Page 10 of Frosty the Farmhand (12 Days of Christmas)

9

REID

W e make it through the dinner line relatively unscathed, save for when I had to discreetly adjust my hard-on before debating chicken or beef.

I went with beef.

There’s enough room at one table for everyone to fit so we all cram in, Harlan taking the seat next to me on one side and Beau dropping down into the other. Harlan is quiet as people shout over each other to tell stories, adding their two cents as they see fit. It’s chaos.

Normal.

And yet I hate how Harlan must feel like an outsider at this table.

I mean to comfort him, but his body goes rigid the second I place my hand on his thigh. The corded muscle beneath the denim flexes, and I want to sink my teeth into his flesh, mark him as mine, and take whatever consequences he wants to give me for doing it.

I try to pull my hand away, but he clamps mine in place with one of his.

“Reid…”

“What?” I ask, shaking my head and looking at Beau. He narrows his eyes at me, noting my obvious distraction but not quite being able to put it together.

Yet.

Harlan’s grip tightens as he moves our joined hands slightly higher on his leg.

My body is on fire, his touch scorching, and because I can’t resist, I move my pinky back and forth along the inside of his thigh.

The noise he makes is the sexiest tortured groan I’ve ever heard. It’s barely audible, a testament to his restraint, and it’s so damn hot I can’t help but do it again. His grip tightens on mine but he doesn’t stop me.

“I asked if you wanted to go up to the mountain this week—do some night skiing.”

In all my life I’ve never wanted to throttle my cousin quite like I do in this moment. I need to get out of here.

I need to get Harlan out of here.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I say, appeasing him. “What day were you thinking?”

“Harlan!” my uncle booms from the other end of the table, his smile wide as he leans his forearms on the table in front of him.

Seriously, what is with my family right now?

“Yes, sir?” Harlan’s voice is raspier than normal but not something anyone here would notice. Except me. I definitely noticed.

Inching my fingers higher, I brush the tip of his cock and silently curse because fuck is that nice. Harlan shifts, his top half turning toward my uncle while his lower half gets conveniently closer to me.

“How do you like working on the farm after being on a ranch the last few years?”

Harlan tenses and it has nothing to do with the way I’m torturing him.

“It’s different, but I like being busy, and Montana is a nice change.”

Murmurs of agreement go up around the room. So many of the employees here were wanderers before they passed through Wintervale. Some moved on, but others finally planted roots here.

“Good, good. If you miss riding, you’re more than welcome to come up and take one of the horses out.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harlan says, obviously taken aback by the offer.

My uncle harumphs at him. “None of that sir shit. Winston is fine.”

“Thank you, Winston.”

“Good, good. Reid, why don’t you take Harlan out to the barn and show him around?”

“Sure.” I nod as I slowly extricate my hand from Harlan’s thigh, but not before giving his cock a gentle squeeze. He grunts, his eyes blazing as they lock on mine.

Good Lord Almighty.

There’s so much heat and promise there, like the kind that says, “you’re in trouble” and “I’m gonna make you forget your own name.”

Pushing back from the table, I have to adjust myself, and by the looks of the bulge in Harlan’s pants, he will too.

Moving slowly, I grab my dishes and head toward the kitchen. I can feel Harlan behind me, and to anyone watching, it looks like he’s just following my lead. But his gaze scorches my back as I knock my shoulder into the swinging door.

The smell of dinner lingers in the air as I move on autopilot, dropping my dishes off and almost running into Harlan’s strong chest.

“Nervous?” he murmurs as he takes a half step into me, his body barely brushing against mine.

“Eager,” I say, my voice shaky not from lack of confidence but from the overwhelming need to have this man claim me.

“Good.” His thumb traces over my bottom lip. “Let’s go, Christmas. I want you to show me just how eager you are.”

Sir, yes, sir.