Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 29

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So - Harry finally got a face full, yeah?  lol

TWITTER: @styles_orama

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Somebody's knockin'
Should I let him in?
Lord, it's the devil –
Would you look at him?
--Terri Gibbs

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FRANKIE:

"What?" I stop lickin' to look up at her, restin' my chin on her mound.

"Go find my pillow."

"Your pillow?" I chuckle in surprise. "Is that all you've got to say?"

Duke barks before she can answer, a horse's whinny can barely be heard over the rain, and a voice with an Irish accent sings a drunken tune. Goddammit.

Niall.

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HARRY:

The sound of Niall's voice on the porch sends Frankie into a tizzy.

"Don't you let him in here, Harry. We ain't dressed, and your bed hasn't been slept in, and where in tarnation did you throw my clothes off to?" She rambles on about this and that, clutchin' the sheet to her bosom, while I scramble 'round gatherin' her clothes like someone'd lit a fire under my ass.

"I'll keep him outside a bit so ya got time to get yourself, um . . . decent." No time for kissin', I wink and bolt down the steps in my long underwear before she can get another word in.

"Comin'!" I yell to Niall, who's still singin' at the top of his lungs. I run in my room, shove my boots on, and curse myself when I realize my boner is still stickin' out pretty obvious-like. Fuck me runnin'.

I drag my fingers through tangled hair and fling the door open in nothin' but boots and longjohns, hopin' Niall's too drunk to notice my pecker makin' 'em kinda tent-like in the front.

"Well, look what the cat done dragged in," I greet Niall, who takes one gander at me and doubles over in a laughin' fit. Goddamn Irish bastard.

I put a finger to Niall's lips to shush his big mouth, and I step out on the porch, closin' the door behind me. Niall sniffs.

"Holy shit, Harry! Look at ya! Sportin' a boner the size of Kentucky, and your face all – oh my God, mate! Ya went after that pussy face first, din't ya?" He slaps me on the back, impressed.

I swipe my forearm across my nose and mouth and sure enough, I'm practically wearin' a beard and mustache made outta Frankie's peach pie.

"Shut it!" I wanna holler but don't want Frankie knowin' he knows, so I'm sorta yellin' at him in a whisper. I wipe my face with my arm once more, and start stalkin' off mad to the barn, Niall laughin' it up behind me. All this and my dick is still hard.

Once inside the barn, I turn to face him in a huff, holdin' my cock so it don't stick out as much. His face is so red and I think I see a couple tears eekin' outta the corners of this Irish fucker's eyes.

"For fuck's sake, Harry – what'd she do to ya? Or maybe it's what she didn't do that's the problem here."

I grab Niall by the collar of his shirt, "I need you to help me, for the love of all things holy." I am desperate.

"Sorry mate, but the kinda problems you got goin' on there," he gestures to my predicament, "aren't somethin' I can help ya with." This squirt's still laughin' despite me havin' a pretty good grip on him.

Fuck. I let go of his shirt and fix the collar so it doesn't look like he was caught in a bear trap. "Not like that, dumbass. Shit, I'd almost laugh too if my balls didn't hurt so goddamn much. I gotta rub one out, man. I've been messin' with her all night – don't get me wrong, I loved every second of it – but a man needs some relief!"

"I shouldn't rag on ya so hard. Sophia left me hard up the same as you. Only I had time to rub one out in the woods on the way here," Niall says with a shrug.

"Why don't ya water the horse ya rode here on, and I'll go take care of my situation behind the hay bales? Just keep an eye out in case Frankie comes out here lookin' for me. Can ya do that for me?"

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'Bout twenty minutes later, the three of us are dressed proper and enjoyin' a lunch of ham, corn on the cob, pan-fried okra, and buttery cornbread. Niall is gossipin' like womenfolk do, tellin' who danced with who, who drank too much moonshine, and so on. I'm watchin' Frankie's face light up at Niall's jokes, and soon I ain't payin' attention to a thing he's sayin'. Just lookin' at her golden hair and those freckles over her nose, and how her nose squinches up. Sometimes it squinches from laughin' too much, but it also squinches when she smells a fart or sees somethin' she don't like. Either way, she's cuter than a basket of kittens.

Then she takes a bite of her corn on the cob, and her tongue swipes out a bit to taste the butter, and I'll be damned if my boner doesn't start back up again. Then like a dumbass, I go and help it along by imaginin' her tongue lappin' at my cock just like she did with that damn cob of –

I'm almost pissed off when my daydreamin' is interrupted by a sudden knock at the door that surprises us all.

"We probably coulda heard 'em comin' if ya'll wasn't laughin' up a storm in here," I chide playfully, all the while wonderin' who the hell would be comin' out to my place. Last time anyone other than Niall came out this way, it was the postmaster deliverin' the letter 'bout Frankie comin' to stay. Things sure have changed since then.

My chair scrapes against the floor, followed by the shuffle of my boots, then the door creaks open to reveal my least favorite person in all of Colorado.

Reverend Payne.