The cornfield stretched for miles, golden husks swaying under the weight of the wind. The air was thick—heavy with summer heat and the scent of earth warmed by the sun. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada buzzed, a lazy rhythm to the slow-burning afternoon.
And then, there was her.
She stood among the stalks, wearing a straw hat that looked like it had seen too many days in the sun, her long hair spilling in wild waves beneath it. A single ear of corn rested against her bare stomach, her fingers wrapped loosely around the husk, the silk strands slipping between her fingers like something more suggestive.
She caught him watching.
“You lost, stranger?” she asked, her voice like honey dripping over rough edges.
He leaned against the wooden fencepost, arms crossed, eyes tracing the delicious contradiction of innocence and sin wrapped in denim cut-offs. “Depends,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t mind being lost if it meant I got to stay a little longer.”
She smirked, lifting a brow, and turned her back to him, slow, deliberate. The sun caught the smooth curves of her legs, the way her overalls hung low on her hips, teasing with the promise of something just out of reach. She took a step forward, letting the cornfield swallow her inch by inch.
An invitation.
He followed.
The dirt path wound deeper into the field, the air thickening, the outside world slipping away behind walls of rustling green. Shadows danced across her tanned skin as she turned to face him, stepping backward with a teasing glint in her eyes.
“You ever pluck corn the right way?” she asked, twirling a silk strand between her fingers.
He let his gaze wander—lower, slower. “Depends on who’s teaching me.”
She took another step back, until her body pressed against the tall stalks, a wild thing caged by nothing but the summer heat and his presence. “Maybe you ought to learn,” she whispered.
His breath was unsteady now, a slow drag of air as he closed the space between them. The golden husks swayed around them, a private world made only for two.
Her lips parted just slightly as his hands brushed against the rough fabric of her overalls, fingers ghosting over the blue straps that hung from her shoulders.
“You gonna be gentle?” she teased.
He smirked, tilting his head. “You don’t look like the kind of girl who wants gentle.”
She laughed—a sweet, wicked sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”
And in the heart of the cornfield, hidden from the rest of the world, they let the summer swallow them whole.
