Work for It: A Small-Town MM Romance by Hibbert Talia

Author:Hibbert, Talia [Hibbert, Talia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798328198882
Amazon: B0DCGF3ZCM
Goodreads: 217258350
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2024-08-06T07:00:00+00:00

Olu

Griff says it over and over throughout the day: my real, my private, my vulnerable name. I think we should start over there, Olu. You’re filling up fast, Olu—look, I got you a spare bag. Olu, could you show this lady to the next field? Every time, he looks at me like he knows me. Every time, I wonder if maybe he does—if maybe he snuck in, under my armour, past every icy defence, and embedded himself into some vital part of me. I don’t know if the idea is blissful or terrifying, but I do know every time those dark eyes caress me, and that fine mouth shapes my name, I shiver. And I remember how it felt, to want somebody for the first time in forever.

No, not somebody. Griff. It’s Griff who makes me feel like myself, Griff who makes everything safe, Griff who’s taking me apart piece by dizzying piece. No-one else. I can still taste that drop of his come on my tongue, sharp and salty, and I want more. I think of him on his knees for me, and the way my body felt—electrified, clean, mine—and then I have to think of something else before I disgrace myself.

Since my feelings toward him are rioting out of control incredibly quickly, I decide it’s time to get to know him better. The more I know, life has taught me, the less I’ll like him. And considering how much I want him, and how reckless it makes me, liking Griff as little as I can seems a sensible precaution.

So, while he makes me feel exposed and delicate with nothing but gentle looks and cheerful company, I try to peel him like fruit. Starting with Henry.

“What are you going to do about the recipes?” I ask.

“I don’t know, Olu. Thank you, Sir, thank you very much.” He nods at an elderly man who’s leaving the fields with a bin bag of elderflower.

“But what do you want to do?” I prod.

“I don’t know, Olu.” Griff sounds exasperated and I don’t blame him—my questions have been never-ending—but he has a soft little smile on his face and a fond sort of light in his eyes, and he won’t stop saying my name.

“Well, you can’t let Henry get away with using you.” This is meant to be reconnaissance in my mission not to get too attached, but I am starting to suspect myself of ulterior motives. It feels disturbingly like I care about this, about Griff, although I cannot fathom why. I’ve liked lots of men, kissed lots of men, found myself tempted by a forest blowjob with lots of men, but I don’t recall ever giving a shit about their daily lives, achievements or disappointments. I can’t even remember what Jean-Pierre’s job was.

Oh, no, I do recall; he never had a job.

Either way, the issue at hand is this: I want to shove my foot up Henry’s arse for the way he manipulated Griffin. I can almost see how it all

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