Casual Wanderer © 2025 All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and specific other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
"Ride That Bull, Jackson!"
Blake's hand slammed against the trailer door, the flimsy latch giving way as it flew open with a creak that split the quiet. The screen door banged against the siding as he strode inside, boots heavy on the worn linoleum, Jackson clutched tight in his arms.
The blonde's legs wrapped around Blake's waist, tight, desperate, his boots scuffing against the backs of Blake's jeans. His arms wound around Blake's neck, fingers tangled in that thick hair, pulling him closer as their mouths met over and over, hungry, frantic, like they'd been starving for this and finally found what would fill them.
Blake kicked the door shut behind him with a thud that rattled the thin walls, and the trailer seemed to exhale.
"Jackson," Blake rasped against his mouth, voice low and wrecked, like the want was too big to hold. His hands gripped the boy's thighs, strong and sure, thumbs pressing into denim.
Jackson's forehead touched Blake's, eyes half-lidded, breathing hard, a tremble in him that had nothing to do with fear. "I want..." he whispered, voice thick, soft and breaking at the edges. "I want you."
Blake let out a groan, deep and guttural, like the sound had been trapped in his chest for too long. He crossed the small space of the trailer, bumping against the table, knocking an old coffee cup to the floor, not caring.
Nothing mattered but the boy in his arms.
He set Jackson down just long enough for their bodies to press flush, his hands sliding up beneath Jackson's shirt, palms meeting warm skin.
Jackson shivered beneath that touch, leaning into it, eyes closing as Blake's fingers traced the small of his back, the ridges of his spine. His own hands roamed, clumsy and bold at once, over Blake's chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle, the thrum of his heart beating wild.
Blake pulled back just a hair, his eyes searching Jackson's face, his thumb brushing the line of his jaw, his lips hovering close. "I been wantin' to hear ya say that since the first time I set eyes on ya," he whispered, voice rough as gravel, but tender, full of care that near undid Jackson.
And Jackson, Lord, Jackson had never been more sure of anything. He nodded, words lost, but his hands spoke for him, tugging Blake's shirt up, fingers skimming skin and muscle, feeling the tremor that passed through the man beneath his touch.
The kiss that followed wasn't frantic this time. It was slow. Deep. A claim, a promise, a surrender. Their mouths moved soft at first, learning the taste of each other again, remembering the shape, the rhythm. Blake's hands cupped Jackson's face, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks, like he couldn't believe he had him here, like he couldn't believe the boy was real.
Blake's lips trailed along Jackson's jaw, down his throat, leaving a path of fire in their wake, while Jackson's breath hitched, his hands fisting in Blake's shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more, needing it. Their bodies pressed close, every inch of space between them gone, every barrier burned away by the heat of what they'd held back too long.
Blake lifted Jackson into his arms again, carrying him toward the back of the trailer.
Blake let Jackson's body fall, the blonde's body sliding down until his boots hit the floor, before he pulled back, chest still heaving, mouth parted like he was trying to breathe through every tangled thought in his head. His eyes locked on Jackson.
Jackson felt his face warm, that blush climbing from his neck all the way up to his cheeks. He ducked his head, a hand coming up to rub the back of it, eyes skittering away.
Blake caught him under the chin, gentle but firm, tilting Jackson's face back up so their eyes met. "Don't you go looking away," he drawled, voice rough, as kind as it was hungry. "Ain't a thing about you to be ashamed of, Jackson Bell." Jackson swallowed, trying to hide that shy tremble, but Blake saw it, saw the boy fighting every old doubt he'd ever carried. "You hear me?" Blake went on, thumb brushing over Jackson's jaw, slow as a prayer. "Somethin' as beautiful as you shouldn't never hide."
Jackson's lips parted, breath catching, a flush rising even stronger under Blake's steady gaze. "I...I ain't hidin'…" he whispered, unsure.
Blake smiled, soft, patient, aching with want and reverence both. "Good. Then take 'em off," he said, voice thick. "All of it."
Jackson froze for a breath, heart pounding so loud he felt it in his teeth. "You...you want me to...?"
Blake nodded, eyes not leaving him, calm and achingly sure. "I wanna see you."
Jackson drew in a shaky breath, hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt. He fumbled a second, his fingers clumsy, heart skipping, but Blake never looked away. First button. Then another. The shirt slipped down off his shoulders, falling soft to the floor, leaving the faint lines of muscle, the sun-browned skin, a freckle on one collarbone that Blake's eyes traced like a secret he'd been waiting to learn.
Jackson hesitated at his belt, glancing up, but Blake's face was so steady, so open, that it gave him courage. "Go on," Blake whispered, voice gone low.
Jackson undid the buckle slowly, breathing raggedly, and slid the jeans down his long legs. He stepped out of them carefully, bare feet on the scuffed trailer floor. He stood there in just his underwear, cheeks hot, hands hovering by his sides, waiting for some kind of sign.
Blake smiled again, that wolf's smile with all its sweetness, and nodded once more. "All of it," he said.
Jackson swallowed, heart racing so hard he thought it might jump out of his chest, then slid the cotton briefs down, letting them fall. He stood there, every part of him on display, the slight tremble in his thighs, the curve of his hips, the flush across his belly, the muscle from years of running around barefoot through Willow Creek.
And between his smooth thighs, covered in the thinnest coat of golden fuzz, the most beautiful, pink, uncut, 7-inch cock. Twitching slightly with every movement of Blake's chest.
Blake stared.
Slow.
Soaking the boy in.
His eyes roamed, reverent, from Jackson's shoulders, to the smooth line of his back, to the way his chest rose and fell like he'd just run a mile. And then lower, taking in the boy's softness, his rawness, the honest truth of him standing there, no armor left. Jackson felt like his skin was on fire under that gaze, and he wanted to duck away, to cover himself, but Blake reached out, catching him by the wrist, drawing him closer.
"You," Blake said, his voice deep and ragged, "are the most breathtakin' thing I ever laid eyes on," Blake whispered, his voice splintering suddenly. Jackson's blue eyes narrowed, surprised by the sudden crack in the cowboy's roughness. "Like God sent an angel down to earth..." he uttered, voice trailing off.
Jackson giggled, breathless, shaky, trying to hide that spark of fulfillment fighting through the shame. His right hand came up, fingers trailing his belly button as he stared at Blake, looking at him like he was something holy and wild, something that made every other beauty in the world pale beside it.
Then Blake moved, slow as summer honey.
His big hands, calloused, steady, reached for the buttons of his shirt, one by one, each pop of thread a note in a quiet, private song. Jackson's heart stuttered, his mouth gone dry as Blake peeled the fabric away, revealing broad shoulders, sun-browned and strong, with muscles that told stories about bulls, about years of grit and work, about a body carved by both living and surviving.
Blake's chest was dusted with dark hair, a fine line trailing down the hard plane of his belly. Jackson's blue gaze caught every ridge and hollow, the slope of his ribs, the powerful cut of his arms, the kind of arms made to hold on and never let go.
Blake shifted, slow, the creak of the trailer's floor under his boots sounding loud in the hush. His fingers went to the buckle of his belt, working it loose, sliding the leather through the loops with a quiet rasp that made Jackson's breath catch again, as though each second of exposure was its own bright spark.
The jeans fell lower on his hips, the muscle of his belly flexing tight, a small scar near his side, pale against bronzed skin, catching Jackson's eye, making him ache to touch it, to know the story behind it.
Blake stepped out of the denim, heavy thighs tense as he moved, lean waist giving way to the shape of him below, barely held by a pair of worn briefs that hugged him close. Jackson's face went hot then, eyes darting away for a second, but something brought them right back. The massive bulge. Huge, long and thick, tilting slightly to the left. He took it all in: Blake's long, strong legs, his knees nicked with faint white scars, the faint dust of hair trailing down his thighs, and the undeniable weight of want stirring under those briefs.
Blake stood there for a heartbeat, bare except for that last barrier, letting the boy's eyes roam it, giving Jackson space to see every part, to breathe it in.
Then, without a word, he slid them down, calm and sure, stepping out of them, letting the last scrap of modesty fall to the floor. And with that, Jackson finally got to look at Blake's manhood. It was massive. A long, 10-inch, thick, throbbing uncut log of meat. It curved slightly to the left. Veiny and leaking from under its foreskin.
"Lord...have mercy..." Jackson mumbled as he felt something hitch in his chest, a swell of awe that left him dizzy.
This was a man laid bare, with nothing hidden: the flex of muscle over bone, the heavy, real weight of him, the curve of his hips, the line of his back tapering down to where the light caught a faint shimmer of sweat at the small of it.
Jackson's hands twitched, wanting to reach but not quite brave enough. His mouth parted, breathing shallow, the sight of Blake making every nerve in his body spark alive. Blake seemed impossibly solid, crafted from dirt and dust and hard-won days, but there was a softness in the line of his mouth, a fragility in how he stood there, waiting for Jackson's eyes to travel every inch.
And then Blake took a step forward, naked, unafraid, beautiful in all the ways that mattered, and the smell of him, leather and sweat and man, wrapped around Jackson like a familiar summer storm, thrilling and gentle all at once. He nudged Jackson's body back, inviting him to lie back on the mattress.
Blake's hands slid down Jackson's trembling thighs, his voice soothing him like honey on a sore throat. "Ain't ever had no man touch ya before, have ya?" Blake murmured, his voice dripping with a sweetness that belied what he was about to unleash. "Don't worry. I ain't gonna hurt ya."
Jackson's legs were trembling as Blake lifted them, his hands gripping the backs of the boy's knees, spreading him wide. Jackson's hole, pink and puckered, glistened like a forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. Blake's breath was hot against Jackson's skin as he leaned in, tongue darting out to trace the tight ring of muscle, teasing it with a feather-light touch that made Jackson whimper.
"Jesus Christ...I can taste every drop of sweat...every fuckin' step it took ya to get here tonight," Blake groaned, his nose sniffing Jackson's scent. An intoxicating blend of innocence and longing, tinged with sweat and musk.
"Oh," Jackson gasped, his voice cracking as Blake's tongue pressed harder, lapping at his hole.
Blake's hands tightened on Jackson's thighs, holding him in place as he buried his face between the boy's cheeks, his tongue working in slow circles. Jackson's fingers clawed at the sheets, his back arching as Blake delved deeper, probing and stretching him open with a wet, caring rhythm.
His tongue flicked over Jackson's hole, teasing the sensitive skin before plunging back in, deeper this time, in a way that had Jackson's toes curling and his cock throbbing against his stomach. Blake's hands slid down to grip Jackson's hips, pulling him closer, forcing his tongue even deeper as Jackson's moans crammed the room.
"Oh my lord," Jackson begged, his voice trembling with need.
Blake's tongue worked Jackson's hole, licking and sucking him until Jackson was a writhing, whimpering mess. Blake's lips were slick with spit, glistening as he pulled back, his hungry eyes locked on Jackson's trembling form. The blonde was sprawled out like a banquet, his thighs quivering, hole glistening and twitching, begging for more.
Blake's voice came then, low and guttural. "Ya taste so damn good," he growled, his words slow and syrupy. "Like sin and honey." And then he was back at it, his tongue driving into Jackson's hole with a ferocity that had the boy arching off the bed, his back bowing. Blake's hands were rough and possessive, gripping Jackson's ass cheeks and spreading them wide, exposing the boy's pink pucker. "You like that?" Blake purred, his voice low and husky, dripping with a charm that could make a sinner out of a saint. "You like havin' your pretty little hole ate out like a juicy peach?"
Jackson couldn't do anything but moan, his voice slurred and shaky, words coming out in broken gasps. "F...fuck, Blake..."
Blake chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, tongue diving back in, licking and sucking at Jackson's hole like it was the last meal he'd ever have. His hands were everywhere, kneading Jackson's ass cheeks, spreading him wider, exposing him completely to a world the boy knew nothing about.
He teased the boy's rim, flicking and circling, before plunging back in until Jackson was a writhing, whimpering mess. "That's it," Blake growled, his voice rough and raw, like gravel under a boot. "Let me know how much you love it."
Jackson's moans were music to Blake's ears, high and desperate, his body trembling as Blake worked him open. The boy's cock bobbed against his stomach with every thrust of Blake's tongue. His hands were tangled in the sheets, gripping them.
Blake pulled back again, lips slick with spit and Jackson's essence, his eyes dark with lust as he looked up at the boy. "You ready for me?" he asked.
Jackson nodded, his movement shaky and broken as he chuckled nervously.
Blake's lips curled into that slow, sinful smirk of his. His voice purred low and husky against Jackson's ear. "Well, ain't you just the sweetest lil' thing," he murmured, his breath hot enough to make Jackson shiver. "Gonna take real good care of you, Jackson."
Blake's hands slid down Jackson's trembling thighs, gripping his ankles with a firmness that sent a jolt straight to the boy's cock. He yanked Jackson to the edge of the bed, the sheets rumpling beneath him, and positioned himself between those spread legs like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
And Lord, did he ever.
Blake's tip brushed against it, just barely, and Jackson gasped, his back arching off the bed. "Easy now," Blake cooed, his voice a velvet drawl. Jackson's hole clenched instinctively, tight as a vice, and Blake chuckled. "You gotta relax for me. Can't have you fightin' it." He spat into his palm and slicked up his cock, the spit glistening on his swollen head. He aimed himself again, pressing the tip against Jackson's entrance, and leaned down to kiss the boy's trembling lips. "It's gonna hurt a lil' at first," he admitted, his voice soft but firm. "But I promise you, I'll make it feel so damn good you'll soon be beggin' for more."
Jackson's breath hitched, his blue eyes wide and trusting as he nodded.
"That's my boy," Blake murmured, his voice dripping with affection. He hooked Jackson's legs over his broad shoulders, the muscles in his arms flexing as he positioned himself. "Now, take a deep breath for me."
Jackson obeyed, chest rising and falling as Blake pressed forward, the thick head of his cock breaching that tight ring of muscle. Jackson whimpered, his fingers clawing at the sheets, but Blake didn't stop. He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he had four to five inches sheathed inside the boy's trembling body.
"Goddamn," Jackson drawled, his voice trembling as he pulled back just enough to let Blake's cock slip free from his hole. His tight ass clenched around nothing, his pink rim fluttering like a butterfly caught in a storm, desperate, hungry, needy. "Sweet Jesus, that thing's tryin' to split me in two…"
Blake smirked, lazy and wicked, his hand already dragging Jackson back by the hip. His other hand was wrapped around his own cock, stroking slowly and filthy, smearing precum down his shaft like he was buttering cornbread. "Wanna tap out?" he purred, voice dripping with that deep-fried charm, all smoke and sin.
Jackson's breath hitched, his beautiful blue eyes gone dark as midnight in July. His fingers trembled where they curled around Blake's wrist, not pushing him away, just holding on like he was afraid the earth might tilt and spill him right off. "Ain't no quitter in me," he breathed, voice shaking but stubborn as a mule. Then he was moving, shifting that tight, plump, and smooth ass back, guiding that monster cock right where they both wanted it, slow as honey off a spoon, inch by aching inch.
Blake groaned, his free hand gripping Jackson's hip hard enough to bruise. "That's it, baby...take it nice 'n' easy," he growled, watching every twitch of Jackson's face, the way his lips parted on a gasp, the way his lashes fluttered when that thick head popped past his rim again, stretching him wide open.
Jackson whimpered, high and sweet, his hole clenching down on Blake's cock. "Fuck...fuck, it's so big..."
Blake didn't let him finish. He yanked him down the rest of the way in one thrust, burying himself balls-deep in that tight heat. Jackson roared, back arching like a bowstring, his cock jerking against his belly and spitting a string of sheer liquid over himself.
"There y'are," Blake rumbled, grinding up into him, savoring the way Jackson's body fought to take him, stretched so wide he could feel every pulse of that starving hole around him. "You're takin' it." He leaned down to kiss Jackson again, his tongue sliding against the boy's in a slow rhythm that matched the way his cock was stretching Jackson open. "You feel so tight around me. Like...you were made..." Blake stuttered, the words getting stuck in his mouth. He began to move, the motion a defense mechanism, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm with Jackson wailing into his mouth, forcing him to fill the silence and hold Blake's feelings at bay.
He pulled out almost all the way before thrusting back in, each stroke deeper and harder than the last. Jackson's body was trembling, his cock leaking against his stomach as Blake fucked him with a tenderness that belied the raw power in his movements.
"That's it," Blake drawled. "Let me know just how good I'm makin' you feel." His words were a low rumble, a promise and a prayer all rolled into one, as he leaned down to press his lips to Jackson's ear, his breath hot and heavy against the sensitive skin.
Jackson's moans spilled out like a hymn, raw and unfiltered, his hands clawing at Blake's broad, muscular shoulders like he was clinging to the only thing keeping him grounded. Blake's thick and unrelenting cock plunged into Jackson's tight, quivering hole, hitting that sweet spot deep inside him with every thrust.
"Blake…oh fuck!" Jackson cried out, his voice cracking on a sob as his body arched off the bed.
"You're so damn beautiful," Blake groaned as he slowed his thrusts, savoring the way Jackson's body clenched around him, hot and wet and perfect. He leaned down to capture Jackson's lips in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against Jackson's in a dance that had them both moaning into each other's mouths. "I could spend the rest of my life inside ya," he murmured against Jackson's mouth, his hands roaming over every inch of Jackson's skin, mapping out every curve and dip like he was committing it to memory.
Blake could feel the shift in Jackson's body, the way the pain melted away into pure, unadulterated pleasure as he began to move faster, his cock driving deeper into Jackson's hole. "That's it," Blake growled, his voice dense with ardor.
Blake's hands gripped Jackson's thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled the boy's legs down from his shoulders and wrapped them tight around his waist. Jackson's hole was slick and quivering now, stretched wide around Blake's shaft as he fucked him with a rhythm that was both punishing and tender.
"Sweet Jesus," Blake groaned. "You feel that?"
Jackson's breath hitched, his body trembling as Blake pistoned in and out of him. "Fuck," he moaned, his voice a broken whimper. "You're so deep. I can't...I can't take it."
Blake chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "You can take it," he purred, hands sliding up to grip Jackson's hips, pulling him harder onto his cock. "You're takin' it so damn good. Look at you, all pretty and spread out for me."
Jackson's cheeks flushed, his body arching as Blake's cock hit his spot again, and again, and again, sending ripples of pleasure bashing through him. "Blake," he gasped, his fingers clawing at the stud's muscular back, legs tightening around the hunk's waist. "Please... don't stop. Fuck me harder."
Blake's growl was primal, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through Jackson's trembling body like a shockwave. His hips pistoned forward with a brutal, unrelenting rhythm, each thrust driving his thick, veiny cock deeper into Jackson's tight, fluttering hole. Jackson's cries were a symphony of delight and despair, his voice cracking as he clawed at Blake's back, his body arching off the bed. "Fuck, Blake! Oh god, oh god!" he sobbed, his words dissolving into incoherent moans as Blake's cock stretched him wide, filling him to the brim with every savage push.
"You're mine, Jackson," Blake snarled, his voice dripping with possessive lust. His hands gripped Jackson's hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled him back onto his cock with a wet, slapping sound. "Every fucking inch of you belongs to me now..."
Jackson's hole clenched around Blake's shaft, the tight, velvety walls spasming as he teetered on the edge of ecstasy. "I...I can't...I'm gonna..." he stammered, his voice breaking as his cock twitched violently, beads of precum leaking from the swollen tip. His balls tightened, drawing up against his body as the pressure built, unbearable and exquisite.
"That's it," Blake growled, his thrusts becoming erratic, cock slamming into Jackson's prostate with unerring precision. "Come for me. Show me how much you love this fucking cock."
With a wail that echoed through the room, Jackson finally came undone.
His cock erupted in thick, white ropes that splattered across his heaving chest and stomach, body convulsing as wave after wave of bliss crashed over him. His hole clenched and fluttered around Blake's cock, milking him with desperate, greedy spasms.
Blake groaned, his own release surging through him. He buried himself to the hilt, balls slapping against Jackson's ass as he came hard, his hot, sticky cum flooding Jackson's tight channel. "Fuck, yes," he growled, his voice rough and ragged.
Jackson whimpered, his body still trembling as Blake's cock pulsed inside him, filling him with warmth. "Blake...what the..." he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken.
Blake leaned down, his lips brushing against Jackson's ear as he whispered, "We're not done yet, angel," he stated, letting his body crash down, his whole weight pressing on Jackson's frame. "Hold on to somethin'...Cause I'm gonna keep fuckin' you until you can't even remember your own name," he groaned into the blonde's ear.
And with that, Blake began to move again.
Jackson's cries echoed through the room, each a symphony of desire as Blake skillfully brought him to the brink. Time and time again. Waves of pleasure surged between them, consuming their senses and leaving nothing but the intoxicating connection they shared.
The world outside faded, and all that mattered was the electrifying bond that drew them closer in an unending dance of ecstasy.
*
(Half an hour later)
The trailer lay hushed now.
Blake lay stretched out on the narrow bed, his head tipped back against the thin pillow, long hair mussed, his bun disheveled, chest bare and slick with the last glow of sweat. His arms rested behind his head, lazy and spent, but his eyes, Lord, his eyes followed Jackson's every move like someone watching a flame dance in the dark.
Jackson couldn't stay still.
His body, lean and golden, moved with that wild energy of a boy who'd just touched something he'd been aching for and found it more beautiful than he'd dreamed. He padded, naked and barefoot, across the creaking floorboards, soft cock dangling playfully between his legs, his skin still flushed from the heat they'd made together.
He ran his hands through his hair, laughing softly, breathless from joy this time, not from running, not from want, but from the wonder of it.
Blake grinned, slow and wide, unable to help himself. "What's got you all riled up, angel?" His voice was rough around the edges, low and warm, like the night itself.
Jackson turned, that light in his eyes brighter than the worn bulb hanging over the table. "I dunno," he said, drawling sweet and easy.
He reached down and plucked Blake's cowboy hat from where it lay discarded on the chair beside him, twirling it between his fingers before setting it on his head. The brim shaded his eyes, but that grin of his, mischief and innocence all tangled up together, shone plain as day.
Blake let out a soft groan, one hand dragging down his face like he was trying to cool himself. "Lord help me, boy, you're gonna be the death of me wearin' that hat like you got any right to look that good."
Jackson laughed, full and bright, and did a slow little spin, showing off, his hips swaying just enough to make Blake's breath catch.
"Well..." Jackson teased, his voice light but his eyes bleeding with that same fire Blake had seen when they'd first touched. "Ain't that what you been tellin' me all night?"
Blake watched him, awestruck, like he was seeing the sunrise after years of darkness. His voice dropped, softer now, reverent. "You're somethin' else, Jackson Bell."
Jackson came closer, slow and sure, that hat still tipped low, his gaze steady beneath it. "You always talk like this?"
Blake chuckled low, shaking his head, his hand reaching out to brush Jackson's hip, fingers trailing lightly over the boy's warm skin. "I don't reckon I've ever had like this before."
Jackson slid one leg over Blake's body, saddling the hunk's waist. The mere contact of both their bodies made Blake's cock awaken. Jackson smirked, feeling it grow under him. He leaned in, his breath mingling with Blake's, his voice a whisper. "Me neither."
They stayed like that a moment, breathing the same air, sharing the same hush. Blake's thumb traced lazy circles against Jackson's side. "You keep wearin' that hat, I'm gonna forget I'm too tired to move," Blake muttered, a grin playing at his lips.
Jackson pushed the brim up just enough to show his eyes, blue and shining, all mischief and sweetness. "Maybe I want you to forget?"
Blake groaned again, hand sliding up to cup the back of Jackson's neck, pulling him down, their foreheads touching. His voice was low, almost a prayer. "You're gonna undo me, boy."
Jackson smiled, soft now, honest. "Good."
Jackson's hand slid back, his fingers wrapping around Blake's cock like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His ass arched up, that tight, pink hole glistening with urge, as he guided Blake's dick back inside him. The stretch was slow, every inch of that plump shaft spreading him open, making his breath hitch in his throat.
"Holy fuck," Blake groaned. His neck arched back, fingers digging into Jackson's peachy cheeks, kneading them like dough. "Ya feel so damn good, wrapped 'round me like this."
Blake's hips started to move, trying to push deeper. Jackson's hole was still tight, and Blake could feel every ridge, every pulse. "You sore?" Blake asked, his voice low but caring. He felt Jackson's hands on his chest, shoving him down gently, his back sinking into the mattress.
"A lil' bit," Jackson admitted, but there was a wicked grin on his lips, his eyes filling with lust. "But...don't move now," he said, his voice soft but commanding.
Blake lay there, eyes locked on Jackson, watching every little shift in the boy's expression as he started to move his hips. Back and forth, slow and steady. His face was mesmerizing: lips pursed in concentration, brows twitching with pleasure, eyes fluttering shut for just a second before they snapped open again, famished. His neck arched, exposing the smooth column of his throat, and Blake wanted to bite it, mark it, claim it.
"That's it," Blake growled, his hands moving to Jackson's hips, guiding him, urging him to go faster. "Ride me like you mean it."
Jackson's breath hitched, his hips moving with more purpose now, slamming down on Blake's cock with a wet slap that reverberated through the trailer. His ass jiggled with every thrust, the sound of skin on skin plugging the air, blending with their ragged breaths and low moans.
"Fuck," Jackson whimpered, his voice breaking as he leaned forward, his hands braced on Blake's chest. "You feel so damn good inside me."
Blake's hands moved to Jackson's ass again, squeezing the firm globes, spreading them apart so he could feel his cock disappear into that tight hole over and over again. "You're takin' me so good," he growled, hips bucking up to meet Jackson's thrusts.
Jackson's head fell back, a low moan tearing from his throat as he rode Blake harder, faster.
"Cum on me," Blake urged, his hands moving to Jackson's cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. "Oh shit...oh fuck..." he stuttered before his voice broke, unfiltered.
"Ride that bull, Jackson!" he roared.
Jackson's body tensed, his hole clamping down on Blake's cock as he came, ropes of cum shooting across the hunk's chest. Blake groaned, his own orgasm crashing over him as he filled Jackson up, pulsing inside that tight warmth.
*
(One hour later)
The trailer, small and humble as it was, felt like a world all its own now.
Outside, Willow Creek had gone still, the night holding its breath, the breeze rustling the edge of a tarp that flapped slowly against a fence post.
Blake was still stretched out on the bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other draped lazily across his stomach. His eyes followed Jackson as the boy moved about, naked, his bare feet silent on the floor. He was wearing Blake's hat still, the brim tipped down just enough to cast a shadow over those bright eyes, but not enough to hide the grin that played on his lips.
Jackson drifted from corner to corner, touching this, picking up that, fingers trailing over Blake's worn leather gloves on the table, his belt hanging off a chair, a stack of old rodeo magazines with dog-eared pages.
"Look at you," Blake drawled, amusement lacing his voice. "Makin' yourself right at home, huh?"
Jackson didn't look back, but Blake saw the grin widen. "Just tryin' to figure out what kinda man I done tangled up with tonight," he said, thumbing through the top magazine, pausing on a page with a picture of Blake mid-ride, hat low, eyes fierce, dust kicked up all around him. "Guess I didn't know you was this famous."
Blake chuckled, the sound low and lazy. "That ain't nothin'. Just tryin' to stay on a bull long enough not to break my neck."
Jackson set the magazine down and wandered to a shelf where a cracked mug held a couple'a coins, a dried-out pen, and a small silver lighter etched with initials. He picked it up, thumbing over the worn metal.
"Who gave you this?" Jackson asked, softer now, curiosity gentle.
Blake's voice came quietly, thoughtfully. "My granddaddy. When I left home the first time. Said it'd keep me warm, keep me honest." He smiled, wry. "Don't reckon it did much of either."
Jackson turned, leaning back against the counter, spinning the lighter between his fingers. His hair was tousled, cheeks still flushed, hat sitting crooked now.
And Blake couldn't look away.
"You trouble," Blake said, his voice thick, rough around the edges, full of affection he hadn't planned on showing. "Sweetest kind of trouble I ever laid eyes on."
Jackson laughed, that easy, warm sound that made the trailer feel like home. "That right?" he teased, sauntering toward the bed, twirling the lighter once more before setting it down on the nightstand. "I thought you were supposed to be the dangerous one."
Blake shifted, hand reaching out, beckoning. "C'mere, angel. Quit pacin' like you got somewhere better to be."
Jackson hesitated, smiling softly, eyes shining. "What if I ain't done explorin' yet?"
Blake grinned, crooked and sure. "There's only one thing in this trailer worth explorin', and he's layin' right here, waitin' on you," Blake teased, his hand grabbing his semi-hard cock, fingers wrapping around it.
Jackson's breath caught at that. But he dropped the act, crawling onto the bed.
A few minutes later, they were at it again.
*
The hush after love felt different than any other hush.
The world had gone slow, the night pulled in close, and even their skin felt changed.
Jackson lay sprawled across the thin rug on the floor, one long leg hooked around Blake's, his head resting against his lover's shoulder.
Blake was stretched out beside him, an arm slung over Jackson's waist, holding him easy like he never meant to let go. His hair stuck to his forehead, damp from the heat they'd worked up, eyes half-lidded with that dreamy look that came only after a man had loved and been loved in return.
They had just fucked for the fourth time that night.
Jackson shifted, a grin crawling across his lips, playful even in the quiet. "You always keep your floor this clean?" he teased, voice still hoarse from breathing Blake's name too many times.
Blake let out a low laugh, drawling softly, "You think I ever had company worth cleanin' up for before you?"
Jackson's cheeks warmed, and he laughed shyly, wriggling closer, the rough fibers of the rug scratching his hip. They fell quiet, the rhythm of their breath settling back into that easy drawl. Jackson let his fingers trace the ridges of Blake's ribs, curious and gentle.
After a minute, he spoke softly, almost afraid to break the moment. "Blake?"
Blake's thumb brushed along his spine, slowly. "Yeah, angel?"
Jackson hesitated, teeth worrying at his lip. "You ever...been in love before?"
Blake stilled. He shifted, staring at the ceiling, jaw working side to side like he was chewing through memory. "Don't reckon I have," he admitted finally, voice low, honest. "I done had folks warm my bed plenty. Rodeo life's full of that kinda easy company. But love? Naw."
Jackson looked at him, eyes wide, blue as a summer sky after rain. "Why not?"
Blake sighed, hand sliding to rest against Jackson's bare chest, feeling the young man's heart thrum steady. "Guess I never wanted to slow down long enough to let someone see all my broken pieces," he said. "Felt easier to keep movin'. Easier to be what folks expected. Just a bull rider, a drifter. Folks don't ask questions if you stay gone."
Jackson's brows pulled together, thoughtful. "You got a family? Out there somewhere?"
Blake chuckled without humor, eyes going distant. "Got a mama still breathin' down in Bogalusa. She don't much care what I do. Daddy's long gone. Ain't no kin but a few cousins I never see. I learned early a man stands on his own, else he ends up beggin'."
Jackson nodded, something tender and sad crossing his face. He let his thumb swipe across Blake's stubbled cheek. "You ain't gotta beg with me," he whispered, honest as only youth could be.
Blake looked at him then, and something cracked wide open in his chest. His lips parted, but closed again, afraid that they'd voice whatever was running through Blake's spirit at that moment.
Jackson traced a little circle on Blake's shoulder, curious still. "You ever get scared ridin' them bulls?"
That pulled a grin from Blake, easier this time. "Anyone says they ain't scared is a liar or a damn fool. That fear keeps you honest. Makes you respect what you're facin'. Otherwise you get hurt."
Jackson nodded, thoughtful. "Like love."
Blake blinked, startled, then laughed softly and warmly, drawling. "Look at you, gettin' all poetic on me."
Jackson ducked his head with a sheepish grin. Blake tugged him closer, noses brushing, their skin sticking together in the humid dark.
A quiet fell over them then, peaceful as a front porch at dusk. Jackson's breathing slowed, and Blake watched him, wondering how in God's name someone could look so innocent and so fierce all at once. That tousled hair, those lips, the long lines of a boy grown into a man but still carrying something sweet in his bones.
"You trouble, you know that?" Blake drawled again, voice thick with awe.
Jackson gave a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded.
Blake chuckled, leaning down to kiss him slowly, claiming that smile with his own lips.
*
Blake lay naked on the bed, his thick, veiny cock standing at full attention, glistening with a bead of precum that teased the tip. Jackson, with his tousled blonde hair falling in messy waves, hovered over it, his breath hot and uneven as he stared at the sheer magnitude of Blake's manhood.
"What're you doin'?" Blake asked, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but a hunger in his eyes betrayed his casual tone. He watched as Jackson leaned in closer, his lips parting slightly, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of Blake's shaft.
"Just… gettin' a good look," Jackson murmured, his voice trembling with curiosity and nervous excitement. His southern twang was softer, more melodic, but there was a fire in his words that made Blake's cock throb in expectation. Jackson's fingers twitched, itching to touch, to explore, but he hesitated, his inexperience showing in the way he bit his lower lip.
Blake chuckled. "You sure you're ready to handle all that? Ain't no shame in admittin' it's a bit much for a first timer."
Jackson's eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance lighting up his baby blues. "That's the problem with folks 'round here," he shot back, his voice steady now, laced with a reckless determination. "Y'all keep underestimatin' me." And with that, he leaned in, his tongue darting out to lick a slow, tentative stripe up the underside of Blake's cock.
Blake's breath hitched, his head falling back against the pillow as a low groan escaped his lips. "Fuck, angel," he muttered.
Jackson didn't respond, too focused on the task at hand. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Blake's shaft, feeling the heat and the pulse of blood beneath the skin. His other hand pushed his hair back, tucking it behind his ear as he finally took the tip into his mouth. The taste was salty and musky.
He swirled his tongue around the head, exploring the sensitive ridge with curiosity and resolve. His lips stretched around the girth, and he could feel the way Blake's cock twitched in response, as if it was begging for more. Jackson obliged, sinking down a little further, his mouth filling with more of Blake's length. He gagged slightly, pulling back for a moment to catch his breath, but there was no fear in his eyes, only hunger.
"Easy now," Blake murmured, his voice rough with need.
But Jackson wasn't one to back down from a challenge. He took a deep breath and dove back in, this time taking more of Blake's cock in. His lips stretched to their limit, his tongue pressing against the underside as he bobbed his head slowly, tentatively. His hand moved in sync with his mouth, stroking what he couldn't take, his fingers slick with the hunk's precum.
Blake's hips bucked involuntarily, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Jesus Christ," he groaned, his accent thicker now, his words slurred with pleasure. "You're a natural."
Jackson's lips peeled off Blake's throbbing cock with a wet, lewd pop, his mouth slick and swollen from the rigorous rhythm he'd been keeping. A string of spit clung to his bottom lip, and he licked it away with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue. His eyes locked onto Blake's, and a wicked grin spread across his face. "Told ya not to underestimate me," he drawled.
And then, without missing a beat, Jackson dove back down, his lips wrapping around Blake like it was the sweetest damn thing he'd ever tasted. His mouth was a furnace, hot and wet, and every inch of Blake's shaft was engulfed in that sinful heat. Jackson's head bobbed with an almost hypnotic rhythm, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked with hunger.
Blake's hips jerked, his cock twitching against the back of Jackson's throat, but he held himself back, not wanting to shove too deep too fast. His hands tangled in Jackson's golden curls, gripping them tight but not pulling, just holding on for dear life as Jackson worked him over at his own rhythm. "You look so goddamn pretty with my dick in your mouth." Blake groaned.
Jackson's lips stretched thin around the girth, but he managed to smirk around it anyway, his eyes fluttering shut as he took him deeper. The tip of Blake's cock nudged the back of his throat, and Jackson gagged softly, the sound muffled but unmistakable. He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, and then he was diving back down, taking him even deeper this time. His body was coiled tight, every muscle taut as he pushed himself to take more, to give more. His hands gripped Blake's thighs, nails digging into the flesh as he steadied himself, his own cock straining against the sheets.
Blake's fingers tightened aroundJackson's hair as he fought the urge to fuck his mouth raw. "That's it, angel," he growled, his voice dripping with lust. "Take it all. Show me how much you want it."
Jackson's eyes fluttered open like the wings of a moth caught in the heat of a porch light, and when they locked onto Blake's, it was like two storms colliding over the Mississippi Delta, raw, untamed. There was defiance in those blues, sure, but underneath it all, there was devotion. Jackson's lips parted, slick and swollen, and he took a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring like a stallion scenting its mate. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and swallowed Blake's cock down to the hilt, his throat convulsing around that thick, throbbing length like it was made for nothing else.
And that's when the shift happened.
It was like the air inside the trailer got heavier, hotter. Blake's dominant side rose like a thunderhead, dark and commanding, while Jackson's blue eyes blinked up at him with a submissiveness so sweet it could rot your teeth.
The boy was ready.
Begging for it without saying a word.
And Blake?
Well, he knew it.
He fucking knew it.
Blake's hand shot out, tangling in Jackson's hair like he was reining in a wild mustang. He started fucking Jackson's mouth in earnest, his hips pistoning forward with a tempo that was as severe as a summer storm. The sounds that followed were nothing short of indecent, wet, sloppy gulps and choked moans.
Jackson's lips stretched obscenely around Blake's cock, spit dripping down his chin and pooling on the mattress beneath him. His throat worked furiously, trying to accommodate every inch of that monstrous dick, and every time Blake bottomed out, Jackson's eyes rolled back in his head like he was seeing Jesus himself.
But it wasn't Jesus he was worshipping.
It was Blake.
Blake's grip tightened in Jackson's hair, yanking his head back just enough to expose the long, pale column of the boy's throat. He slammed back into Jackson's mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of the blonde's throat with a force that made Jackson gag and sputter. But he didn't pull away. He leaned into it, his hands gripping the hunk's thighs. Blake's balls slapped against Jackson's chin with every thrust, and Jackson's moans were muffled but no less desperate. He was drowning in it, in Blake, in the heat, in the sheer need streaming through his veins like wildfire.
And Blake?
He was relentless.
He fucked Jackson's mouth like he was trying to claim it, to mark it as his own. His hips snapped forward again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, until Jackson's throat was nothing but a tight, wet sleeve for his cock. "That's it," Blake snarled, his voice rough and ragged. "Take it, Jackson Bell. Take every damn inch."
Jackson's eyes watered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled to keep up, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He was too far gone, too lost in the pleasure and the pain and the sheer intensity of it all. His hands moved from Blake's thighs to his own cock, stroking himself in time with Blake's thrusts, his hips jerking helplessly as he teetered on the edge of oblivion.
Blake's pace quickened, his breath coming in harsh pants as he felt his own release building. "You gonna swallow it all?" he barked. "You gonna take every last drop like a good little cub?"
Jackson nodded, his throat vibrating around Blake's cock as he moaned his assent. And when Blake finally came, it was with a roar that shook the very foundations of that godforsaken trailer.
His cock throbbed like a jackhammer, veins bulging and pulsing as he unleashed a torrent of thick, creamy jizz straight down Jackson's eager throat. The boy's lips were stretched wide, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucked and swallowed like a pro, gulping down every last drop of Blake's salty load like it was the sweetest ambrosia. His throat muscles clenched and rippled, milking and slurping Blake's dick for every ounce of cum it had to give.
When Blake finally yanked his cock out, Jackson collapsed to the side, gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon. His lips were swollen and slick with spit and cum. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide with delight, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. But even in his dazed state, there was a smirk on his face, a smug, satisfied little grin that said he'd just had the time of his life.
"How'd I do?" Jackson panted, his voice hoarse. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the remnants of Blake's cum across his cheek.
Blake looked down at him, his own chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. He reached down and brushed a strand of sweaty hair out of Jackson's face, his fingers lingering on the boy's flushed cheek with tenderness. "You did real good," he answered. "Real damn good."
*
The dawn was just starting to think about rising when the two of them finally stilled, breathless and wrung out like summer linens left on a line.
Blake leaned back against the thin paneled wall of the trailer, his broad chest gleaming with sweat, hair damp, lips parted, his heart still beating wildly. The wall rattled a little every time he tried to catch a deeper breath, but he didn't seem to mind.
Jackson was draped over him, skin flush and warm, one lean leg slung across Blake's thighs, his head tucked under Blake's chin like a boy refusing to let go of his favorite resting place. His hair was mussed all to hell, cheeks pink, mouth still a little swollen.
They were quiet for a spell, their breath the only sound in the hush, except for a far-off rooster down the road crowing that the night was over.
Jackson shifted, drawing in a shaky breath that made Blake grin slowly, lazily, possessively.
"I swear, Blake Buckley, you fixin' to kill me," Jackson finally sighed, voice still gone husky from what they'd just done.
Blake huffed out a laugh, warm and low in his chest, his hand sliding along the curve of Jackson's back. "If I'd known you'd talk so sweet after, I'da done that days ago."
Jackson snorted, pinching playfully at Blake's ribs before resting his chin on his chest, looking up with those bright blue eyes still heavy-lidded from pleasure. "It's gettin' light out there," he murmured, a soft regret hiding in his tone.
Blake followed his gaze to the thin strip of light sneaking through the curtain's edge. "Yeah," he said, slow, like he was trying to drag time out with each syllable. "That sunrise got no damn manners, breakin' in on us like this."
Jackson chuckled, thumb tracing Blake's collarbone, still resting where sweat cooled on the man's skin. "I gotta go," he said, voice small. "Mama's gonna be wonderin'."
Blake's jaw tightened just a hair, though he covered it with a grin. "I know."
Neither one of them moved, like the floor might swallow them if they dared break that spell.
Jackson sighed, nestling in closer, letting the tip of his nose brush against Blake's throat. "Feels wrong leavin'," he whispered.
Blake's fingers threaded through Jackson's hair, his voice rough. "Feels wrong lettin' you leave," he admitted, low and sure, like a confession only the boards of that trailer might hear.
Jackson smiled, soft and fond, eyes going damp. "You talkin' like you wanna keep me," he teased, though it sounded more like hoping.
Blake sighed, forehead leaning down to touch Jackson's, the words coming out honest. "Maybe I do, angel. Maybe I do."
Jackson's heart flipped in his chest, pounding so hard he swore Blake could feel it against his ribs. He kissed him then, sweet and slow, savoring it like sugar on his tongue.
When they parted, Jackson rested his forehead against Blake's shoulder, listening to the deep, steady thrum of him. "Promise me somethin'?"
Blake traced a circle along Jackson's spine. "Anything."
Jackson drew in a breath, voice barely there. "Promise you'll think of me when I'm gone."
Blake let out a soft, ragged laugh. "Boy, you done burned yourself into me so deep, I couldn't stop thinkin' of you if I tried."
Jackson grinned, cheeks flushing all over again, even after all they'd shared. He reached down to shift his leg, but Blake tugged him closer, holding him firm.
"Ain't done holdin' you yet," Blake murmured, voice sleepy and possessive and heartbreakin' all at once.
Jackson smiled against his skin. "You sure know how to talk a man into stayin'," he teased.
Blake chuckled, low and rough. "Yeah, well, sunrise can wait a minute. I'm keepin' you a while longer."
And so they stayed there, tangled and warm, letting the early light spill across their bodies, stealing a few more precious heartbeats before the world outside woke up and tore them apart again.
Jackson finally made himself sit up, hair sticking up every which way, cheeks pink from where they'd been pressed against Blake's skin all night. The morning light, gold and new, dribbled through the half-broken blinds, catching the line of his shoulders and the shine of his smile.
Blake propped himself up on one elbow, watching with that lazy, crooked grin that looked half like a dare and half like worship. "Lord, look at you," he drawled, voice all warm honey. "Looks like you just stepped out of a dream."
Jackson rolled his eyes, trying to hide the grin that bloomed across his face. He leaned down to pick up his shirt from the floor, but Blake's hand reached out, catching his wrist, pulling him back down. "C'mon," Blake murmured, brows tightening together just a touch, "one more minute."
Jackson sighed, sinking back into the man's arms like it was the only place he'd ever belonged. He rested there momentarily, nose tucked against Blake's stubbled jaw, letting the quiet hold him close.
Then he drew back again, starting to stand. He began buttoning his jeans, dragging his boots on. Blake stayed sitting, watching every move with eyes so hungry and soft that Jackson thought he might break.
Jackson paused by the trailer door, hand on the knob. "I'll see you," he said, voice shakier than he meant it to be.
Blake nodded slowly, swallowing hard, his mouth quirking with that half-smile again. "Yeah, you will."
Jackson hesitated, then stepped outside into the pale light, boots crunching on the gravel. He started down the path, shoulders squared, jaw set. Blake pushed up, bare feet hitting the floor, muscles protesting. He walked to the trailer door, leaning one shoulder against the frame, watching Jackson's back as he headed down the lane, sunlight catching the shine of that golden hair.
And something inside Blake squeezed.
A new ache, bigger than any rodeo fall or broken bone.
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head at his own damn foolishness, a hand dragging through his dark, ruffled long hair. "Well, hell," he murmured, watching Jackson disappear down the dirt road, "ain't no use denyin' it."
He smiled then, wide and a little sad, heart clenching like a man who'd just seen something precious slip through his fingers, but knowing it'd find its way back.
Love.
That was what it felt like.
And Blake Buckley, rough-edged cowboy, stood there barefoot in the trailer doorway, letting that truth sink straight through his bones.
*
The dirt drive still glistened with dew as Jackson came walking up the path, boots scuffing the edge of the gravel, hair and shirt wrinkled from a night that had stolen every bit of sense from him.
The house stood there quietly, with its chipped white porch rails and the rose bushes Daisy insisted on keeping alive, no matter how bad the soil. The screen door banged gently in the faint breeze, paint peeled on the steps where they'd once sat together, laughing with iced tea in hand.
Now those steps felt like a gallows.
Daisy stepped out onto the porch before he even reached the first riser, her hair pinned up but still wild around her face from a restless night. She had a dishrag balled in one hand, wringing it over and over like she could twist all her worry into that cloth instead of holding it in her chest.
"Jackson Bell," she called, voice steady but only just. "Where you been?"
Jackson froze, boots rooted to the dirt, eyes drooping like a guilty boy caught with his hand in the pie. "Mornin', Mama," he tried, a weak smile flashing across his lips.
Daisy didn't smile back. Clear as spring grass, her eyes locked on him, soft but sharp, the way only a mama's eyes could cut. "I asked you a question. Don't go dancin' around it."
Jackson licked his lips, stomach twisting up so hard he thought he might puke. "I…I stayed at Cash's," he managed, the lie falling clumsily from his tongue.
Daisy nodded once, but her mouth pinched up at the corners, and Jackson felt his throat close. "Funny," she said, calm as still water but deadly, "I went by there not an hour ago. Carla was on her porch. Said Cash slept in his own bed all night. You weren't there."
Jackson swallowed, heat flooding his face.
Daisy stepped down the first step, closing the space between them, dishrag twisting harder in her fist. "Jackson," she whispered, voice breaking just a little, "I ain't here to trap you. You know me better'n that."
He looked at her then, really looked, and saw it.
The fear, the love, the need to believe him warping her face.
"You can tell me," she went on, voice shaking like a screen door in a windstorm. "Whatever it is. Whoever it is. You know I'm gonna love you, don't you? You know there ain't nothin' you could do, or say, that would change that?"
Jackson's eyes burned, a tear threatening to spill, but he blinked it back, hands balling into fists so tight his nails bit half-moons in his palms. "I told you," he forced out, more desperate now, "I was at Cash's."
Silence fell then, thick as river mud.
Daisy stared at him, lips parting like she wanted to push harder, dig deeper, but her heart wouldn't let her. The look in her eyes was the kind that nearly broke him, soft, sad, disappointed.
"Alright," she finally said, voice low and resigned. "Alright, Jackson." She reached up and brushed a hand over his cheek so gently it made him want to crumble, her thumb hovering like she might wipe a tear that wasn't quite there. "Go on inside," she murmured. "Take a shower. Get somethin' to eat."
Jackson nodded, his throat working, but unable to speak. He stepped past her, boots heavy on the porch's worn planks, and opened the screen door slowly so it wouldn't slam, thinking maybe being quiet could fix what he'd just broken.
Daisy stayed on the porch, watching him cross the threshold. Her heart lay raw in her chest, tears brimming but not falling yet. She stood there in the brightening morning, staring out across their little yard, the roses at her feet, trying to hold back the storm rising inside her.
Her baby was lying to her.
(To be continued...)
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