Page 4 of Mountain Man’s Hayride Honey (Wildwood Valley Harvest #4)

CALLIOPE

T his wasn’t my first hayride. In fact, every year, starting in second grade, I’d attended the fall festival put on by my parents’ church. Hayrides were part of that, so I’d spent many hours of my life seated on hay bales, surrounded by all my friends.

But as, one by one, customers and vendors cleared out from the Harvest Market, I couldn’t help but imagine what Clayton and I could do on that hayride.

It would be stationed at the entrance to the trail, which I couldn’t see from here.

I’d have to walk past my row of vendor booths and swing a right, sliding through the rows of food trucks until I spotted it up ahead.

I’d planned it out so thoroughly in my head all day, when I finally made that turn, it took me a second to realize the trailer wasn’t there. Just a big empty spot where it should be. I came to a dead stop, looked around, and had just one question.

What now?

I had no vehicle, and now all the other vendors had cleared out. That left me alone…stranded. But none of that bothered me as much as knowing Clayton had cut out on our plans.

A horn honked behind me, and I spun around to see Clayton’s truck pulling the hay wagon slowly up the path toward me. My heart hammered against my ribs as he came to a stop and rolled down his window.

“You coming or what?” he called out, that hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Relief flooded through me so fast, I felt dizzy. “I thought you’d left.”

“Had to drop off the last round of passengers at the parking lot. Hop in.”

I practically ran to the passenger side and climbed in, my hands trembling slightly. The festival grounds were completely empty now. Just us and the string lights casting a warm glow over everything.

“Ready for that private tour?” he asked as he started driving toward the wooded trail.

“More than ready,” I said, my voice coming out breathier than I’d intended.

As we entered the tree line, the world became quieter, more intimate.

Just the sound of the engine and the soft creak of the hay wagon behind us.

The path was narrow, forcing him to drive slowly, and I found myself hyperaware of everything—the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the concentration on his face as he navigated the turns…

“This is beautiful,” I said, looking out at the lowering sun filtering through the trees.

“It gets better.” He glanced over at me. “There’s a clearing about halfway through where you can see the mountains off in the distance.”

His hand moved from the steering wheel to rest on the seat between us, and when I shifted slightly, his fingers brushed against my thigh. The contact sent electricity shooting through me.

“Tell me something about yourself I don’t know,” he said, his voice low in the silence of the cab.

“Like what?”

“Anything. What’s your biggest dream?”

I was quiet for a moment, surprised by the question. “I want to have my own jewelry store someday. Not just traveling to festivals, but a real place with my name on the door.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Money. Experience. The usual things.” I looked over at him. “What about you? What do you want that you don’t have?”

He was quiet for so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Peace, I guess. I came back from deployment pretty messed up. This place helps, but sometimes I still feel like I’m fighting a war that’s already over.”

The honesty in his voice made my chest tight. Without thinking, I reached over and placed my hand on his arm. He glanced down at the contact, then back at the trail.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

“Don’t be. It’s getting better.” He covered my hand with his free one. “Especially lately.”

We drove in comfortable silence for a while, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. When we reached the clearing he’d mentioned, he pulled to a stop.

“Look,” he said, nodding toward my window.

I turned and gasped. The parting of the treeline revealed a breathtaking view of mountains up ahead, as promised. Even though it was almost dark, the view was breathtaking.

“Clayton,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I should probably tell you something.”

He looked over at me, his expression growing serious. “What’s that?”

I took a deep breath, feeling my cheeks burn. “I’ve never… I mean, I haven’t done this before. Any of this.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You’re telling me you’re a virgin?”

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. “Does that change things?”

He was quiet for a long moment, and I was terrified he was going to start the truck and drive me straight back to the inn. Instead, he reached over and gently tilted my chin up so I had to look at him.

“The only thing that changes,” he said, his voice low and intense, “is that I’m going to make damn sure this is everything you want it to be.”

My breath caught in my throat. “It is what I want. You’re what I want. Right now.”

Something shifted in his expression then—something heated and possessive that made my pulse race. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely positive.”

He studied my face for another moment, then nodded toward the hay-filled wagon behind us. “Then let’s get somewhere more comfortable.”

The moment Clayton killed the engine, the world narrowed to just us—the rustle of the trees, the distant chirp of crickets, and the thick, unspoken tension between us. His gaze burned into mine, dark with promise, before he slid out of the truck and rounded to my side.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he opened my door, his hands gripping my waist as he lifted me down. My body pressed flush against his, and I could feel the hard ridge of his arousal through his jeans. A shiver raced down my spine.

“Still sure?” he asked, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“God, yes.”

His answering growl sent heat pooling low in my belly.

In one smooth motion, he lifted me and carried me to the back of the hay wagon, settling me onto the rough wood.

It scraped against my thighs as I scooted deeper into the nest of loose hay between the bales.

The scent of earth and dried grass surrounded us, mingling with the musk of his cologne as he climbed up after me.

I didn’t hesitate. I yanked my sweater over my head, tossing it aside, and reached for the button of his jeans. His hand caught my wrist, stopping me.

“Not yet,” he said, voice rough. “I want to taste you first.”

My breath hitched. Before I could protest, he dropped to his knees in front of me, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my leggings.

He dragged them down my legs, his palms skimming my skin, leaving fire in their wake.

I kicked off my boots, the cool night air kissing my bare thighs as he finished removing my leggings and settled between my legs.

His thumb traced the damp lace of my panties, and I nearly arched off the hay. “Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he muttered, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my inner thigh.

I whimpered, my fingers tangling in his hair as he teased me through the fabric, circling the exact spot that made my hips jerk. Then, with agonizing slowness, he hooked a finger under the lace and pulled them aside, his breath hot against my bare skin.

The first swipe of his tongue had me gasping.

The second had me moaning his name. He licked into me like a man starved, his hands gripping my hips to hold me still as I writhed against his mouth.

Every flick, every suck sent sparks shooting through my veins, my pleasure coiling tighter and tighter?—

And then he pulled away.

I nearly sobbed in frustration, but before I could protest, he yanked my panties down my legs and tossed them aside. Then his mouth was on me again, no barriers left, his tongue circling my clit before plunging deep inside.

“Clayton—“

My voice broke as my back arched, my thighs trembling around his head. He groaned against me, the vibration sending me spiraling higher, until my entire body tensed.

And then something happened. Something that was unlike anything I’d experienced in my twenty-three years.

Pleasure crashed over me in waves, my cries muffled by my own hand as I bit down on my knuckles.

He didn’t let up, licking me through it until I was squirming from oversensitivity, my legs shaking.

Before I could even catch my breath, I was reaching for him again, fumbling with his belt. He caught my hand, his eyes blazing.

“Wait,” he said. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control.” My fingers were already working the button of his jeans. “And I’m clean. Are you?—?”

“Clean. Yes.” His voice was pure gravel.

“Then fuck me, Clayton.”

Something primal flashed in his eyes. In one swift motion, he flipped me onto my hands and knees in the hay, his body covering mine as he shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself. The thick head of his cock pressed against my entrance, and I pushed back, desperate.

A ragged groan tore from his throat as he sank into me in one slow, relentless thrust—not going too deep but groaning at the sensation anyway. The stretch burned—just for a second—before pleasure overtook it, my body stretching to accommodate him. He stilled, his breath hot against my neck.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he said through clenched teeth.

I tightened around him, and he cursed, his hips jerking forward. Then he pulled out and inched back in.

And that was the moment I knew I was ruined for anyone else.