The holidays his whole family would spend at their place, eating and drinking, taking it all in. How her dad had always let him help out around the farm for extra cash in the summers.

She remembered the first time he saw her with a boy at school, his face.

She thought about all the places in the world he could have chosen to work. All the farms in the country. All the cattle, all the horses, all the barns.

Oh.

Oh shit.

--------------------------

It was a deluge. Rain seemed to be coming from every direction. Water everywhere. Noah would have panicked; his ark unworthy. She'd planned a whole goddamned thing, this whole fucking deal to get Clint alone and sort of semi-seduce him. Get all cute. Make it so he couldn't resist.

All water under the bridge with this damn river coming down from the heavens. Cleopatra wouldn't look hot in this flood.

Fucking rain.

Still. She wasn't letting it go. She felt it last night. The chemistry was there. He'd put something up between them when he looked at her, but he wanted to tear it down - she could tell. She just needed to get through to him. She had to help him break through that first barrier.

Running for cover, she jogged into the barn, hoping for any signs of life. She was relieved to find one of the hands tending to the morning feedings. She approached as the older Latin woman glanced up at her.

"Good morning! You wouldn't happen to know where Clint is today would you?" She asked, trying not to appear desperate as she stood there a sopping wet mess.

"Mr Clint left an hour ago. He went to let the cattle out to feed. Down by field six." She went back to feeding the horses.

Rascal's head poked out from her stall at the sound of voices.

He's out in this rain. And about a half-mile ride away.

Rascal looked at her in anticipation.

Let's ride, old girl.

--------------------------

So... very... wet.

She approached the field and the cows were mostly huddled under a patch of trees in the center of the space. A Honda ATV was parked at one edge, some posts hung off the rear bed. Clint worked on the fence nearby.

Why was he even out here?

She brought Rascal up the road approaching him slowly, rain pouring over both of them, soaked completely through. A river flowing where the gravel should be showing.

She dismounted as she got near, tying her horse off a few posts away before Clint noticed. The sound of rain drowned everything out.

It wasn't until she was nearly opposite him, the fence cutting the space between them, that he noticed she was there.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" He sort of yelled over the drum beat of the rain. Not in an aggressive way, more in a perplexed, shocked manner. Whatever barrier he'd put between them last night was gone, now he had genuine concern in his eyes, a sort of deep affection and care, almost in wonder at her insanity to be out in the deluge.

She hadn't really thought through what she was going to do when she got out here. She just knew she needed to jump-start things. His eyes told her she was right. He felt what she felt. He wanted her.

She needed to push him.

"Why didn't you want to slow dance?" She demanded.

"It's fucking pouring rain!" His arms went wide, showing her all around. Displaying the obviousness of the weather. His eyes moving everywhere but meeting hers. Pleading with her insanity to dodge the question and let him off the hook.

She held firm.

Push him off balance.

"Why didn't you want to slow dance?" She demanded again, giving him no space.

"You are soaking wet. You have barely anything on. You don't need to be out here." He wouldn't look into her eyes, hands flailing about like he was drowning. He looked at her with genuine despair.

He was falling apart.

She climbed between the horizontal fence sections, approaching him, shrinking the distance, collapsing the space, blocking his evasion.

Push him.

"This is nuts, you know. It never rains like this. We could have done this in the barn or after work or like really anywhere it's not a flash flood!"

He didn't back up.

Push.

She stepped closer.

Another step.

His eyes finally collapsed into hers. She grabbed for his hands, which he allowed.

This time, with a slower, more compassionate voice: "Why didn't you want to slow dance?"

He sighed deeply.

The water poured off both of them. His hair was like a river, trails flowing off his nose, down his chin, shirt completely soaked, almost see-through. His jeans turned a deep blue, almost black. She couldn't feel the water at all, everything was just his eyes.

She watched him struggle with the words. Starting and stopping several times.

She held his hands, softly, but without giving him room to move away, holding his gaze.

He fumbled, trying but failing, awash and lost, but steady, He stayed with her. He wasn't moving away. His eyes were panicked.

She threw him a raft, saving him.

"I'm here now. I'm right here, right now."

He grabbed her. Hard. Immediately. Like she'd never been grabbed before. It stung, in a good way. His lips met hers so fast she barely saw him move. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into him, burying her in his chest as he kissed her, his tongue reaching into her like he was trying to pull back all the moments from their past he had held back.

Her mind melted as she folded into his embrace.

They stayed, locked in each other's arms for what seemed like an eternity, kissing and grabbing and holding and touching. It was as if the sun shone bright, they felt nothing but each other, the water adding only to their sensation. When they broke, his hand cupped her cheek and he stared into her eyes.

"I've been waiting my whole life for that moment." He admitted.

"Me too."

--------------------------

The next couple of weeks flew by. They saw each other almost daily. He insisted they date "properly" - whatever that meant. And he was very gentlemanly when it came to intimacy. A little too gentlemanly, honestly.

By the time the fourth "proper" date rolled around, he invited her for dinner at his place. She was excited to get some proper quality time. She made herself up in a classy summer dress and pulled her hair up in a way she knew he liked, making sure to spray on some nice perfume. She wore something special underneath, hoping maybe tonight she'd get more of that Clint who grabbed her out in the rain, the guy who let go and just went with it. She needed that guy.

He'd kept his place up nice, candles on the table, everything tidy. The meal was well prepared, accompanied by a nice bottle of wine - he knew her family had a preference for reds from California so he had one open when she arrived. He'd made her things he remembered she'd liked when they were kids, which was cute, endearing.

The space was well put together for a single guy in his 20s working all the time and not that long out of school. He clearly didn't "just clean up" for her. He had stuff on the walls, furniture that didn't fold up. Earlier, she'd made an excuse to use the bathroom to snoop, the towels were soft and the shower had a nice curtain. There were even feminine hygiene products out for use.

The whole space was nice, he was an adult, but she was aching for him to take her to the bedroom.

After they polished off the first bottle, he went to open a second. She rose, stopping him.

"Clint, can I ask you something?"

He stopped, turning to her, "Sure."

She closed the space between them, holding out her hand, waiting for him to put his hands in hers, which he did.

"This is very nice. Everything you are doing is very nice. I love all of it."

"I feel like there's a 'but' coming." He interjected.

"I want to see you fully. The Clint who was in the rain. Will you let me see him?"

He looked at her again. This time his eyes were more vulnerable, a sort of scared shame in them, like he was hiding behind them.

"I'm afraid that when this summer is over and you go back to school, this is just going to have been the thing you did for summer break."

"You're afraid I'm going to hurt you. So you don't want to get all the way deep in with me, that way you'll feel safer for yourself?"

"I don't know. You sort of unlocked something in me in the rain. It scared me a little."

"I really liked that Clint. I really would like to be with that Clint again. That Clint excites me and makes me want to be around him. I saw him in our horse race too."

She placed his arms around her back, then pulled his hips to hers. She rested her head on his chest, listening to his elevated heartbeat.

"Clint, we can drink all the wine you want. You can open all the bottles, and we can do whatever you'd like. But I'm here because I want the real you. Give me you, fully, and I'm in. No barriers. All of you. Hold nothing back from me."

He said nothing, holding her, but she heard his heartbeat quicken. Her hands caressed the small of his back as she held him there in the kitchen, waiting, hoping he'd open up to her.

His hand came around her back and up to her cheek, pulling her face up, bringing her lips in contact with his. She pulled him closer as he grabbed at her back, giving her the tug she felt in the rain, the strength, the passion, him fully.

She disappeared into his arms as he squeezed her, holding her in his arms, their tongues meeting, dancing as their lips met.

This was the Clint she wanted. She heard him slowly exhale, releasing whatever he was keeping back.

Her hands moved down, grasping for his buckle, determined that this night would not end in PG-13 fashion, She released his belt and buttons reaching around back to get herself a handful of his ass. She smiled as she did, which briefly broke their kiss and his concentration as he realized she was being playful. She licked his mouth briefly before resuming their kiss as she massaged with her hands, fingers digging into his flesh, the jeans stretching over her hands as she worked.

He slowly released his grip on her, tracing his hands over her back and hips. She shook her ass when his hands found them, encouraging him to free her pant buttons as well. He was a quick learner, following her directions, and his hands found the lingerie she hoped she'd get to show off tonight.

"Oh!" He said, getting exactly the response she desired.

She smiled deviously, giving him a wink, and shed her top, revealing her matching bra.

"Oh, yes." He gave again, her back stinging as his hands dug into her, giving her proof he was back.

She pulled him to her again, her pants nearly falling off, wanting to feel more of his body, wanting to feel him on her, inside her.

She pulled at his shirt, grasping at the bottom trying to claw it off him, the buttons not really cooperating. He tried to help, but it was a tight-fitting dress shirt. It looked great on him, like really great, but it was IN-THE-WAY...

With impatient fingers, she worked the buttons, her tongue once again finding his to placate her lust, her legs starting to feel the wetness she hoped the night would bring.

So.

Many.

Goddamn.

Buttons.

Hell yes. Shirt was off. Her hands slowly traced his chest, sort of dancing around, playing, mapping the space for later. He paused, allowing her to use him, letting her take her time with his flesh, digging her hands into his stomach, his arms, before he stopped her and bent down.

Her feet were in the air. He lifted her with ease, tossing her over his shoulders like a bail of hay.

"So that's how it is?" She quipped, smacking the small of his back just above his butt where his jeans were struggling to stay aloft. Trying to pinch whatever she could as she was paraded about the place like his piece of ass.

She FUCKING LOVED it.

He carried her across his living room, wordlessly opening the door to the bedroom she'd earlier hoped to catch a glimpse of. With a heft, he tossed her onto the bed, standing over her with a broad grin as she lay there, her hair strewn everywhere, nearly topless, on his flannel comforter.

"You better get those pants off, MR-BOSS-MAN" She teased, slowly drawing out the ending, trying to sound both sexy and demanding. He gave her a nod and did as instructed.

She patted the spot next to her, but he stood there, nude, allowing her to take in his form. It was a good form. Her eyes were happy to oblige, scanning him like a piece of meat ready for consumption. His legs were muscular, but not bulky, holding up a strong torso, building to the V-shape in his chest and shoulders, his arms strong enough to toss her with ease. She was pleased with what she saw between his legs.

He reached down for her pant bottoms, pulling them off in a single swipe, tossing them aside, and crawling towards her from the foot of the bed. His lips met her foot, kissing the top as his hands dug into the soul, massaging it, he worked his way up her legs slowly, moving back and forth with his hands, she played with his hair, tugging slightly as he pleasured her skin.

When he reached her already wet panties, he kissed the fabric, leaving them covered - to her disappointment, instead grabbing her ass and moving his kisses up her sides towards her waiting lips.

As his tongue met hers, her desire erupted. She was pawing at him. He unhooked her bra, massaging her breasts as they kissed, his knee moving between her legs, giving her some pressure to grind into. Her pussy was gushing.

He pushed into her with his knee, harder, pulling her torso to him, kissing her deeply. Her mind faded as she started to collapse into the void. Was he really going to make her cum with her panties still on?

He slowed down, reaching his hand down first over the soaked garment, then pulling it aside as he slipped a finger inside her.

"Oh god." She groaned, finally getting the attention she desired. His digit slowly tugged inside her, a sort of come-hither motion on the roof of her, just enough pressure to make her body flex into him, to bend to his will. She was gone, all control lost, her will evaporated. She was his.

He pulled out, quickly removing her panties. Again kissing her, then returned, with two fingers this time. His rhythm worked quickly, her hips involuntarily bucking into his wrist as his tongue met hers. As she began to gasp, slightly arching, breathing in deeply, he slipped out and pressed hard on her clit.

She exploded.

"Holy Shit!"

Her legs shook. She grabbed onto anything she could as her vision blanked out. Nothing existed, the universe was gone. A million little fireflies all buzzing perfectly at once. The best moment ever. Everything was fuzzy and warm. Bliss. Perfection.

She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, with a sort of proud-gloating look on his face. She half-smacked his face and grabbed him to kiss him.

"Not fair." She said, after the kiss.

He laughed, then turned to the night table, opening the drawer. As he began to unwrap the condom, she took his hand, stopping him.

"I'm safe. You are safe with me. After what you just did, I need to feel you inside me."

He looked straight into her eyes, no barriers.

"I want you to cum inside me."

He held her by the chin, giving her a soft kiss, a sort of lover's embrace, then grabbed her by the arms, placing her in the middle of the bed.

On her back, she spread herself wide for him, wanting him to see all of her as she gave herself to him.

She could see he was already fully erect. He took a moment, rubbing his shaft on the wet mess she had left for him, slowly spreading her lips, teasing her clit a few times, then slowly entering her.

She pulled at his arms, wanting to feel his weight on her, to feel the full force of him on top of her, all of him pressing into her, filling her.

But he slowly pulled back out, again teasing her. He looked at her smiling.

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" He quipped, again rubbing his thickness on her labia, against her clit, around her outsides.

Her body bucked and ground into him. She wanted him, FUCKING NOW!

"Tell me you want it." He demanded. Again, penetrating only once before pulling out and teasing her.

Jesus.

Her body was on fire again.

"I want it." She said back, surprised at how sheepishly she sounded and even more surprised at how much his tone turned her on.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you." He demanded again, in a stern tone.

Everything ached.

I want you to fuck me." She said again, more timidly, her body gushing, her hips trying to swallow him whole, everything inside her trying to devour him.

"Tell me you need this cock. You must have it now... and say please." He was grinning in a devilish way that she really, really liked.

She would do anything he asked of her.

"I need your cock please or I'm going to explode. Please give it to me!" She begged.

He pushed deep inside her, all the way.

"Oh my god." She cried as he dropped on top of her, his arms curling under her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers as he began to thrust, first slowly, bringing his full size almost out and then all the way back in.

Her body flushed with each motion, his movement filling her with sensations she'd never felt before. Her mind started to fade again as she melted into the feeling, allowing herself to disappear into the moment.

His thrusting grew harder, her body stinging from the blows, pushing closer, stretching to accept it all. Digging her nails into his back, she stared into his eyes, she could see that he was getting close. His breathing was getting shorter, his eyes were glossy and his muscles were tensing.

"That's it"

She was almost there.

"Harder."

He did, pounding her harder than she'd had before. Her body felt something new, giving her that fresh sensation she always craved. She could feel the tipping point coming, she was almost there.

Push him.

"Cum for me baby." She demanded as he stared in her eyes. "I want to feel you cum inside me."

She felt him tense up. His breathing shallowed, then stopped. His thrusting paused at its deepest, a quivering, throbbing sensation in her pussy was followed by a warm flood, which pushed her over the edge.

Her body pulled into his, her hips wrapping around his, trying to swallow him, engulf him completely. Her hands plunged into his back as her sight went white again. The warmth flooding in her womb matched by the warmth flooding through her body, a tingling sensation everywhere as her muscles involuntarily contracted, her breathing stopped.

He collapsed onto her as she slowly opened her eyes.

Her hands worked through his hair as he smiled at her.

"I like that Clint." She whispered, rewarding him with a soft kiss.

"Well, all I was trying to ask was if you wanted another bottle of wine, but I guess that was a no?"

She bit his lip, a little hard, then kissed him again.

"Oh, I think we should drink that bottle..."

She reached down and smacked his ass with a smile.

"After you fuck me like THAT again."