The morning sun rose over Little Knobton, casting long shadows across the hills of Midlingtonshire. Samantha Farnsworth drove through the village, her hands tight on the wheel of her sleek silver car, her mind a whirl of resolve and anticipation. It was March and the weight of Farn Hollow pressed heavier with each passing day. Yesterday’s meeting with Richard by the waterfall had solidified her determination, she was done being Charles’s puppet. Today, she’d meet Richard again, this time at his modest stone house on the village’s western edge, a place where the rugged beauty of the landscape framed his quiet resistance.
She pulled into his gravel drive, the crunch of tires a soft announcement of her arrival. Richard opened the door before she could knock, his tall frame filling the doorway, his hazel eyes warm with recognition. He carried an air of rugged vitality, tall, lean but strong, his dark hair streaked with silver. He wore a faded flannel shirt and jeans, his camera resting on a nearby table, a constant companion even now.
“Sam,” he said, stepping aside. “Come in. I’ve got coffee on.”
She smiled, brushing past him into the cozy living room. The space was a reflection of him, shelves lined with books on wildlife and photography, framed prints of local flora and fauna adorning the walls, a worn sofa facing a small fireplace. She set her leather satchel on the coffee table, pulling out a sheaf of documents she’d smuggled from Charles’s study the night before.
“These are new,” she said, spreading the papers across the table as Richard handed her a mug of coffee. “Charles has been tweaking the Farn Hollow plans. Look at this, he’s cutting the surface water drainage by half, adding fifty more houses, and shifting the shops and commercial units to the far edge of the site.”
Richard leaned over the table, his brow furrowing as he scanned the blueprints and notes. “Bloody hell. He’s stacking the deck, placing the shops where no one in their right mind would lease them. Too far from the village center, no foot traffic, and the build costs are inflated. He’s setting it up to fail so he can convert them to homes later.”
Samantha nodded, pointing to a scribbled memo in Charles’s jagged handwriting. “And here, he’s told Fredrick to market them poorly. Low visibility, no incentives. It’s all a sham to maximize profit while dodging the flood risk promises he made in the original application. The commercial units will end up getting converted to even more residential ones”
Richard’s jaw tightened, his fingers tracing the revised drainage plan. “This cuts the runoff capacity by thirty percent. If we get a storm like last winter, the village will be underwater. He’s gambling with people’s lives.”
“I know,” she said, her voice low. “I signed off on the shell company updates last week, didn’t realize what they were for until I found these. He’s using my name to bury this deeper.”
Richard met her gaze, his eyes steady. “We’ve got him now, Sam. This is enough to blow the whole thing open at the council meeting. Deborah’s flood data plus this, it’s a knockout punch.”
She exhaled, a weight lifting even as another settled in its place. “I hope so. I can’t keep living like this, tied to him, pretending I don’t see what he’s doing.”
Samantha paused, her hand resting on the papers, then reached out to touch Richard’s arm. The contact was electric, a spark that had been building for months. “Richard,” she said softly, “why do you cover for Deborah and Lorie? You don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve seen how they are together and I’ve seen how they feel about you.”
His breath caught, surprise flickering across his face before melting into something softer, deeper. “Sam… I cover for them because they’re my friends, and this village isn’t always kind to what it doesn’t understand. But you, I didn’t know how to say it. I’ve felt it too.”
The words hung between them, a fragile bridge, and then they crossed it. She stepped into his arms, her six-foot frame aligning with his towering height, and their lips met in a kiss that was slow, searching, alive with care. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, and she felt the heat of him through her sweater, igniting the fire Charles had long neglected.
They stumbled toward the sofa, shedding clothes with a deliberate tenderness, her sweater and jeans, his flannel and denim pooling on the floor. Naked now, they sank onto the cushions, his skin warm against hers. Richard’s touch was reverent, his fingers tracing her curves before slipping between her thighs. She gasped as he explored her, his movements slow and precise, coaxing her toward the edge. Her first orgasm came sharp and sweet, a wave that left her trembling.
He didn’t stop. His mouth followed where his fingers had been, his tongue teasing her with a patience that unraveled her. Samantha’s hands gripped his hair, her moans filling the room as a second climax built, deeper this time, crashing over her in a shuddering release. She was wet, aching for more, and when he rose to meet her eyes, she nodded.
Richard entered her, his long, thick length filling her with a slow, deliberate thrust. The pace was unhurried, passionate, each movement stoking the fire in her core. His hands framed her face, their gazes locked, and she felt seen, truly seen, for the first time in years. The rhythm built, steady and intense, her orgasm erupted, a blaze that tore a cry from her throat. He followed soon after, his release a quiet groan against her neck, their bodies entwined in the afterglow.
It was the best sex she’d had in recent memory, a balm to the hollow years with Charles. They lay there, catching their breath, until hunger nudged them toward the kitchen.
Still naked, they ate lunch at his small wooden table, sandwiches he’d thrown together, the simplicity grounding them after the intensity. Samantha watched him as he collected the plates, his lean form moving with an easy grace. As he walked back toward the sink, she reached out, stopping him mid-stride. Her hand closed around his cock, soft at first but swelling under her touch. The sensation thrilled her, the way it thickened, pulsed, grew firm in her grasp. She slid to her knees, taking him into her mouth, savoring the heat, the taste of him, the lingering taste of her. Her tongue swirled, teasing the tip, and his groan vibrated through her, stoking her own arousal.
“Sam,” he rasped, his hands tangling in her hair, but she didn’t relent until he was rock-hard, his breath ragged. She rose, turning to bend over the table, her palms flat against the wood. “Now,” she urged, and he didn’t hesitate.
Richard entered her from behind, his thrusts vigorous, wild, yet still laced with passion. Their bodies slapped together, slick with sweat, the table creaking under the force. She pushed back against him, meeting each stroke, her moans mingling with his grunts. The sex was primal, a release of pent-up need, and when she came again, it was a fierce, shuddering peak that left her breathless. He followed, his grip tightening on her hips as he spilled into her, their sweat-slicked skin pressed close.
They collapsed against the table, panting, the air thick with the scent of them. “God, Richard,” she murmured, a laugh bubbling up. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“Only if you let me,” he replied, kissing her shoulder.
Still naked, Samantha moved to his computer in the corner of the living room, her body humming with satisfaction. She logged into her cloud storage, transferring the Farn Hollow files to his hard drive, every damning document, every secret Charles thought he’d buried. “This should give you everything you need,” she said, glancing at him. “For the campaign, the council, whatever it takes.”
He nodded, watching her with a mix of awe and gratitude. “You’re incredible, Sam. This could change everything.”
She checked her watch, nearly three o’clock. “I should get home soon. Charles will start asking questions if I’m gone too long.”
Richard stood, extending a hand. “Shower first?”
They headed to his small bathroom, the tiles cool underfoot, intending to wash off the day’s exertions. But as the water warmed, Samantha’s hand found his cock again, stroking it back to life. “One more,” she whispered, and he obliged.
He lifted her against the wall, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her standing up. The sex was long, hard, passionate, his thrusts deep and relentless, the steam curling around them. She clung to him, nails digging into his back, her orgasm building like a storm. When it hit, she cried out, the sound echoing off the tiles, and he drove into her with a final, shuddering thrust, his release merging with hers. They stood there, water cascading over them, until their breathing steadied.
Dressed and composed, Samantha kissed Richard goodbye at the door, her lips lingering on his. “Tomorrow?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he promised, and she slipped out into the daylight, her body sated but her mind racing. Farn Hollow loomed ahead, a battle yet to be won, but with Richard by her side, she felt the fire of rebellion burning bright. Little Knobton’s fate hung in the balance, and she was ready to fight, for the village, for herself, for the man who’d rekindled her soul.
Farn Hollow 
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