Cooper Vandermere—Coop to anyone who wasn't a stuffy courtier or one of his overbearing brothers—stepped out of the rickety wagon he'd hired from the capital, his boots sinking into the soft earth of his new plot. The air smelled of fresh-turned soil and distant rain, a far cry from the perfumed halls of the palace where he'd spent his childhood dodging etiquette lessons and sword drills. At twenty-four, he'd finally cashed in his inheritance early, buying this forgotten stretch of land along the King's Road for a pittance. The real estate agent had laughed when he'd signed the papers, muttering something about "foolish royals and their hobbies." Coop didn't care. This was his. A farmhouse that needed work, sure—peeling paint, a sagging porch—but it had good bones, and the fields stretched out invitingly under the late afternoon sun.
He unloaded his crates: tools, clothes, and most importantly, his seed collection. Rows of neatly labeled pouches filled with everything from common staples like wheat and apples to rarer finds he'd bartered for during his academy days. And then there were the special ones—the Intimacy Garden seeds. Blushberries, Rosehearts, Sweetdews. He'd discovered them in a dusty academy archive, forgotten cultivars with properties that went beyond mere nutrition. They weren't aphrodisiacs, not really; his Breed Farmer class had taught him that much. They amplified what was already there, like sunlight coaxing a bloom. But they required care, intention. Genuine emotion poured into the soil.
Coop stretched, his muscles aching from the ride. He had the build of a man who'd spent years in gardens rather than training yards—broad shoulders from hauling compost, callused hands that knew the feel of roots. His warm brown eyes scanned the horizon, taking in the neighboring farm: goats grazing lazily, a sturdy stone house with smoke curling from the chimney. Millhaven Village lay a short walk down the road, but for now, solitude suited him.
He was midway through unpacking when a knock echoed from the front door—more of a firm rap, really. Coop wiped his hands on his trousers and opened it, blinking at the woman on his porch. She was in her late thirties, with sun-weathered skin, dark hair pulled into a practical braid, and curves that spoke of a life lived fully—wide hips, full breasts straining against a simple linen blouse stained with what looked like milk spots. She held a wrapped bundle in one hand, her expression a mix of neighborly curiosity and dry amusement.
"Marta Olsen," she said, extending her free hand. Her grip was strong, no-nonsense. "I run the goat dairy next door. Saw the wagon pull up. Figured you'd need something to eat that isn't trail rations."
Coop grinned, shaking her hand. "Coop. Just Coop. Farmer." He didn't mention the prince bit; that could wait, or preferably, never come up. "Thanks—that smells amazing."
"Cheese," she confirmed, handing over the bundle. "My best batch. Aged three months. And a list of local warnings—nothing dramatic, but useful." She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, her eyes sweeping the sparse interior: a table, a bed in the corner, crates everywhere. "You've got your work cut out. The soil here's fertile, but it floods if you're not careful with drainage."
Coop unwrapped the cheese, inhaling the sharp, creamy scent. He broke off a piece and offered her some, which she accepted with a nod. As they chewed in companionable silence, he felt a spark—nothing magical, just the easy warmth of meeting someone who understood the land. Marta was practical, grounded, with a quiet strength that made him want to linger in the conversation.
She glanced at his seed crates. "Planning a big operation? Most new folks start small."
Coop chuckled, kneeling to open one. "I've got a unique class—Breed Farmer. Lets me guide plants in ways most can't. Here, look at these." He pulled out pouches, explaining the basics: stamina apples for energy, mana berries for mages. Then, hesitantly, he showed the Intimacy ones. "These are... special. Blushberries for warmth, Rosehearts for affection. Not love potions or anything—just enhancers for what's real."
Marta raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking. "Intimacy Garden, huh? Bold choice for a first-timer." She picked up a Blushberry seed pouch, turning it over. "My husband—gone ten years now—used to talk about rare crops like this. Said they only work if the grower's heart's in it." Her voice softened, a flicker of old grief in her eyes, but she shook it off. "You've got kids running around next door—Bram and Leni. They're good ones, but nosy. Keep an eye on your fences."
Coop nodded, feeling an unexpected pull toward her. She was older, wiser, with a lived-in beauty that the court ladies couldn't match. "Appreciate the heads-up. And about the Brewers upstream—?"
"Ah, them." Marta leaned against the table, her blouse shifting slightly, revealing a hint of cleavage glistening with a light sheen of sweat from the day's work. "Greedy lot. They'll try to pinch water rights if they think you're soft. Stand firm, but don't make enemies. Village life's easier that way."
As she spoke, Coop's eyes lingered a moment too long, and she caught it—not offended, but with a knowing smile. The air thickened, the simple act of sharing space turning charged. Maybe it was the exhaustion from travel, or the relief of finally being here, but he felt a stirring, a genuine curiosity about this woman who'd shown up unannounced with gifts and wisdom.
"You look like you could use a proper welcome," Marta said, her voice dropping a notch, laced with that dry humor. She stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm as she set the seed pouch down. "Long ride from wherever you came from?"
"Capital," he admitted vaguely. "Yeah, it was."
Her fingers lingered on his sleeve, tracing the muscle beneath. "Well, if you're not too tired... I could show you a bit more about the land. Or we could skip the tour."
Coop's breath caught. He wasn't oblivious—not entirely—, but this was direct, and it ignited something in him. The Breed Farmer in him sensed needs, desires unspoken, and Marta radiated a quiet hunger, buried under years of practicality. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing her lips. "I'd like that."
She pulled him in, her kiss firm and unhesitating, tasting of salt and the faint tang of cheese. Coop's hands roamed, sliding down her back to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him. She was soft where he was hard, her body yielding yet strong, and she moaned softly as he backed her against the table.
"Been a while since I welcomed a neighbor like this," she murmured, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his sun-kissed chest. She trailed kisses down his neck, nipping at the skin, while her hands explored lower, palming the growing bulge in his trousers.
Coop groaned, his own hands working her blouse open, revealing full, heavy breasts tipped with dark nipples already hardening in the cool air. He bent to take one in his mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder as she arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Gods, Marta..."
She laughed breathlessly, shoving his trousers down, her hand wrapping around him—thick, veined, throbbing under her touch. She stroked him slowly, teasing the tip with her thumb. "Not bad for a city boy. Let's see what you've got."
He lifted her onto the table, skirts hiked up, revealing she wore nothing beneath—practical, or perhaps intentional. Coop dropped to his knees, burying his face between her thighs. He licked her eagerly, tongue flat against her, then delving inside, tasting her musky sweetness. Marta gasped, legs wrapping around his head, heels digging into his back as she ground against his mouth.
"Yes—right there," she panted, her hands gripping the table edge. He added fingers, two sliding in easily, curling to hit that spot that made her shudder. She came quickly and unexpectedly, as a low cry escaped her lips.
Coop stood, positioning himself at her entrance, rubbing against her wetness. "You sure?"
She hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him in. "Don't make me ask twice."
He thrust in, slow at first, savoring the tight heat enveloping him. Marta was wet, welcoming, her nails raking his back as he built a rhythm—deep, steady strokes that had the table creaking. She met him thrust for thrust, her breasts bouncing with each impact, and Coop captured her mouth again, swallowing her moans.
It built fast, the pent-up energy of new beginnings fueling them. Coop's hands gripped her ass, angling deeper, hitting spots that made her whimper. "Fuck, you feel good," he growled, pace quickening.
Marta clenched around him, another orgasm building. "Come with me—inside, it's fine."
That pushed him over. He buried himself deep, spilling into her with a guttural groan, milking him as she released, trembling in his arms.
They stayed like that, panting, foreheads pressed together. Marta chuckled softly. "Well, that's one way to break in the house."
Coop smiled, pulling out gently, a mix of their fluids dripping onto the floor. "Best welcome I've ever had."
She straightened her clothes, still flushed. "Don't let it go to your head. And remember those warnings." She kissed his cheek and slipped out, leaving him dazed and satisfied.
As the sun set, Coop planted his first seeds—stamina apples in the main field, and a few Blushberries in a secluded corner. The soil hummed under his touch, responding to his care. And now, laced with the afterglow of genuine connection, he wondered what else this farm might grow.