"Fields of Fire"

Father’s Day always brought a mix of sweetness and chaos—sticky pancakes, glitter-covered cards, and our sleepy kids giggling as they woke Bryan with “Happy Father’s Day!” and a lukewarm cup of coffee. I loved the mess of it all.

By late afternoon, the sitter had arrived, and the house finally exhaled. Quiet. Still. Just the two of us.

We were supposed to go to the pub. Dinner, a drink or two. Our usual escape. But as I zipped up my favourite summer dress over my matching yellow thong—the dress with the soft fabric that clung just right to my hips—and Bryan looked up at me from across the room, something shifted. There was a heat in his gaze. Something playful. Intentional.

When he took a turn off the road that wasn’t toward the pub, I gave him a look. “Shortcut?” I asked, raising a brow.

He smirked. “Maybe.”

The dirt road led us past fields of golden barley. When he parked beside an old barn, I felt my pulse skip. We hadn’t done something spontaneous like this in ages.

I stepped out, the warm wind catching my hair. The sun was low, casting everything in honeyed light. Bryan reached for my hand, his touch grounding and sure. I watched the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, how he moved so confidently, even with the slight adjustment his prosthetic always required. That quiet strength of his—it still undid me.

“You wore this dress on our anniversary last year,” he said softly, coming up behind me. His hands settled on my hips.

I smiled, glancing back at him. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything,” he murmured. “Especially how this fits you.” He said with a devilish grin.

Something melted in my chest. I turned slowly to face him, pressing my body against his. His hands didn’t wander—not yet. He just held me like he meant it. Like, he missed me. Like he’d been waiting for a moment just like this.

I kissed him.

It started gently, full of memory. But then the ache rose between us, familiar and electric. I felt it in the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around my waist, how his mouth claimed mine more urgently.

There, in the middle of that sun-drenched field, time stopped for us. The world faded. It was just his body, the scent of warm grass, the low rumble of his voice when he whispered my name like a prayer.

I had every intention of going to dinner. But now, all I wanted was him, his breath on my neck, his body pressed to mine, him claiming me and our love flooding over each other.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t care about being practical or polished or anywhere else.

I just wanted to feel him. And right then, that was everything.

The kiss deepened, and I felt it everywhere—in my fingertips, my chest, the flutter in my stomach and the heat growing between my legs. Bryan’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space between us and his growing erection pressed against my stomach. The way his body fit against mine felt perfect.

I ran my hands over his back, feeling the heat of him through the thin cotton of his shirt, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way he exhaled softly when I touched the base of his neck. I loved how solid he felt, how steady. How the years hadn’t dulled his hunger for me, but refined it into something deeper. Something real.

The wind teased the hem of my dress as his lips moved to my neck, slow and purposeful. He knew exactly what he was doing. Each kiss drove me crazy, my nipples hardened, and the dainty lace of my yellow thong was now drenched with sweet nectar.

My breath hitched.

“We’re not going to make it to the pub, are we?” I murmured, my voice thick with laughter and lust.

His eyes met mine, dark and aroused. “Not unless you want to stop me.”

I didn’t. God, I didn’t.

We sank onto the ground, golden stalks swaying above and around us like a curtain drawn just for two. The earth was warm beneath me, soft and fragrant. Bryan knelt over me, his weight settling between my thighs, his hands sliding up my sides, slowly revealing more and more of my milky thighs until he got to my thong. He smiled as his eyes locked with mine.

“You look ready” he said as he unfastened his trousers and revealed his thick eight inch cock with its dark purple head and prominent veins that feel so great inside me.

I could feel the urgency in his touch. He slid his bulbous head up and down between my swollen lips twice, collecting up my juices before aligning and guiding himself into me. My mouth fell open in a silent groan as I felt the comforting stretch of him within me.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek as he bottomed out.

I felt beautiful. Desired. Alive. And not just as a mother, or a wife, or a woman checking dinner reservations—but as his. As the woman, he still undressed with his eyes and touched like it was the first time, every time.

We moved together in that hidden pocket of the world, where no one could see and nothing else mattered. The barley rustled like a hush concealing our moans from the world. And as our bodies tangled, breathless and entwined, I realised something simple but powerful—

This was us. Raw. Real. Reconnected.

And I didn’t need candlelight or menus or polished conversations to feel desired. I just needed him, his hands, his mouth, his heart—right here in the wild, with the sky above and the earth beneath.

I worked my clit franticly keeping up with his pace, trying to match my energy with his hard deep thrusts. It didn’t take long to push me over the edge, a combination of the situation and surroundings combined with his hard cock driving deep into me at a feverish pace sent my body over the edge. And when I came, the world went white. I clamped around him with all my might and sent a torrent of juices squirting against his thighs as he broke and filled my pussy with wave upon wave of his hot creamy seed.

When we were finally both spent lying there, tangled and breathless, Bryan cleared his throat and muttered, “You’re dangerous in that dress.”

I laughed softly, still catching my breath. “You’re the one who kidnapped me.”

He grinned. “Best decision I’ve made all year.”

We lay there in the field, tangled and breathless, basking in the warm quiet that only comes after that kind of connection—the kind where the world fades, and the only thing that matters is the person lying next to you.

Bryan was tracing slow circles on my exposed bum, that lazy post-climactic grin on his face. I was half-draped over him, my dress hiked up and askew, hair full of barley, heart still fluttering like a teenager’s.

“This beats pub chips and warm cider,” he murmured.

I smiled, eyes closed. “I don’t know. Those chips are legendary.”

He leaned in and kissed my collarbone. “Still hungry?”

I was about to answer when I heard it—the unmistakable sound of hooves.

I bolted upright so fast I nearly toppled over him. Bryan’s eyes widened as we both turned toward the path just beyond the hedge.

Two horse riders trotted by slowly, their expressions going from neutral to... politely confused.

One of them gave us a cheery, too-knowing smile and a nod. “Evening”, he said with a wink.

“Evening,” Bryan said, in a voice a shade too high, his trousers still unfastened and hanging off his hips.

I sat frozen, my dress still rumpled, thong pulled aside, one shoe missing, and God-knows-what stuck in my hair.

As the riders disappeared down the track, I collapsed onto Bryan’s chest, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. “We are never living this down if they talk.”

He grinned. “Worth it.”

Still laughing and wildly dishevelled, we gathered ourselves—more or less—and made our way back to the car, deciding we might as well show face at the pub for that drink and a snack. Nothing says, “We weren’t just rolling around in a field,” like showing up with grass stains and windblown hair at the local.

We slipped into a quiet corner of the beer garden, ordered two ciders and a basket of chips, and tried to act like we hadn’t just scandalised a pair of passing equestrians.

After a few minutes, I excused myself to the bathroom, once I had wiped up the remains of Bryan’s load that was seeping out of me and had taken a moment to check my reflection. My hair was a mess of waves and a single barley husk, and my cheeks were still flushed from more than the summer heat.

As I sorted myself out, I noticed something... odd.

When I returned to the table, Bryan raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

I leaned in, trying not to laugh. “There is barley in my knickers.”

He choked on his drink. “What?!”

I nodded, deadpan. “Like, a whole stalk. I think we may have started a new ecosystem.”

He was full-on wheezing now, clutching his side.

“You’re the one who insisted on the middle of the field,” I added, sipping my cider. “Next time, maybe a nice flat picnic blanket. Or a hotel room. Or anywhere not currently being harvested.”

He wiped his eyes, still grinning. “So… round two in a haystack?”

“Only if you bring tweezers and a vacuum.”

We clinked our glasses and leaned back into the moment—still glowing, still laughing, and very, very much in love.