(Or is it? Wait for the sequel: “Harvest Moon: Picking More Than Apples.”) Disclaimer: This article is a work of erotic fiction. All characters, farms, and amorous activities involving farm equipment are products of the author’s imagination. Please treat your tractor with respect.
“You think I don’t know?” she said, her green eyes blazing. “I see the way Savannah looks at you. I smell Daisy’s perfume on your shirt every morning.”
She had a smile that was equal parts challenge and invitation. And that’s when I knew—this wasn’t going to be a summer of mending fences. This was going to be a summer of getting unmended . The farm was called “Whispering Pines,” and it was run by Daisy and her two cousins, Savannah and June. Three country chicks who could throw a bale of hay heavier than me, gut a fish without flinching, and still smell like vanilla and wildflowers at sundown. My Wild Sexy Summer With Country Chicks... -HOT
She hung the lantern on a hook. The shadows danced. The sound of rain on the tin roof was a primal drumbeat. She walked toward me slowly, hips swaying in that effortless way country girls have—like they’re born knowing a rhythm city clubs try to sell you for $20 a drink.
She slipped into the water slowly, and I followed. The pond was cold, but her skin was fire. She wrapped her legs around my waist and let out a soft moan that got swallowed by the cicadas. She wasn’t loud like Daisy. Savannah was a secret—a slow, deep, drowning kind of pleasure. (Or is it
And every night, when the Kentucky sun sets in a blaze of orange and purple, I thank the Lord—and every devil I know—for the summer three country chicks taught this city boy exactly what “hot” really means.
She was leaning against a split-rail fence, a straw hat tilted low over her eyes, cut-off denim shorts barely visible beneath the fringe of a worn flannel shirt tied at her waist. Her boots were caked in mud, and she was sipping sweet tea from a mason jar. Please treat your tractor with respect
“And we’ve decided,” Savannah added softly, “that what happens on the farm, stays on the farm. But you have to earn it.”