Wildly Inappropriate (6 page)

He walked right past her to the small trailer hitched to the back of the tractor, unfastening the bungee-style cords holding down roofing shingles, plywood, and a tool chest. Straightening, he turned, and she began to figure out what was coming next from the look in his eye. She stood motionless, watching as he hooked one to a high branch, leaving the end hanging loose after experimentally stretching it to its limit. He crooked a finger at her.

Wherever Kingsley Dazza was at this moment, she hoped he got run over by a freight train. "Please, not that."

He grinned. "Beg me again. I might change my mind."

Cynda raised her chin, clenching her teeth together as she stepped to where he stood. She'd die before she begged him for a thing. Holding up one arm, she studied his face as he coiled the cord once around her wrist. Letting the stretchy rope fall, he walked away again to plunder the tool box on the trailer, coming back holding a handful of rags. Tucking a few into his back pocket, he folded one before tying it around her wrist, then wrapped the bungee on top of that.

The pathetic burst of gratitude she felt because he didn't want the makeshift ties cutting into her skin pissed her off. When her other wrist was similarly fastened, he wound the third band around her wrists, and tied that to the two suspended from the branch. It was impossible to relax with her arms stretched above her head. She worried about what was coming.

"Can't we just… talk for a minute?"

He cocked his head. "About what?"

"Well, I know this looks bad, but I'm not in the habit of screwing around with people I don't know anything about."

Scraping a thumb along his chin, he seemed to study her. "What did you want to know?"

"For starters"—she twisted her wrists, glancing up at the way he'd wrapped the cords so precisely—"do you tie a lot of women up to your peach trees? I mean, do white men have to hogtie their women to get laid?"

He flashed her that grin that made her tummy flutter. "No, it's been a while since I tied anyone up."

He stooped to pick up a peach then reached into his pocket. The small knife he'd used this morning appeared. The sun flashed off the blade when he sliced into the soft fruit. Restlessly, Cynda tilted her head back again, squirming as she tested her bindings. His chuckle infuriated her. She closed her eyes, but it seemed she could still feel the vibrations from the rough-running motor on the old machine.

He won't hurt me.
She wished she was more certain of that, but this was a game to him. The better she played the game, the more likely he'd be to listen to her about selling some of his land. She opened her eyes again, resolving to play along.

Juice dripped from the fruit and watching it trickle down his fingers seemed to prompt her juices to follow suit. She was naked, tied up, and alone on a mountaintop with him. The small tips on her nipples perked when her fear began to change to something equally primitive.

He glanced at her, but the knife never stopped moving. "My grandfather developed these two varieties. This one's a clingstone. See how the flesh of the peach clings to the pit?"

She moved her feet a bit, struggling slightly with her bonds, to make the game better. Something flashed in his eyes. She tugged on the cords a bit more.
Yes, he likes that.
Staring at his hands made her shiver in spite of the heat, and the image of how he'd used the forks flashed in her head. Not the forks, precisely, but her body's reaction to what he'd done. The thought summoned an ache in her pussy and made her nipples harden without a touch.

"Yes, Daniel." Saying those words made her wetter.

"Good girl. See how fuzzy this variety is?"

Reluctantly, she turned her attention from the way his jeans strained across his thighs. The white down covering the skin did look heavier than normal for a peach. Inside, the fruit was a deep cranberry, not just around the pit, but almost to the skin. The rich color radiated into a narrow band of pearl-toned flesh. Juice dripped from his fingers, taunting her. This was like dying of thirst and staring at water but not being allowed to drink. His jeans bulged beneath the zipper.
What the hell is he waiting for?

When he had a neat row of eight equal slices laid in the grass, he peeled the furry skin from one, and held it to her lips. Cynda bit into it. A tangy taste exploded on her tongue.

"It tastes like a cross between a pomegranate and a peach, doesn't it?"

She moaned her agreement, chewing slowly. He picked up another slice, but didn't peel it. She opened her mouth but to her shock, he dipped the piece between her legs. She tensed as the soft fuzz touched the sensitive cowl covering her clit.

Tension coiled inside her, winding a bit tighter with each soft stroke. He stood close and talked as if they were sitting down to dinner. "My mother's father was something of a botanist. He developed this variety. I used to read his diaries. He said Mother Nature had a way of getting even if you messed with her too much. Like this peach. He worked on this variety for over a decade. It has beautiful color and a tasty flesh, but although he started with a freestone variety, the better the flesh began to taste, the more it wrapped around the stone. Yet he needed this to be a freestone, to make it sell better in markets and grocery stores. People don't want to buy peaches if they have to cut out the stone. Most clingstone peaches get sold for canning. The migrants didn't like to pick these trees either, because the fuzz makes any exposed skin it touches itch violently after a few minute's exposure, also a bad thing for retail sales."

It felt as though his words summoned tiny spikes of pain. He lifted the slice, and to her shock, he rubbed the fuzz across her nipples. "No, Daniel, please," she cried, struggling to free her hands so she could rub the burning sensation.

Ignoring her plea, he picked up another peach. This one came from the bottom of the basket, one he'd picked from a different grove. It was huge for a peach, and she eyed the skin apprehensively as she squeezed her thighs together, but the fuzz seemed minimal. He sliced it open and showed her the halves. A flick of his thumbnail popped the stone loose. The narrow band of red flesh in the center looked spiny and stiff where it mirrored the pattern of the stone.

"So, he developed this variety, but it doesn't taste nearly as good." He held one of the halves to her lips, and Cynda obediently took a small bite. It seemed nearly tasteless compared with the other, but was very juicy.

"Not as good as the other one," she agreed, trying to stifle a moan. It felt as though a thousand tiny bees were stinging her nipples.

"Even worse," he continued, slicing off a portion of the half she'd bitten, "the flesh near the center of this variety is very tough."

She wondered whether he'd make her eat it.

"This part is tough and chewy and that makes people spit it out. Who'd want a freestone peach that had a heart of stone? That's what he named this variety, Stony Heart. They make delicious pies. He intended to crossbreed the two varieties, but by then, peach farming had become unprofitable."

He wedged his foot between hers, tapping his boot against her ankle. She reluctantly spread her legs. His hand disappeared from view, and she felt the warm fruit touch her. The sensation was one of tiny rubbery fingers sliding across her sensitive nub.

Cynda tried to push her mound toward the slice of fruit. She thought the juice might soothe the stinging sensation caused by the fuzz, but he kept the stroke soft and even, rubbing the slice so slowly across her nub that she cried out with frustration.

He lifted his wrist and looked at his watch. "Straight up noon. Your hour starts now."

"What?" she demanded in disbelief.

"Your hour. Look down that valley, Cynda Avery, and tell me all your very good reasons why I need to sell this land."

"Now?"

He nodded, grinning. "Right now. Unless, of course, you want to give up today's hour."

She couldn't do that, but it was a good thing he'd tied her hands. She thought about kicking him square in the nuts, but something told her he'd spank her ass till she cried if she did. She wrapped her fingers around the cords, wondering whether she might be able to tug them loose. If she could get loose, she might try to wrap them around his damn neck.

All she could do was stand there. He bent to pick up one of the slices of the fuzzier fruit. She watched him warily, trying to think. "This isn't fair," she burst out.

"Pardon my manners." He offered her the slice. She bit into it, stalling for time while she tried to get her mind off her pussy and onto business. He wiped juice from her bottom lip with his thumb. Inspiration struck as the unique taste hit her tongue.

"Someone could finish your grandfather's work. Crossbreed the peaches and see if they come out right, I mean."

His brows went up. "Uh huh. So you're telling me you have a customer who wants to grow peaches? Spread your legs wider."

"No-oo, I didn't say that." She widened her stance marginally, concerned about what he'd do next.

He stabbed the air with the knife, pointing toward the fruit overhead. "Fewer than ten percent of these peaches escaped being damaged by the hail, and it might've hailed for twenty minutes. That's only twenty minutes to ruin an entire year's crop. I doubt you have a customer who wants to operate a peach farm, Cynda."

She had no idea why King wanted this land. The broken branches and dead trees scattered throughout the orchard showed neglect. The ghostly camp for the migrant workers they'd driven through to get here obviously hadn't been used in years, yet he'd pointed out all the storm damage he planned to fix. Why waste the effort if no one was going to use the place?

"The money, think about the money, Daniel. You're bound to want something the money could buy."

"Ah, yes, the money. Tell me something, Cynda. What do you dream about? What would you do with the money?"

He stepped close. She felt his hand between her thighs and the brush of the fuzz against her clit again. All she could think about was the way her most tender flesh was stinging and the way the soft breeze cooled the moisture on her thighs.

Holding her gaze with his, he brought the slice of fruit from between her thighs to his lips. She lost her ability to breathe watching his teeth sink slowly into the dark flesh. It was as though she could taste the tangy flavor on his tongue.

He tossed the skin aside, still staring at her. She knew he expected her to speak, but sharing dreams was for lovers. This was a business deal. "Dreams are for folks with choices," she whispered, thinking of her brother Jarrod and where his dreams had gotten him, not to mention how her brother's pursuit of his dreams had landed her in this mess. "I just wanna help my grams pay off her house."

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I want to help my family too, what's left of it. But they're grown men with jobs, and both own their own homes. You passed their houses coming to the farmhouse, but Colton's bungalow isn't visible from the road. It might've been too dark for you to have seen Eric's cabin. They live off what they earn. And they don't want to sell. But I can tell you a bit more about me and in the process explain why I tied you to this tree."

He turned away, returning to the trailer. When he came back, he held a small bottle. Whatever was in it was such a faint orange color she could see through it. He twisted off the cap.

"My mother left when I was nine. My father focused on two things after that day. Work and how much he wanted her back. We had help when my brothers and sister were small, but once the baby—my only sister Sarah—turned ten, he let all the help go. The job of explaining most things to them after that, including sex, fell to me."

He poured some of the bottle's contents into one large palm, leaning over to set the bottle into the cleft where the branches forked from the trunk. He rubbed his hands together, still talking.

"My two brothers weren't difficult to explain that to, but my baby sister was another story. I revised my usual sex talk quite a bit. Then, when she was about fifteen, she found out Colton, the brother closest to her in age, had sex with someone. She asked if he was going to marry the girl. He laughed and said no. She punched him right in the nose and then cried for about half a day. When she stopped crying, you can bet she had a whole new list of questions for me."

He placed his palms on her breasts. Whatever coated his hands felt oily, easing their movement down the sides of her small mounds. Her sore nipples hardened like the tiny rock she'd stepped on, and he smiled knowingly before reaching for the bottle to pour more oil into his hand. The stinging sensation increased.
If he'd only rub some of that oil over my nipples, the stinging would stop.
Thinking about it only made it worse, so she tried to focus on what he was saying.

"That got me to thinking. If all women get such a different take on the topic, then you grow up thinking sex is something you save for marriage, and yet, you'd be selling yourself short to stop at the first hard dick you see. Truth is, a few generations ago, people didn't live as long as they do now so they got married earlier. But nowadays people don't get married at sixteen, so if that system ever worked, it doesn't anymore. But we still tell our daughters to save themselves for the man who'll love them and tell our sons to use condoms. Somewhere in there, we imply to those sons that becoming a man means fucking every woman possible."

His big hands swept down her sides, coating her with the slick oil. She could've stamped her foot she wanted it on her nipples so badly.

"I know the self-doubt guys endure on their way to manhood, but it has to be harder for women. If you sleep around, you might start to think you've lowered your value somehow. People are gonna talk about you, yet my brother Eric has slept with half the women in town and no one thinks a thing about it." He grinned. "Except Lila. She calls him a honeybee, and I'm pretty sure that's not a compliment."

He spilled more oil into his hand, this time rubbing it in small circles on her tummy.