dominate her

Farmer’s Market Hot

It’s been a few months, so forgive me if this is rusty. Here’s 3000 words of Farmer’s Market flirty fun and farmhouse sexy times. Modern AU, rated M - AO3.


To her left, her neighbor is providing a constant and delicious kettle corn flavored breeze, a welcome fragrant addition to her favorite day of the week. Saturday, Farmer’s Market day, a day filled with flannel shirts, leaves crunching beneath her boots and a good chunk of money in her pocket. The bushels of apples on her table are filled to the brim, collected from David’s orchard, a small pocket of trees she’s sure he only keeps tended because he knows how much she loves them. She sells the apples and gets to pocket half the proceeds, which she’s been squirreling away so she can eventually buy a place of her own. David and Mary Margaret’s guest house on the farm is nice and all, but she could really use some privacy. 

It’s an unconscious thing, she tells herself, as her eyes drift across the walkway to Killian and those stupid blue eyes and friendly smile she just knows will be directed at her. This happens entirely too often, the two of them catching each other looking, his obvious interest raising goosebumps along her skin. He’s entirely too attractive, with that carelessly tousled dark hair, ginger-tinged scruff and wiry frame. The fact that he bakes the best damn pies she’s ever tasted doesn’t help, either. He’s like her own personal dessert on display if she’d only just forget her diet and allow herself to indulge.

It’s been a long time, too long if you ask her body, since she’s let a man get close enough to touch her (both physically and emotionally). And she’s hungry…for both. So, Killian is scary, because despite her feigned protests, she’s past the point of curious and veering straight into potentially Bad Decision Central.

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You think you’ve seen her naked because she took her clothes off? Tell me about her dreams. Tell me what breaks her heart. What is she passionate about, and what makes her cry? Tell me about her childhood. Better yet, tell me one story about her that you’re not in.  

You’ve seen her skin, and you’ve touched her body. But you still know as much about her as a book you once found, but never got around to opening.

—  Dominic Matthew Jackson
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