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The summer air was heavy with heat, humming cicadas echoing across the fields, the scent of cut hay drifting in through the open windows of the farmhouse. You leaned against the kitchen sink, glass of cold lemonade sweating in your hand, and stared out toward the paddock. And there he was. Clark.
Your husband. Your impossibly broad, sun-tanned, maddeningly handsome cowboy of a husband, shirtless, of course, because he swore working without one “kept him cool.” Though you weren’t sure it was his comfort he was thinking about when he tugged that fabric off and tossed it aside.
His back muscles flexed as he adjusted the reins on the chestnut mare, the sunlight catching the sheen of sweat that had started to bead along his shoulders. Jeans slung low on his hips, boots scuffed from years of work, hat tipped just enough to shadow those impossibly blue eyes. You bit your lip, heat curling low in your stomach.
“Lord help me,” you muttered under your breath, setting the glass down before you dropped it. He was unfair. Too much. The kind of sight that made you forget what you were supposed to be doing in the first place.
And then he bent, tightening a cinch strap, the muscles in his back rippling as he worked. That was it. You grabbed the pitcher, filled another tall glass with lemonade, and slipped on your sandals. If you were going to combust, you might as well do it up close.
The grass was warm beneath your feet as you crossed the yard, the sound of your footsteps finally catching his attention. Clark turned, hat tipping back as he spotted you. A grin tugged at his lips, slow and devastating.
“Well, ain’t this somethin’,” he drawled, voice low and honeyed, that Kansas accent thicker out here in the open air. “My pretty little wife bringin’ me somethin’ sweet.”
Your heart skipped. “You look like you could use it.” You held up the glass, teasing. “All hot and sweaty out here.”
He chuckled, taking the lemonade from you with one big, calloused hand, his fingers brushing yours on purpose. He tipped the glass back, throat working as he drank, a drop of condensation sliding down to his chest. You followed it with your eyes before you could stop yourself.
Clark noticed. Of course he did. His smirk deepened as he handed you back the empty glass.
“Was it good?” you asked, your voice a little higher than usual.
“Best thing I’ve had all day,” he said easily, though his gaze stayed locked on you like he was talking about something, or someone else.
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. “You should really put a shirt on before the neighbors start staring.”
“Now why would I do that,” he murmured, stepping closer until you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes, “when I know you like starin’?”
Your lips parted, heat rising all the way to your ears. “Clark Kent,” you scolded, though it came out softer than you intended.
He grinned, that boyish, troublemaking smile that always left you breathless. His thumb brushed along your jaw, slow and affectionate, before he tipped his hat off his head and set it right on yours. The brim dipped over your eyes, far too big, and you couldn’t help laughing as he adjusted it carefully with both hands.
“Looks better on you,” he said, voice low, sweet.
“You know I’d work twice as hard if it meant you’d come out here lookin’ at me like that.”
Your heart fluttered, knees nearly weak. “You’re insufferable,” you whispered, but you leaned into him anyway, catching the scent of sweat, leather, and sunshine.
His chuckle rumbled low in his chest as he kissed your forehead, lingering. “And you love me for it.”
Before you could pull away, Clark's hands slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you toward his old pickup truck parked nearby. "Darlin', you've been teasin' me all damn day with that look in your eyes," he growled, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that sent shivers straight to your core.
He hoisted you up effortlessly onto the tailgate, your ass hitting the warm metal with a thud, legs dangling as he stepped between them. You gasped, hat still perched crookedly on your head, but he didn't give you time to adjust.
His mouth crashed against yours, hot and demanding, tongue plunging in like he was starving for you. Rough hands roamed under your sundress, yanking it up over your thighs, fingers hooking into your panties and ripping them clean off with a sharp snap that made you yelp into his kiss.
"Fuck, you're already so wet for me," he muttered against your lips, his thick fingers sliding between your folds, rubbing your clit in rough circles that had you arching off the tailgate.
You clutched at his sweat-slicked shoulders, nails digging into his skin, as he unzipped his jeans with his free hand, freeing his dick; hard, throbbing, and veined like the rest of his perfect fucking body.
He didn't wait, didn't tease. Clark grabbed your hips, yanking you forward until your ass was right on the edge, and slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself balls-deep inside of you. You screamed, the stretch burning so good it made your vision blur, the truck rocking under the force of it.
"That's it, take all of me, baby," he grunted, pounding into you relentlessly, his hips slapping against yours with wet, filthy sounds echoing across the empty fields. The hay scratched at your back as he shoved you down onto the truck bed, climbing up after you and flipping you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing.
He spread your legs wide, spanking your ass hard enough to earn a moan, before thrusting back in, deeper this time, hitting that spot that made you sob into the blanket he'd tossed back there.
"Goddamn, your cunt's gripping me so tight, fuckin' milk me, baby," he snarled, one hand snaking around your neck, pulling your head back, the other clamping on your hip as he fucked you raw, the truck creaking and groaning under the rhythm.
You came hard, pussy clenching around him like a vice, juices squirting out and soaking his balls as he kept fucking you through it, not slowing down for a second. "Shit, yeah, come all over my dick," he hissed, his thrusts turning erratic before he buried himself deep with a groan, flooding your insides with hot, thick cum that leaked out around his shaft as he ground against you.
Panting, he pulled out slowly, watching his seed drip from your wrecked hole, then flipped you over again to kiss you, sloppy and possessive. "Mine," he murmured, smirking like a cocky bastard, before helping you down on shaky legs.
As your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled like jelly, your body still trembling. Clark caught you instantly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist with that effortless strength, pulling you flush against his sweat-damp chest.
"Easy there, darlin'," he murmured, voice softening now, all the rough edges gone as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "I got you. Fuck, look at you, so beautiful."
You leaned into him, head lolling against his shoulder, too spent to even speak, your pussy still throbbing and leaking his cum down your thighs. He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you, before scooping you up bridal-style like you were nothing more than a feather.
"Can't have my girl collapsing out here in the dirt," he said, his drawl thick with affection as he carried you toward the farmhouse, boots crunching on the gravel path.
The screen door creaked as he nudged it open with his elbow, carrying you straight through the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom without breaking a sweat. He laid you down on the soft sheets, careful not to jar your sore body, then disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom.
"Spread those pretty legs for me one more time, sweetheart," he said gently, but there was still that wicked glint in his eyes as he cleaned you up, wiping away the mess between your thighs with tender strokes that made you whimper softly.
"There we go," he whispered, tossing the cloth aside and crawling into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. His big hand stroked your hair, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as he held you close.
"You did so good for me, takin' all that like a champ. Rest now, sweetheart, I've got you." He kissed your forehead again, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket, and you drifted off in his embrace, safe and utterly fucked-out.