Bred by the Farmer’s Son and Nephew
Cousins That Plow Together, Breed Together
The directions were clear—drop off the feed, don’t linger. But the dusty road had other plans, and so did my overheating radiator. By the time the engine sputtered and hissed to a halt, I was smack in the middle of nowhere, phone with no bars, sweating through my shirt and praying for a miracle.
That’s when I saw him.
He stood near the barn, backlit by the late afternoon sun, a silhouette that made my throat dry. He had one hand gripping a hay hook, the other wiping sweat from his brow. Tall, broad, and sun-kissed in all the right places, his shirt hung loose over tanned abs that flexed with every movement. He looked like sin dipped in dirt and sweat.
“Truck trouble?” he called out, slinging the hook over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
“Yeah,” I replied, trying not to stare—but failing. “Radiator’s fried, I think.”
He sauntered over, boots crunching on gravel, a slow smile curling across his face. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with me for a bit. I’m Weston,” he said, offering a hand.
I took it. Strong grip, calloused. Made me wonder what else he could grip like that.
“Ty,” I said, trying not to let my gaze linger on the trail of hair peeking out beneath his unbuttoned shirt. “Thanks for the help.”
“C’mon,” he said, jerking his head toward the house. “We’ll get you cooled off and fed. Maybe later I can take a look under your hood.”
His smirk let me know he wasn’t just talking about my truck.
Inside, the farmhouse was quiet. He handed me a glass of cold lemonade, and we sat on opposite ends of a beat-up sofa that creaked under our weight. The air was thick, humid from the storm rolling in and something else neither of us wanted to name just yet.
“You from ‘round here?” he asked, voice low.
“Nope. Just passing through,” I said. “Making deliveries.”
“Pity,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine.
I swallowed. “Yeah?”
Weston stood, setting down his glass. “You ever mess around on a farm before?”
My heart pounded. “Not exactly.”
“Well,” he said, walking over to stand in front of me. “There’s a first time for everything.”
His hands reached down and tugged my shirt up, exposing my chest. He leaned in, his breath hot against my neck as he whispered, “Tell me if you want to stop.”
I didn’t.
I pulled him down by the collar and kissed him... hard. He tasted like lemonade and sweat and something earthy I couldn’t name. He straddled my lap, grinding into me, both of us getting harder with every breath.
His fingers fumbled with my jeans as I unbuckled his belt. When we finally freed ourselves, he slid down between my thighs, eyes locked on mine as his lips wrapped around me. Slow. Delicious. Intense.
But he wasn’t done.
He stood, kicked off his boots, and dropped his jeans. That farmer’s son wasn’t just packing corn and cattle. He was hung like the whole damn harvest.
He turned, bent over the arm of the couch, and looked back. “You gonna plant your seed or what?”