“Wanna ride something that has been mowed smooth, just for you, mister?” she’d asked, and the hunger in his eyes had made her feel seventeen again. He’d dropped the mower blade straight to the floor and kissed her so hard her head had snapped back and she’d barely managed to brace herself on the workbench before he lifted her with an ungentle confidence and set her on its edge, legs dangling. He’d buried his face between her thighs without another word, tongue and lips hot, hands all over her hips until she let loose.
Rachel came so hard that she saw sparks, and when she got her breath back, she’d pulled him up and unzipped his coveralls. She could still recall the sweet, stunned look on his face when she sucked him off right there on her knees, the barn doors wide open to the world.
Rachel learned that for all his awkwardness, Jack was incredibly enthusiastic in bed. It was like he’d spent his whole life collecting every half-heard rumor, every forbidden tip, every wild guess about what might undo a woman, and now he was determined to test every single one on her. He tried things. He asked, “Do you like this?” and made up for clumsy technique with energy and desire. He paid attention.
She never knew what would happen when she climbed into bed: would she be handcuffed to the bedframe with zip ties from the tool cabinet, or would his mouth close over hers while he fingered her slow and patient in the dark, his calloused thumb circling her clit until her thighs trembled against his hand? There was never a script. Sometimes she caught herself giggling like a kid about his vigor and imagination, the sense of anticipation always had her turned on.
On Sundays when the work relented, they dragged a mattress out onto the back porch to leisurely fuck and nap on long afternoons. In her wanton desire, Rachel found herself saying things that surprised her, “You can have all of it,” she’d whispered, “for as long as you want.” He’d nodded and she wondered if anyone had ever said that to him before, even as she doubted she really meant it.
They didn’t talk about the future, not really. She knew better.
__________
The letter arrived in late September, on an afternoon when the air had finally begun to cool. Rachel found Jack on the porch reading it, his expression unreadable.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He looked up, and something in his face. “My uncle’s friend–the one who runs that big operation in Montana? He’s offering me a foreman position.” Jack handed her the letter. “It’s a really good opportunity.”
Rachel read it. Good pay. Housing included. Room for advancement. The kind of opportunity any twenty-two-year-old should jump at. “That’s wonderful,” she managed.
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“Jack…”
“I don’t want to leave you.” He stood, took her hands. “I could tell him no. I could stay here, stay with you…”
“No.” The word came out firmer than she intended. “You can’t turn this down.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s your future. Because you deserve this chance.” She pulled her hands free, her throat tight. “Because staying here, staying with me — that’s not a future. I’m seventeen years older than you. This was always temporary.”