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There’s a little batter left in the bowl so when she pouts and stares at her empty plate, I fix her another slice. I love how she enjoys her breakfast, making sure to get every drop of compote on the last bite. Unlike my brother’s taste in thin, angular women, I love curves, full hips, thick thighs, and generous tits. I’ve found all that, and more, with this woman. My fingers itch to explore her soft body.
Soon, I silently promise myself. And her.
Bailey loads the dishes into the dishwasher. “You remember that I need to harvest plums today?”
“I do. I want to help.”
“It’s not necessary. It’s hot work.”
“If it’s part of what you do as a vintner, I want to experience it with you.”
“The plums aren’t for wine. I’m trying to create special mead.”
“Will you show me how? What you do in that secret workroom of yours?” I press my lips together at her expression. I only meant to tease, not make her uncomfortable or angry. “Bailey, I’m sorry. If you don’t want me anywhere near your work, I understand. It’s no different than not letting anyone see my compositions right away. Showing someone what you’ve created is scary.”
She shakes her head and circles the island. Taking a chance, I hold out my hand and ease her between my thighs. She strokes my shoulder. “In my last job, I trusted the guy I worked with. He stole my recipes. My processes. Trust is not the easiest thing for me to give after that.”
“Ah, Bailey.”
“For some reason, though, I trust you, Marcus. Not that stealing my work would do you any good.” Her grin releases the tension across my shoulders. She dances her fingers into my hair. “If you want to get hot and sticky picking wild plums, then let’s get going. I’ll show you how I’m going to use them when we get back.”
With her hands on me, my mind remains stuck at ‘hot and sticky’.
“Come on, rock god. Let’s get going.”
She has a hand drawn map from one of the ranch kids showing how to get to a pond with a thicket of wild plums. After stopping by my room for a long sleeved shirt to protect my arms from scratches, we take the ATV and quickly reach our destination. The shrubs form a dense line a few yards from the pond.
“What do wild plums taste like?” I ask as I reach for the plastic buckets we’ll use while picking.
“There can be a variety of flavors,” Bailey answers. “It’s still early in the season and the locals tell me the plums are sweetest then. The skin can be tart. Go ahead and try one. The plum should be firm but still a little soft when you squeeze it. A good one will almost harvest itself with just a little twist.”
I study the thickly fruited branches. Dusty looking oval fruits in deep shades of red, purple, and even a bit of yellow contrast with the dark green leaves. Avoiding one of the dull thorns lining the branches, I pick a plum, rub it softly against my sleeve then, with her watching intently, take a careful bite of the small, sun-warmed fruit.
The tart skin puckers my mouth before the sweet flesh slides over my tongue. “Good,” I say and finish the plum in two bites. They’re really not very big. “Tastes a bit like a regular plum. But with some… hmmm… cherry thrown in.”
Bailey’s smile is brighter than the sun. “Exactly. And I’m hoping to bump up that cherry flavor with some sand cherries. Wild cherries like the sandy soil of this area.”
Her excitement is contagious and I hold up my bucket. “Let’s get foraging.”
It doesn’t take long to fill our buckets. I’m ready to pick more when Bailey shakes her head. “There’s others, like Georgia, who use these for jams and other preserves. We need to leave plenty for them. And for the wildlife.”
When we return the buckets to the ATV, she holds up a thermos. “Iced tea before we head back?”
“When did you pack that?”
“That’ll be my little secret,” she says with a grin and pulls a blanket from the vehicle. “I noticed there’s a spot near the pond that’s shaded. A nice place to relax for a while.”
Conscious she’s probably taking it easy because of me, I agree and we spread the blanket then sit side by side looking out over the clear water in the small pond. The soft buzzing of insects and an occasional plopping noise from the pond are the only sounds. Other than a few horses grazing on a distant hill, it feels like we’re totally alone out here. Planning to take advantage of that, I lean back on my elbows.
“Know what, beautiful?” I wait until she focuses on me. “I’d really like for you to kiss me.”
Her eyes grow dark. “What kind of a kiss?”
“Lady’s choice.”
There’s a subtle shift in her breathing and she rises to her hands and knees to crawl over me, trapping me between her legs and arms. Almost no place I’d rather be. Other than sinking deep into her.
“Bailey.” Her name is a sigh. A prayer.
