Idaho's Treasure
Story Codes: MF, Consensual, Exhibitionism,

Idaho's Treasure
by Carrie Denniston

“Honey, would you bring this sandwich to your father? He forgot to grab it on his way to work.”

    Delilah looked up from her mug of coffee at her mother. She had been dying for any kind of
activity ever since two weeks ago when she came back home, so she eagerly agreed to deliver
lunch to her father at the mine.

  The break-up had left her without a place to stay, since the apartment had been Brad’s before
they got together. He’d told her she could stay as long as she needed, but the thought of living with
the man who had cheated on her made her sick, so she packed up and headed to the only other
place she had ever known. Wallace, Idaho was no San Francisco, but at least it was familiar, and
her parents welcomed the chance to have her home again.

    She took the paper bag from her mother, checked her hair in the foyer mirror, grabbed her car
keys, and headed out the front door. It was a warm August day, so Delilah decided to put the top
down in her marble white Miata, even though it always attracted unwanted looks driving through
town. The old drunks smoking outside The Outlaw would laugh and whistle, while out-of-towners
there to tour the silver mine would point, as if she were the tourist and not them.

    When Delilah pulled up on the gravel in front of her father’s work trailer, she winked at the group
of passing workers. Most of them smiled from under the shadow of their hardhats, while some of the
married ones looked away. She knew her father would disapprove of her distracting them, but she
was so desperate for excitement that she just couldn’t help it. She stepped out of the car one long,
tan leg after the other. The men smoking cigarettes next to the trailer seemed enthralled by every
move of her body, and she relished in the much-needed attention. She gripped the lunch sack in
one hand and placed her sunglasses on her head with the other. The sun beat down on the
exposed parts of her arms and chest, boiling in rhythm with the restless urge that crawled beneath
her skin.

    Delilah stepped into the cool air-conditioning of her father’s office. She glanced at the maps on
the walls, marked with thumbtacks where they had found underground points of treasure. Her
father sat at his desk, involved in paperwork. At the slam of the door behind her, he looked up.

    “Hey, Lila,” he said. “To what do I owe this surprise?”

    “Mama wanted me to bring your lunch. You forgot it.”

    Her father thanked her and returned to his paperwork. She lingered on the maps, trying to
decipher the trails from point A to point B. She didn’t want to leave, to go back to her parents’
house where nothing ever happened.

The door creaked behind her. She turned quickly to see a silhouette in the doorway, late summer
sun beaming behind him. He had broad shoulders and a hardhat. He removed his hat and stepped
into the trailer.

    “Hey, boss. The hydraulic line broke on the drill.” His chest went up and down with heavy
breaths. Delilah’s thighs tightened together at the sound of his deep voice.

    “Shit,” her father said. “I’ll call the shop.”

    Delilah couldn’t peel her gaze away from the man in the doorway. He stepped into the light of
the office, his dark hair falling in his face and his arm muscles bulging underneath his shirt. Her
father picked up the office phone and dialed. He made short conversation with the person on the
other line. All the while, the man who had just come in eyed her up and down. He nodded. She
smiled back.

Every moment he spent in the room brought a stronger scent of sweat and dust. Delilah swallowed
tightly. She had seen men like him before, blue-collar and dirty, but she hadn’t experienced this
feeling until now. His smells made her throat dry and her legs heavy.

    Delilah’s father hung up the phone with force and rubbed his forehead.

    “Gotta go to the shop to talk to the mechanic,” he said. He stood up from his desk. “By the way,
Delilah, this is Joe, my foreman. Joe, Delilah, my daughter. I’ll see y’all when I get back.”

    He exited the trailer. Joe stood by the door, holding his hardhat tightly in his fingers and staring
at Delilah with silent curiosity.

    “Hi there,” Joe said.

    “Hey,” she said, letting out a nervous laugh.

    Joe set his hardhat on the desk, taking a few steps closer to her. Unintentionally, she backed up
toward the wall. If Joe noticed her apprehension, he didn’t let on. He oozed confidence, from his
tilted grin to his weighty strut. Her hands shook, so she put them on her hips, resting on the fabric
of her silk floral skirt.

    “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Your dad’s mentioned you a few times. I’m glad you decided to
come back home for a while.”

    “Thanks,” she said. “It’s nice to be back.”

    She turned around to the maps on the wall and prayed he would leave. As much as she had
longed for an adventure, now that he was right there in front of her, she was terrified. She heard
his footsteps come closer and stop at a place that felt dangerously close. She thought she could
feel his hot breath on her hair behind her neck. When he spoke again, though, she realized he was
at a perfectly appropriate distance between a man and his boss’ daughter, and her muscles sank
with disappointment.

    “How long are you around for?”

    “Just until I get back on my feet,” she said, tracing her quivering index finger on the surface of
the map.

    There was a long pause. She hoped he wouldn’t ask why she came home in the first place. The
last things she wanted to talk about with him were the insecurities she’d left in California.

    “San Francisco, right?” he asked. The vibration of his voice in the hollow floor traveled up her
legs and her spine to the nape of her neck.

Delilah closed her eyes for an instant. “Yeah,” she said, breathing slowly in and out of her nose.

He took a few more steps toward her, and she turned back to face him. Joe’s stare tangled with
hers. She felt a deep hurt in her chest, a strong pull to his presence. Delilah didn’t know what she
was feeling or why. She had only met this man moments ago, but some magnetism kept dismissing
every logical thought that crossed her mind. A rapture so heady—a want so immediate—could not
be released without first submission to it.

“Are you new here?” she said.

She felt stupid asking, because she knew the answer. If this man had been around when she lived
here, she never would have left in the first place. Though Wallace was full of your typical man’s
man, she recognized that Joe was a new breed. Everything about him howled force and virility.
Even if his physical build and the self-assurance he permeated could be matched, Delilah didn’t
think the electric surge he sent through her bones ever could be.

“Yeah, I’m only here for another month,” he said. “Thought I’d make some quick money this

Delilah bit her lower lip. She didn’t mean to, but something about Joe made her lose control of her
actions. She moved forward, closing the gap between their pounding hearts. Her hand reached out
to the sandpaper cheek of his face. It lingered there for one excruciating moment, during which his
sight invaded her thoughts, past the border where any man had gone before him. She heaved an
unsteady inhale.

    Joe pushed her against the wall of her father’s office, then pinned her there, his leather tool belt
grazing the exposed skin of her midriff. She whimpered at the dull pain of his coarse hands tight
around her wrists. He held them above her head and pushed himself closer to her trembling body.
In this situation with another man, she might have trembled out of fear, but with Joe, her body
shook from pure wanting. The enormous bulge under his jeans rubbed against her skirt and her
breaths began to quicken.

    He removed his hands from her wrists, but she didn’t dare lower hers for fear of ending the
moment and breaking the surge of desire swimming inside them. His fingers traveled slowly down
the skin of her arms, then her shoulders, to the part of her chest visible over her tank top. Her
nipples were hard against her bra. She felt she might collapse from the pressure if he didn’t take off
the constricting thing soon. In this second, she wanted her bare breasts against him more than
anything she’d ever wanted before.

    Joe lifted her shirt over her head, then as if he could read her mind, reached behind her to
unhook her bra. Her hands were on his shoulders now, feeling the tension of his muscles under his
stained white t-shirt. She could smell the dirt in his dark hair. He slipped her arms through her bra,
and kissed her up and down her torso. When he got to her nipples, Delilah let out a soft cry of
pleasure. The sucking of his lips and teeth on her raw skin made her torso contract in agonizing

    She reached out to his belt and undid it, though her hands shook with insatiable greed. While
she unbuttoned his jeans, he pulled off his shirt to reveal a body that made Delilah feel faint. She
ran her fingernails over the firm arches of his chest and abdomen, then down to graze the bones of
his hips that dipped into his boxers. He reached out and pulled her toward him, his hands a soft
pressure on the lowest points of her hips, and pressed his lips hard against hers. The urgent
pulsing of his manhood touched Delilah through layers of clothes. Part of her never wanted to feel
anything but this for the rest of her life, while another ached for the satisfaction of Joe’s pulse
inside her.

    He tenderly unzipped her skirt, still kissing her, and let it fall to the floor. She was suddenly
happy she had chosen a lacy red thong when getting dressed this morning. His lips worked their
way down to her stomach. Every inch he progressed closer to her groin lit her skin on fire. When he
began to tongue the outline of her panties, she felt ready to burst. She ran her manicured fingers
through his hair and moaned delicately in surrendering exhales.

    “God, I want you,” Delilah whispered, despite herself. She never thought she’d hear herself utter
those words to anyone after Brad, but she realized now that she’d never truly felt their meaning
until now.

    He bit the edge of her thong and dragged it along her legs, down to her boots. Joe’s grin slowly
grazed its way up her legs again, sucking on the sensitive skin between her thighs. His tongue
made a slow entrance into her wet lips. Delilah groaned with an animalistic gratification. She braced
herself, so close to coming that it hurt. The inner warmth of Joe’s mouth within her felt like heaven,
but she needed more.

    She tried to cool the explosion brewing inside her and said, “Hey, come back.”

    Joe looked up from his position on his knees with a warm and knowing smile. He stalked up her
body to her face, where he kissed her deeply and fully.

    “I need you inside me,” Delilah said.

  She had never been the dirty talk type, but the pleasure she’d felt in the past few minutes was
more than she knew she was capable of, and those words pressed against the back of her lips with

  Joe picked her up and wrapped her shivering legs around his waist. His shaft penetrated her
walls with one breathtaking glide. Her body ached with this new, gorgeous feeling. The firmness of
him inside her was more than she could handle.

  He thrust his hips up and down, in and out of her. She lost control of her hands, scraping her
nails over his skin and tightening her leg muscles around him. Delilah burst with an indulgence she
hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. She let out a moan of pleasure and prayer and
contentment so foreign to her, it almost pained her to hear it.

  Shortly after, he let out a similar cry, but deeper and quieter. He leaned over, pressing her bare
back onto the wall, onto the old paper map.

  “I knew I’d find treasure here,” Joe said breathlessly.

Copyright© 2012 Carrie Denniston

Carrie Denniston lives in Boulder, CO, where she majors in Creative Writing at the University of
Colorado. She has lived in many places and has loved them all. Her mother was the first female
ring leader for an American circus and her father was a professional typewriter repairman, even
after the world stopped using typewriters. She inherited her nostalgic tendencies from her father,
her restlessness from her mother, but her love of language came from her second grade boyfriend,
Michael Capazella. She can usually be found underneath a large hat or on a fire escape or behind
a glass of Tanqueray, sometimes all three at once.
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