Jake Fucks His Curvy Neighbor Over The Fence

The sun beat down on the Texas scrub like a blacksmith’s hammer, turning the air into a shimmering haze. Jake Harlan rode the fence line on his big buckskin gelding, the leather of his saddle creaking with every slow step. At twenty-eight, he was all hard angles and sun-bronzed muscle, his faded denim shirt clinging to the broad planes of his chest, sleeves rolled up over corded forearms. Sweat trickled down the groove of his spine as he scanned the barbed wire for breaks.

That’s when he saw her.

Lila Monroe was bent over a sagging section of the shared fence that marked the boundary between his ranch and the old Miller place she’d bought three weeks ago. The city girl clearly hadn’t planned for a hundred-degree afternoon. Her tight blue jeans hugged an ass so round and juicy it made his mouth go dry. A thin white tank top, now nearly transparent with sweat, clung to a pair of heavy, pendulous breasts that swayed hypnotically every time she wrestled with the wire stretcher. Damp fabric outlined fat, dark nipples straining against the cotton. Her wide hips flared out dramatically from a surprisingly small waist, thick thighs rubbing together as she shifted her weight. A few dark curls had escaped her messy ponytail and stuck to the flushed skin of her neck.

Jake’s cock gave a heavy twitch inside his Wranglers.

He swung down from the saddle, boots hitting dry dirt with a soft thud. “Need a hand, neighbor?”

Lila straightened and turned. Her cheeks were pink, lips parted as she panted from exertion. Up close she was even more lethal—big green eyes, full mouth, and those tits… Christ, they had to be at least double-Ds, maybe bigger. They jiggled as she wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist.

“Only if that hand knows what the hell it’s doing,” she said, voice husky from heat and effort. “I thought this would be simple. Turns out fence repair is a special circle of hell.”

Jake’s gaze dropped to the way her soaked tank top molded to the undersides of her breasts, then lower to the damp patch between her thighs where the denim had darkened with sweat. He let her see him looking. No point pretending.

“I’ve fixed a mile of this line in my life,” he drawled, tying his horse to a nearby post. “Name’s Jake Harlan.”

“Lila Monroe.” She offered a small, calloused hand. When he took it, her fingers were surprisingly strong. Electricity crackled between their palms. “I moved down from Chicago. Thought I wanted quiet. Turns out quiet comes with a lot of broken fences and no one to help.”

Their eyes locked. Jake didn’t let go of her hand right away. “Looks like you found someone.”