The Central Valley night pressed down heavy and cool, stars sharp as knife points above the rows of weathered trailers. Jack hadn’t slept right in weeks. At sixty-three the arthritis in his knees complained louder every evening, but tonight something else kept him walking the gravel lanes between the units—restlessness older than bone pain.
He’d seen her twice before: early twenties, sun-bleached hair, always barefoot, always wearing less than seemed practical in a place where coyotes still came close to the fence line. Tonight the aluminum screen door of unit 17 stood wide open. Warm yellow light spilled down the rickety wooden steps and painted her body in gold against the black desert dark.
She leaned one bare shoulder against the doorframe, hip cocked, nothing between her skin and the night air. Small breasts lifted slightly with each breath; nipples already tight from the chill or anticipation—he couldn’t tell which. A thin gold chain circled her waist, catching starlight like spilled mercury.
Jack stopped ten feet away. Gravel crunched under his boot heel.
“You lost, mister?” Her voice carried that Central California lilt—soft vowels, lazy confidence.
“Think I just found somethin’,” he answered, surprised his throat still worked.
She didn’t cover herself. Instead she stepped down one stair, then another, toes curling against the rough wood. The light slid over her collarbones, down the gentle curve of her belly, caught in the faint stripe of hair between her thighs.
“Been watchin’ you walk these rows every night like you’re lookin’ for church,” she said. “This ain’t church.”
“No ma’am.” He took off his hat, held it against his chest like manners still mattered. “This is somethin’ else.”
She reached the bottom step and stopped, close enough he could smell sun-warmed skin and something faintly sweet—peach shampoo maybe, or just her. Her eyes flicked over the lines carved around his mouth, the silver at his temples, the way his shoulders still carried ranch work even after the ranch was long gone.
“You gonna stand there all night holdin’ that hat,” she asked, “or you gonna come feel how warm it is inside?”
Jack dropped the hat onto the dirt.
His callused palm found her waist first—rough fingertips against impossibly soft skin. She sucked in a small breath when his thumb brushed the chain. Then her hands were on his shirt, tugging snaps open while he walked her backward up the steps. The metal door banged shut behind them.
Inside smelled of coffee grounds, lavender candle wax, and clean sheets. She pulled him toward the narrow bed, shedding his shirt as they went. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress she sat, legs parting just enough to draw him between them.
He knelt—old knees protesting—and pressed his mouth to the soft skin below her navel. She tasted like salt and summer. Her fingers threaded into his hair, not gentle, guiding him lower. When his tongue finally slid through slick folds she made a sound that punched straight through his chest—half whimper, half demand.
“Fuck—yes, like that,” she breathed.
He ate her slow at first, savoring the way her thighs trembled against his shoulders, the way her hips rolled up to meet every stroke. Then faster, hungrier, until her breath broke into sharp little gasps and her fingers tightened to the point of pain.
She came hard, thighs clamping his head, a low keening cry swallowed by the tin walls. He didn’t stop until she tugged him upward, desperate.
Her hands fumbled at his belt, shoved denim and cotton down together. When his cock sprang free she wrapped cool fingers around him, stroking once, twice, then guided him to her entrance.
Jack pushed in slow—inch by careful inch—watching her eyes widen, lips part. Tight heat gripped him like a fist. She hooked her ankles behind his back, pulling him deeper.
“Harder,” she whispered against his ear. “I won’t break.”
He gave her what she asked for.
The trailer rocked on its blocks with each thrust. Her nails scored his shoulders; his mouth found her throat, her breasts, tasting sweat and skin and the faint metallic tang of her chain. She clenched around him again, suddenly, unexpectedly, dragging him over the edge with her. He buried himself deep and spilled inside her with a groan that sounded more like relief than pleasure.
They stayed locked together a long minute, breathing ragged, hearts hammering against each other.
Outside the stars kept burning, indifferent.
She kissed the corner of his mouth, lazy now. “You still lost, cowboy?”
Jack huffed a laugh against her neck. “Reckon I found exactly where I was supposed to be.”
She smiled into the dark.
“Stay till sunrise,” she murmured. “I like how your hands feel in daylight.”
He didn’t argue.
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