Brazzers
Ricky Johnson, CJ Miles Pic(s)

The midday sun cast long, lazy shadows across the sprawling backyard, a perfect mirror to the restless energy building inside Ricky Johnson. He’d been tackling a stubborn lawnmower engine for the better part of an hour, his muscles coiled with a unique blend of frustration and sweat-sheened exertion. From the kitchen window, CJ Miles watched the scene unfold, a slow, appreciative smile gracing her lips as she observed the focused tension in his broad shoulders. The rhythmic clink of his tools was a quiet percussion to the much louder, hungrier thoughts beginning to dominate her mind. Finally abandoning her pretense of tidying up, she stepped out onto the deck, the screen door snapping shut with a decisive sound that made Ricky look up. His initial look of mild annoyance instantly melted away, replaced by a spark of recognition at the deliberate, swaying rhythm of her approach. CJ didn’t say a word, her silence far more potent than any greeting as she closed the distance between them on the lush, green grass. She reached out, not for a tool, but to wipe a single bead of sweat from his temple with her thumb, her touch electric against his heated skin. The forgotten wrench slipped from his grip, thudding softly into the earth as his world narrowed to the intense, knowing look in her eyes. This was no longer about a broken machine; it was the beginning of a far more primal and satisfying repair job, one where every craving would be thoroughly explored and satisfied under the warm, afternoon sky.
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