My Wild Sexy Summer With Country Chicks... -hot Now

I was a city boy. Born on the asphalt, raised on the honk of taxi cabs and the 24/7 glow of neon lights. My idea of “roughing it” was a hotel without room service. So when my corporate job burned out and my fiancée ran off with my yoga instructor (thanks, Brad), I did something desperate. I answered a Craigslist ad: “Help needed on thoroughbred horse farm. Room and board. No city boys.”

She hung the lantern on a hook. The shadows danced. The sound of rain on the tin roof was a primal drumbeat. She walked toward me slowly, hips swaying in that effortless way country girls have—like they’re born knowing a rhythm city clubs try to sell you for $20 a drink.

By: J.D. Rawlings

“You afraid of the dark, city boy?” she asked.

“Then let me teach you something, city boy.” My Wild Sexy Summer With Country Chicks... -HOT

“Earn what?” I croaked.

“Shh, city boy. I don’t want an apology. I want a turn.” I was a city boy

That night—and I will take the details of that night to my grave—was the hottest, sweatiest, most gloriously sinful experience of my entire life. It involved the kitchen table, a jar of honey, a John Deere cap used in ways John Deere never intended, and sounds that scared the horses.