America: The neighbor's wife is so incredibly hospitable!

Although she verbally refused, her hands involuntarily gripped Chen An's arm, her nails digging deep into his muscles.

"He's sleeping," Chen An said softly, his tone carrying a seductive charm. "Here, it's just you, me, and these silent cows."

Before he could finish speaking, he lowered his head and began to get the tattoo.

It wasn't that kind of innocent touch, but rather a deep, predatory texture.

"Ugh—"

Sarah let out a short gasp, which was then swallowed back down her throat.

Her body stiffened for a moment, but then, like dry tinder that had been ignited, it burst into flames.

She responded awkwardly and irritatingly, wrapping her arms around Chen An's neck and hanging on him.

That was a longing that had been suppressed for years.

Chen An's hands were not idle either. One of his hands embraced her supple and full waist, while the other hand slid inside the hem of her wide shirt.

The touch was like the finest silk wrapping warm mutton fat jade.

It is delicate, smooth, and elastic.

Beneath that rough flannel shirt lies a suburban lady capable of driving any man mad.

"Om...be gentle...oh God..." Sarah cried out in broken sobs between their intertwined lips, her eyes already unfocused.

Just as their movements were about to spiral out of control, about to take the final step on the ground filled with the smell of hay and cow dung.

Chen An suddenly stopped.

His hands came to a steady stop as he climbed to the edge of that breathtaking peak.

He loosened his lips and created a slight distance between them.

Sarah, panting and flushed, stared at him blankly and empty-eyed, like a child abandoned on the road: "Wh...what's wrong?"

Chen An gently stroked her burning cheeks with his fingers and tucked her messy hair behind her ears.

"It's not the right time yet." Chen An's voice was soft, but unusually calm, and his eyes were frighteningly clear.

"If Tom wakes up now, or if that damn sheriff comes back, you're in big trouble."

For a woman like Sarah who has long lacked love, a one-time passionate release may be pleasurable,

But it's far less profound than the regret and lingering sense of incompleteness.

He wanted her to savor that kiss every night, to relive the flames those hands ignited on her body, until she could no longer live without him.

"But..." Sarah bit her lip, her eyes filled with disappointment and reluctance.

"Listen, Sarah." Chen An cupped her face, looked directly into her eyes, his expression earnest and affectionate.

"You deserve better. Whether it's a better machine or better... treatment."

"I don't want our first time to end hastily in a place filled with the smell of cow dung and where we have to be on tenterhooks."

This is a perfect answer.

This showed his thoughtfulness and respect, while also implying that "there will be a better first time in the future," leaving Sarah with a lot of room for anticipation.

Sarah was stunned. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears; it was from being moved.

In this rough Western world, where men only knew how to vent, no one had ever said such things to her.

"An..." She buried her head in Chen An's chest and hugged him tightly, "You are such a... good person."

Chen An gently patted her back, a meaningful smile playing on his lips in the darkness.

nice guy?

Maybe.

"The valve is fixed, the pressure gauge should be working normally now."

A moment later, Chen An released her and straightened her disheveled shirt collar. "Go back and get some rest."

"Remember to bring me milk tomorrow, this time I want the kind with honey."

This slightly flirtatious remark made Sarah burst into laughter through her tears.

"Greedy little brat... Fine, I'll give you the best." Sarah gave him a charmingly disdainful look, her eyes overflowing with love.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

They came out of the barn.

A gust of cold wind quickly dissipated the heat in Chen An's body, replaced by a calmer mind.

He didn't go back to his cabin immediately, but instead walked around the outer wall of Sarah's barn.

While he was repairing the valve, he saw a rusty iron chain and a shovel that wasn't very dusty behind the pile of junk in that corner.

The fresh red soil clinging to it was exactly the same as what he had seen on the mountain.

It seems Tom is really stupid; he didn't even know to hide his tools of the crime further away.

However, Chen An's current goal is not to report him.

He stood in the darkness, watching Sarah begin to bustle about in the barn.

She kept looking at the milking machine while occasionally touching her lips with a silly grin on her face.

well.

Winning hearts and minds is the best strategy; attacking the body is the worst.

That heart is basically won over. Next, all that's needed is a little external pressure.

For example, Tom's "thunderbolt" could make this wild rose of Montana fall completely into his arms.

Chen An felt his pocket, where he found a card he had casually taken from Sarah's mailbox earlier.

By the moonlight, I could make out the words on it.

This is a debt collection notice.

[To Tom Miller: Regarding your debt of $15,000 at Lucky Horseshoe Casino, please settle it by the 25th of this month, or you will be responsible for the consequences.]

"I see."

Chen An chuckled and stuffed the debt collection notice into his pocket.

Gambling debts, stealing detonators—maybe he wanted to blow something up to make money, or maybe he was desperate?

In any case, Tom's path has come to an end.

Chen An stretched and walked towards his dilapidated little wooden house.

The moon is beautiful tonight.

The wind seemed to carry the scent of US dollars.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The first rays of morning sunlight pierced through the gaps in the curtains, dancing in the dusty beam of light.

Chen An woke up very early. Although it was a moldy sofa, he slept surprisingly soundly.

Perhaps it was because he had money in his hands, or perhaps it was because of the unfinished ambiguous game in the barn last night, which put him in a state of extreme relaxation and pleasure.

open the door.

Sure enough, the glass jar containing milk appeared on the doormat right on time.

This time, there was a pink sticky note under the jar, with a line written on it in slightly messy but still elegant cursive handwriting:

[To my Super Mario. I added double the honey; hope your back is okay. —S]

The tail of the "S" was drawn as a heart shape.

Chen An picked up the jar, traced the heart shape with his fingertip, and a smile appeared on his lips.

I opened the lid and took a big gulp.

The rich aroma of milk blends with the sweetness of wildflower honey, sliding down the esophagus and instantly creating a warm sensation in the stomach.

This is not just food, but also the heavy sentiment of a lonely woman.