Stablehand's Show: Barista Spreads in the Hayloft

The late afternoon sun slanted through the wide-open hayloft doors, painting everything in gold. Riley wiped the last of the espresso dust from her hands onto her cutoff denim shorts and stepped into the massive barn. The scent of sweet hay, warm horseflesh, and sun-baked wood wrapped around her like a promise. After a brutal eight-hour shift at the coffee shop, she’d driven straight to her friend’s family ranch instead of going home. She told herself it was just to say hi. Deep down, she knew better.

Jax was already up in the loft, stacking the last delivery of fresh bales. Twenty-four, shirtless, sweat cutting clean trails through the dust on his broad back. His jeans hung low on narrow hips, the waistband of his boxers peeking out. Every time he lifted a bale, the thick muscles along his spine and shoulders flexed like they were showing off on purpose.

He glanced down at her and grinned, white teeth flashing against tanned skin. “Riley. Figured you’d chicken out after smelling horse shit all day.”

“Smells better than burnt milk,” she shot back, climbing the ladder. Her tank top clung to her breasts; the thin cotton already damp from the heat. She could feel his eyes on her ass the whole way up.

When she reached the loft floor, Jax straightened, rolling one heavy shoulder. The big double doors behind him framed the entire pasture—green fields stretching out under a wide sky, two distant farmhands moving near the fence line, horses grazing without a care. Anyone looking this way would have a perfect view.

“Need a hand?” she asked, voice already huskier than she meant.

Jax’s grin widened, cocky and knowing. “Sure. But I warn you, I work shirtless. Gets hot up here.” He didn’t wait for permission. He hooked his thumbs in the hem of the sweaty tee he’d apparently just put back on for her arrival and peeled it off again. The cotton stuck to his skin before coming free. His chest was smooth, pecs heavy, abs carved deep from real labor. A dark happy trail disappeared into his jeans.

Riley’s pulse kicked hard between her legs.

He tossed the shirt aside and lifted the next bale like it weighed nothing, biceps peaking, back flaring. “You gonna stare all day or help me stack these so I can bend you over one?”

The filthy words hit her like a spark to dry tinder. She felt her nipples tighten against her bra.

“You always this direct with your friend’s guests?” she asked, stepping closer. Her thighs were already slick.