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Daenerys was furious.

As she strode down the countryside lane in nothing but her red heeled sandals and drawstring dress, she sensed she ought to be frightened. Surrounding her were miles of barren fields, and the sky was darkening apace. Grey clouds loomed in the horizon. The evening breeze blew coolly. Soon, she would not be able to tell where the road ended and the ditch began, and she could vividly imagine herself falling into the mud, cold and sore and vulnerable.

Still, fear couldn’t dampen the overwhelming sense of anger that was making her face scrounge up. Because it was one thing to be stuck in the middle of nowhere - it was a whole other story to have been dumped there by a friend.

Let this serve as a lesson, Daenerys thought as she briefly stopped to rip off her sandals. Her heels were prickled with blisters. Never trust a man in a Maserati Bora.

1972 was meant to be the year for Daenerys; she had moved across the country to study at university, she had found the perfect flatmate in Brixton-born Missandei, and she had managed to get a part-time job as a waitress. She was meant to spend the summer drinking champagne and dancing. She was definitely not meant to be marching through fields like a wartime soldier.

God knows how far away the next village is, Daenerys thought as she glanced toward the setting sun. Orange and yellow and red rays were colouring the edges of the clouds. The first drops of rain had already started falling. As her face wettened, she swung her sandals over her right shoulder and quickened her pace.

At first, she had been holding out for a ride, hoping that maybe someone would be driving along this lonely lane on their way to somewhere. But by now, as the wind picked up and rain soaked her body, dragging her toward the ground like a limp leaf, she was pleading for anything that would offer her refuge. As she narrowed her eyes and desperately scanned the landscape, she felt her heartbeat quicken; there, somewhere over the next hill and barely visible through the curtain of water, was a glimmering light in a window.

Daenerys started running. By the time she reached the farmhouse, all lights had been turned off, and the old building looked practically abandoned: the roof was missing tiles, the yard was a mix of chipped cobbles and weed, and the draining pipe was leaking like a colander.

There is no way anyone lives here, Daenerys decided, but she still stalked up to the door and knocked on it with a hopeful quiver.

For a moment, all was silent. Then there was a shuffling sound, floorboards groaned, and the rusty hinges of the door whined as it was cracked open a few inches. She could just see the outline of a man standing in the shadows of the hallway.

Daenerys hugged herself and took a step backwards into the rain. “Hello,” she said. Her voice was so quiet that she thought it might have been swallowed up by the downpour, so she cleared her throat and continued in a louder tone: “I’m sorry to wake you. I am completely stranded. Please can I come in?”

The man didn’t reply but merely shut the door, and Daenerys felt her stomach knot up. She was about to whimper in frustration as the sound of a chain being pulled rustled through the air. Seconds later, the door was pulled fully open, and a large hand waved her inside.

“Come on,” the man spoke with a rough voice, “‘less you want pneumonia to set in.”

Daenerys practically rushed across the threshold and gasped in relief as she escaped the wet clutches of the wind. She dropped her sandals to the floor as she rubbed her arms for heat. Her skin felt numb and achy, and she couldn’t stop shivering. “Thank you,” she breathed, “thank you so much.”

“Not a nice eve’ for a walk,” the man commented and brushed past her in the dark.

Daenerys swallowed and pressed her back flat against the wall as she tried to make out where he had gone. The hallway was clad in darkness. Her ears perked as she listened out for his footsteps. “I wasn’t walking.”

“Aye, you were running,” the man replied. She could tell from his voice that he’d moved into a different room. “Not a nice eve’ for running either.”

Daenerys felt herself flush. “I told you I am stranded,” she said rather sharply before forcing her voice to soften. You’ve had enough bad luck for one day, she reminded herself. Don’t give him an excuse to kick you out already. “I’m Daenerys,” she said, hoping she sounded perfectly pleasant, “who’re you?”

Luckily, her unwitting host simply chuckled. “I’m sorry, I forget my manners.” A match was struck. Somewhere ahead of her, a small light flickered and grew into a large, white flame. The unmistakable smell of oil reached Daenerys’ nostrils before she caught sight of the dingy black lantern that the man was holding. “I’m Jon,” he said with a small smile, “a pleasure to meet you.”

As Jon offered her his free hand, Daenerys gingerly shook it as she thought: A pleasure indeed.

The dim light from the lamp lit up Jon’s features; he had jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders in curls, glimmering grey eyes, and a warm smile that seemed to deepen the longer she stared at him. His face was tanned from the sun, and his skin roughened from labour. As Daenerys pulled her hand back, her fingertips brushed across numerous small cuts on his palm.

“You’re not from these parts,” Jon said. He put the lamp down on a table next to them before he moved around the small space lighting candles. As the room brightened, Daenerys realised that they were in a kitchen. The tiles on the walls were yellow and the cabinets dark brown. It reminded her of the one her mother had bought ten years earlier.

“I’m not,” Daenerys agreed, her gaze settling back on Jon. He was short and lean, and dressed in a plain pair of dark jeans and a blue shirt. When he turned to face her, she noticed that it was unbuttoned - her eyes briefly lingered on his rippling abs.

“Did your car break down?” Jon asked.

Daenerys shook her head and dragged her eyes away from his torso. “Oh no, I don’t own a car.”

“So you weren’t walking, you weren’t running, and you weren’t driving,” Jon said. “Forgive me, Miss, but I’m starting to think you fell from the sky.” His own gaze shortly flickered up and down her body.

Daenerys felt her stomach flutter. “It’s a long story,” she spoke quietly and hugged herself, trying to cover anything indecent that might be showing through her dress. The longer she was standing, the more the fabric was drying. It itched against her clammy skin.

“I’ve got all night,” Jon said. He was done lighting candles - the whole room flickered in a warm, orange glow, and shadows danced across the walls.

“Do you not have electricity?” Daenerys blurted before she could stop herself.

Jon looked at her blankly. “I draw water from a well and use an outside toilet.”

“Oh,” Daenerys blinked. She felt sorry for asking, but more so when Jon’s lips broke into a teasing smile.

“Really not from around here,” he said in a mumble she could only assume did not require a reply. “Last night’s winds knocked out the power,” Jon explained, “and I haven’t been able to get anyone to come have a look.”

Daenerys felt her cheeks redden. “I didn’t mean to make you sound like-”

“-a yokel?” Jon finished her sentence with a shrug. “Ah, I’ve had worse. But you look like a drowned duckling, so let’s get you into something dry.”

Drowned duckling? Daenerys pondered amused, but she thought it wise to keep her mouth shut. As Jon picked up the lamp and waved for her to follow, she hurried to stay at his heels as he led her through the house.

The place seemed stuck in the past; the wallpaper in the hallway was lime-green, and ceramic plates hung like decorations alongside thickly framed paintings of cows. When the lantern’s light briefly shone into an adjacent room, Daenerys swore she spotted a massive armchair covered in an animal print.

“Do you live here by yourself?” Daenerys asked and glanced up Jon’s back. She couldn’t help but watch the way his soft curls brushed against the collar of his shirt. In the dim light, the black glimmered almost blue.

“Aye, I haven’t got a dress you can borrow, but I think a shirt will do,” Jon said, interpreting her question differently than she meant. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“That’s fine,” Daenerys assured him whilst wondering why someone like Jon would’ve invested in a leopard chair.

They reached a bedroom in the back. Daenerys paused in the doorway as she watched Jon rummage through various drawers. Whenever he opened a new one, a smell of mildew filled up the room. “I’ve got a clean towel,” Jon said, his voice almost triumphant, and he threw the piece of fabric onto his bed. To Daenerys, it looked more like a tea towel than one used for humans, but she smiled nonetheless. “This will cover you,” he continued as he approached her with a long old shirt, “and these will warm you.” He handed her a pair of fuzzy orange socks.

When she pressed her nose to them, Daenerys was grateful to find they smelled like detergent. “Thank you,” she said, “I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. I just need to call a friend from town, and they’ll pick me up.”

“That’s brilliant, Miss,” Jon said and clapped his hands together. “Where are you hiding the generator? I’ll hook it up.”

“Generator?” Daenerys blinked.

Jon’s lips tucked up into a wry grin. “Never known a phone to work without electricity,” he pointed out.

Daenerys sucked in air as she remembered what he said earlier. The power’s gone, she reminded herself, looking around the black room. She was almost grateful for the darkness - she was sure her cheeks were shining bright red. I won’t be able to call anyone. I’m actually stuck!

As the situation dawned on her, Jon thrusted the lantern into her hands. “Get yourself sorted,” he said kindly, “and meet me in the kitchen. A cup of coffee can fix many things.” Then, he disappeared back into the hallway, and Daenerys sunk down on the edge of the bed as she stared into the white flame.

Daenerys was stuck in nowhereland in a strange man’s house, and once more she sensed she should be frightened. If her mother knew, the poor old woman would be sick with worry. So why do I feel excited? Daenerys mused and curled her toes as the image of Jon’s glimmering grey eyes and deep smile flickered in her mind.

Daenerys had forgotten what it felt like to be warm, so when she reentered the kitchen and found it simmering with a dry heat, she all but melted against the counter. “Oh my God,” she sighed and eagerly ran her fingers through her sopping hair, trying to separate it into small locks that would dry quicker, “I didn’t even realise how cold I was.”

The towel had barely been able to soak up any liquid. By the time Daenerys had wiped herself down, it had turned into a drenched piece of fabric in her hands. Her skin was still damp, her hair a knotty mess, and she’d quivered her way into the roughspun shirt that Jon had offered her. It hung all the way down to her knees. She couldn’t imagine it fitting his short stature.

Jon looked up from the iron wood stove in the corner. A fire was burning lively inside of it, fuelling the pot on top. When he lifted the lid, the unmistakable scent of coffee filled the kitchen. “It’s almost ready,” he said and waved for her to have a seat.

Daenerys slipped onto a rocky stool by the table. It was covered with a PVC cloth. When she touched it, her fingertips felt sticky. “I didn’t know what to do with the dress,” she said and held it up for him to see. As he stood up and approached her, she squeezed her knees together, feeling awfully on display. “It’s really wet.”

“It’ll dry soon,” Jon assured her. He pulled it from her hands and shook it out. Droplets flew through the air at his movement. “It’s a nice one,” he said as he looked it up and down. “Are those flowers?”

“Blue roses,” Daenerys said shyly. “It’s nothing special.” In fact, it was one of her most beloved garments. She wore it when she wanted to feel good - and she had felt good that morning when she slipped it on and looked at herself in the mirror. But I’m not about to tell him that.

Jon simply pushed his curtains aside and used the exposed rod to hang her dress up for drying. Daenerys leaned back against the wall behind her as she watched water drip from its hemline into the sink below.

“You know,” Jon said as he grabbed two cups from a shelf and filled them with coffee from the pot, “you still haven’t told me how you ended up here.”

“Thought it was a nice evening for a run,” Daenerys joked and smiled a little as Jon laughed. She accepted the cup from him and allowed the steam to bash against her face before she had a sip. It was strong on her tongue. She smacked her lips together and pretended to enjoy it. “I was out for a drive with a friend,” she said, before scoffing: “Well, what I thought was a friend.”

“Bit of a Casanova?” Jon asked, and Daenerys sighed.

“I suppose that about covers it. He tried to kiss me,” she said and felt herself flush. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt embarrassing to talk about. She watched her toes as she repeated: “He tried to kiss me. I said no. I asked him to drive me back, but every time we’d crossed a hill, he would stop and try again. In the end, I got out of the car and just started walking.”

Jon whistled and had a gulp of his coffee. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Daenerys glanced between her locks towards him. He was sat casually by the fire, the flames lighting up his profile. He had a straight nose, she noted, and a thick beard, and a strong neck. His arms bulged beneath his shirt. He looked like he could carry her for miles. As he caught her staring, Daenerys couldn’t help but ask: “You don’t drive a Maserati Bora, do you?”

Jon looked confused. “No, I have a Ford 5000.”

“What kind of car is that?”

“It’s a tractor. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Daenerys said and looked back into her coffee.

Jon leaned onto the table, his chin resting in his hand as he eyed her feet. “You’re not wearing the socks,” he pointed out.

Daenerys wiggled her toes. “They kind of hurt,” she said. “I thought I better air them out.”

“I’m not surprised. You were barefooted.”

“Well, my sandals were giving me blisters,” Daenerys defended herself. She glanced into the hallway. She could see her shoes still thrown across the floor, the heels of them almost torn.

Jon clucked his tongue. “Not made for the countryside.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to be walking much in them!”

“No, I meant you,” he said. When Daenerys sent him a flustered look, his lips pulled into a soft smile. “Taking off your sandals because of blisters? That’s a sure way to get them popped.”

“Well, then it hurts less,” Daenerys muttered, but something about the way Jon spoke indicated to her that she was wrong.

“A broken blister one is more likely to get infected - and then it’ll hurt more.” Jon stood and opened a small cupboard above the oven. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she heard things being moved about. “This will soothe the pain.”

When he turned to face her, Daenerys saw a grey tin in the palm of his hand. Vaseline. “How old were you when you decided to become a know-it-all?” she asked, and Jon chuckled as he unscrewed the lid.

“Seven years old,” he replied plainly. “I spent a day chasing my brother around the field, and by the end of it I had blisters the size of blueberries. I popped them, and so the next day, they were the size of grapes.”

Daenerys looked at him dumbstruck. “That was not the reply I expected,” she admitted bemused.

Jon dipped his fingers into the vaseline and scooped out a good chunk. “I know some things,” he pointed out.

That’s more than most men can say, Daenerys thought, her mind going back to her friend. Well, ex-friend, she decided with a pout.

Daenerys still couldn’t believe she’d allowed him to drive her this far out of the city. Especially not after Missandei warned her that he was trouble. She had been so infatuated with her new life away from home that she’d come to believe nothing and no one could bring her down. Now, she was just simmering with shame. Fool me once, shame on you, Daenerys thought, her eyes drawing up Jon’s chest to his eyes, fool me twice...

Jon put the tin down on the table, his fingers glistening with vaseline. Daenerys started: “Oh, I can do that,” but before she got any further, he’d already pulled his chair close and dragged her leg up into his lap as he smeared a line of the jelly down her heel.

Daenerys yelped in surprise, first at the movement which pushed her back against the wall, and then at the cool feeling of the rub slipping down her achy skin. Her first instinct was to grab at the loose shirt and push it securely down between her legs, blocking Jon’s view.

But when she glanced down at him, her own face aghast, she found him solely focused on her foot. His fingers gently caressed her skin, his rough tips stroking across her sores, and as the vaseline was worked into her heel, she couldn’t help but sigh. It did feel good.

“How’s that?” Jon asked, still not looking up from his work.

Daenerys bit her inner cheek. “It’s fine,” she said in a small voice, making Jon smile wryly.

“Good.”

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. Daenerys listened to the soft cackling from the flames as she sipped her coffee and admired Jon at work. It was peculiar, she thought; she’d had casual relations with men before, and still nothing had felt as intimate as this moment. There was something humbling about looking at a man like Jon, rough and straightforward as he was, just sitting and working on making her feel better.

By the time he gestured for her other foot, Daenerys felt her knees had turned to butter. It took all the strength in her to raise her left heel to his hands. “You sure your girlfriend won’t mind you doing this?” she asked, painfully aware of how obvious her question was.

“Haven’t got one,” Jon said simply, yet the smirk on his lips told Daenerys that he was well aware of the intention behind her words.

Daenerys hummed and bit down on the edge of the mug. “I guess you get used to being alone out here after a while,” she pondered.

“Aye, that’s the hope.” Jon glanced up at her. “I’ve only been here for four weeks. I’m doing the place up.”

“Oh!” Daenerys blinked. She thought back on the missing tiles from the roof and the leaking pipes. That explains a few things. “And all of this-?” She nodded around the old furniture in the kitchen, but once more Jon knew the real meaning behind her question.

He raised his brows and gave her an honest look as he said: “The leopard chair came with the property.”

Daenerys giggled: “How did you know?”

“It was the first thing my brother pointed out as well,” Jon said and rolled his eyes. “People are really hung up on animal prints.”

“It’s very 50s,” Daenerys said. She put her mug down and ran her fingers through her hair. The dried locks were feeling a bit frizzy. She was not looking forward to brushing them out. “But you’ve grown up on a farm?” she asked, thinking back on Jon’s story about his blisters.

Jon nodded. “My father owned some good land. When he died last year, my stepmother sold it all and moved herself and my siblings to the city.”

“But you didn’t go?”

Jon shook his head with a sad smile. His fingertips dug between her toes. She had to bite her lip at the tickling sensation. “I like to have space around me,” he said. “I like to do things my way. I suppose I’m a bit stubborn.”

“Everyone says I’m stubborn,” Daenerys said.

“Aye, I suppose that friend of yours would agree.”

Daenerys laughed. “I suppose.” She glanced down to meet Jon’s eyes, and he looked back at her, the expression on his face gentle. “I’m sorry to have taken up some of your space,” she said softly.

“Ah, that’s just the thing, Miss,” Jon said and winked, “sometimes my way is not the best way.”

Daenerys felt her stomach flutter, and she quickly averted her eyes as Jon finished off her feet.

The night was a strange one for Daenerys. She was used to the sound of parties and cars, the smell of her neighbours smoking, the sharp streetlight falling in through her bedroom window. She wasn’t used to hearing owls hooting, or smelling fertilizer, or finding complete darkness when she stared outside.

Jon had put her up in a small guest bedroom just beneath the roof. In the night, Daenerys could hear the wind howling through the tiles just above, but she was warm and comfortable under the thick duvet that Jon had given her. She suspected he’d pulled it right off his own bed, because a strong scent of aftershave and deodorant lingered beneath the covers. She sensed that it should bother her, but instead she found comfort in the smells, and when she awoke it was with her nose nudged deeply into the fabric.

Birds were chirping. The sun lit up the whole room. As Daenerys sat up, she saw condensation had formed on the top of the duvet overnight. It ran down the fabric in streams, but when she stepped onto the floor, she found the wood to be warm. There was a dry smell of heat from downstairs. I suppose the oven’s been on in the kitchen, she guessed.

Daenerys slipped back into the shirt from yesterday before she walked downstairs, gingerly treading the steps not to make too much noise. She assumed Jon would be up, but she couldn’t see him anywhere - the hallway was empty but for her shoes which had now been lined up nicely right by the front door. When she peeked into the kitchen, she found it quiet too - a few dying flames were flickering in the oven, but otherwise there was no sign of anyone having breakfasted.

The tin of vaseline was still on the table from yesterday. She picked it up and rolled it around her hands as she glanced around for her dress. It was no longer hanging on the rod. “Jon?” she called, walking the hallway down to his bedroom. Empty. She walked to the front door and swung it open. “Jon?”

The morning air was fresh and warm. Daenerys sighed as she stepped out onto the cobbled yard and took in sight of her surroundings. When she’d arrived in the evening, the place had looked abandoned and rough, almost like a scene out of a horror movie. But now, there was an odd charm to be found in the farmhouse’s rough facade, the fluttering growths of weed, and the drying ponds of rain scattered across the stone.

It feels weirdly nostalgic, Daenerys thought as she used her hand to shadow for the sun, her bare feet carefully crossing the chipped cobbles. Like a summer vacation from my childhood. She tried to pinpoint a memory, but there was only one thing she knew for certain - there had never been someone like that in her past.

There, at the other end of the yard, just past the clothesline with her fluttering dress, stood Jon. He was in the same dark jeans as yesterday, but the shirt was gone, and she had a clear view of his tanned back. His hands were closed around an old shovel; when he plunged the blade into the ground, she saw his shoulders broaden, and when he tugged it back up by the shaft, his shoulder-blades drew together. They looked as firm as any part of his trimmed torso. Daenerys couldn’t help but stare.

She wasn’t sure for how long she watched him work, but by the time he noticed her, his lips were parted in a deep pant, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his chest. When he turned to face her, he revealed a line of dark, coarse hair that ran from his navel down below the waistband of his jeans. She hadn’t noticed it in the darkness of the kitchen the night before. Now, something in her fingers irked to reach out and touch it, so she squeezed her hands tight around the vaseline as he approached her.

“Morning,” he said, his grey eyes looking her over.

Daenerys tugged her chin to her chest as she sent him a little smile. “Good morning,” she replied. Her hands slipped to her back, fiddling with the tin out of sight.

“How did you sleep?”

“Very well.”

“I gathered,” Jon said with a wry smile, “it’s almost eight.”

Daenerys tried to remember the last time she’d woken up before eight in the morning. “You say that as if it’s late.”

Jon just shrugged and waved for her to follow him. “I guess you’re looking for your dress?” he said and nodded toward the clothesline. “Thought it’d dry nicer in the sun.”

“Is your shirt drying too?” Daenerys teased, and she was pleased to see that Jon looked a little awkward.

He fiddled with the handle of his spade. “I’m not used to having company around,” he admitted. “I can cover up.”

“Why don’t you show me around first?” Daenerys suggested. She wasn’t particularly keen to see Jon’s abs hidden away once more, and luckily Jon seemed more than happy to oblige with her request.

As they made their way around the house, Jon blabbering about the various renovations he would like to make and Daenerys nodding now and then to show just how engaged she was, she couldn’t help but take him in. The way the breeze played with his curls. How his grey eyes seemed brighter under the clear sky. How he smelled of coffee and dirt. The subtle way his elbow would brush to hers as they walked, the feeling of his warm skin making her spine tingle.

“That’s where I’m going to have the horses,” Jon said, pointing to an old barnhouse behind the farm.

Daenerys looked at the tall, worn building. “What’s in there now?” she asked. As Jon pulled one of the large doors open, a dry, sweet smell wafted out, and Daenerys cocked her head as she peeked inside the wooden structure. From top to bottom, it was brimming with hay. “Oh wow,” she said. It struck her then - she’d never actually seen a bale up close.

“They’re not mine,” Jon said and watched as she walked inside to feel the stalks. Her fingertips ran alongside the cut crop. “I’m lending out the space.”

“Someone’s had a good harvest,” Daenerys mused as she watched the many bales stacked atop one another.

“Not really,” Jon said. He followed her into the barn, his voice slightly eager as he pointed out a bale to her: “See all the stalks, and the seedheads? This guy sells to stables, but the horses aren’t going to get much nutrition from that. See how golden the colour is?” He reached past Daenerys to tug out a handful of hay, and he wafted it before her eyes. “It was cut whilst too dry. You’d want something greener.”

Daenerys listened to him with amusement on her face. “You sure know a lot about hay,” she said.

Jon brushed his hands together and let the stalk fall. “Ah, it’s just good business sense,” he said, but she could tell he was slightly embarrassed.

With bales stacked on each side of them, they were standing close. Perhaps that was why Daenerys was starting to feel warm. When she glanced up at Jon, she found him looking down her body too, and she shuffled slightly in the oversized shirt, making it dance at her knees. “Jon,” she said, her eyes travelling down his chest - the toned pecs, the shaped abs, the hairline - and then back up to his eyes, “would it be bad business sense to roll around in the hay?”

“Suppose it would,” Jon said, but before she could say else, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a warm, hard kiss.

Jon’s hands were strong; Daenerys felt herself held tight to his body, and she all but melted against his chest, her frame succumbing to his raw heat. She could taste the sweat on his upper-lip, and the coffee on the tip of his tongue which was greedily exploring her mouth.

The vaseline fell from Daenerys’ hands and rolled across the barnfloor. She didn’t care to even look for it - instead, she let her hands sink into his soft curls, her fingertips dragging down his back as she inched closer. The wetness on his skin was soaking through her shirt. She could feel his heartbeat echoing in her own chest.

As she was pressed against the bales behind her, Daenerys thought: This could’ve been the perfect romantic scene. He was broad and strong. She felt soft and weak. The morning sun shined in through the open door, warming their skin as the kiss grew wetter, deeper, needier.  

Yet she couldn’t slow down. Something in her irked to feel more of Jon, all of him, and any ideas of allure were soon replaced with desire.

Jon’s hands pushed around her waist and down to her arse. Daenerys gasped as she felt him keenly dragging the fabric upwards, exposing her plain white knickers. She hadn’t prepared for being undressed, but if Jon noticed her old choice of undergarment, he didn’t seem to mind - his coarse palms stroked across her soft bum and pinched her flesh pink.

Daenerys whimpered to his lips: “You’re so rough.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Jon asked, his words barely audible between their wet kisses.

Daenerys shook her head and grabbed a hold of Jon’s cheeks as she looked into his eyes and said: “Don’t you dare.”

Her reply was swiftly awarded with a smack to her behind. Daenerys groaned, and she just caught Jon’s lips tug into a smirk as his hand fell again, making her arse jiggle. “You’ve got a good backside,” he said, his fingertips caressing her spanked skin. It stung, but the way he rubbed against her flushing cheeks felt soothing.

Daenerys hid her red cheeks by nudging her nose to his neck. “Don’t tease,” she begged. She bit her teeth together to hold in a moan as Jon rose his hand to smack her buttocks once more. The sound echoed in the barn. She felt herself shiver in delight.

“Aye - mind if I take a closer look?”

Before Daenerys could say a word, Jon turned her around and pressed her in over the hay. She stretched her arm around the bale and pressed her hands into the dry stalks at random, trying to grab a hold of something as Jon pushed the shirt up. As she glanced back over her shoulder, she just caught him hooking his thumbs into her knickers. He easily pulled them down. She couldn’t help but squeeze her buttocks, feeling awfully on display.

Jon’s breath slippered across her skin. She felt his lips move from the top of her arse across her spine, all the way up to her blushing ears. He softly bit down on her lobe and made her gasp. “You know,” he mumbled, his voice low and husky, “you looked really good in that wet dress of yours.” His hand rounded her buttocks again, slipped between her legs, and then pressed up against her cunt.

Daenerys closed her eyes as she felt herself spread open for his rough, searching fingers. He easily dipped between her labia. She was shy to discover just how wet she already was. “You dirty man,” was the only reply she could manage, but it came out so weakly that she barely thought him to have heard her.

Jon chuckled. His body was leaned in over hers, making a shadow fall across her face. She could feel his chest against her back, his legs pushed to hers, his hand working across her sex. “I could see your breasts,” Jon said, his other hand slipping underneath her shirt to caress her bosom. When his fingertips flicked her nipples, she felt them harden at once, “and your stomach,” his palm ran down flat across her navel, tickling her in the same.

Daenerys squirmed and pushed back up against him. Her movements made her legs skid further apart, and soon Jon sunk a finger into her wetness, his tips brushing across her soft inners. “Oh God,” she whispered and bit down on the collar of the shirt.

It was one thing to have imagined that Jon might have seen a bit too much of her yesterday - but to know? Daenerys wasn’t sure whether to feel ashamed or excited, but she knew that her heartbeat had quickened, and her hands were sinking deeper into the bale.

Jon’s finger slowly retreated, only for two to slip back inside. “And your perfect round arse,” he grunted to her ear, his hand slipping from her shirt back to her buttocks, giving them a squeeze. He was so close to her that the rough denim from his jeans was rubbing to her skin. To Daenerys, it felt like he was teasing her. “I should’ve kissed you yesterday.”

Daenerys smiled slightly as she blinked her eyes open and said: “You can kiss me now.” She stretched her neck, trying to see more over her shoulder, half expecting him to drag her back into a wet kiss. But instead, Jon’s lips travelled back down her spine, across her buttocks - and then in between them.

Daenerys yelped in surprise as his flat tongue dragged across her arsehole. “Jon!” she stammered, unsure of what else to say because the sensation of him was immediate and extremely intimate. It felt warm, and wet, and almost like a tickle. His lips pressed around her entrance. His tongue rounded her ring of muscles. Then, greedily, he dragged her buttocks apart as he placed some sloppy kisses up alongside her soft, sensitive skin, and Daenerys could barely stop herself from sinking fully into the bale, her body descending into a quivering mess.

She had never had a man venture down on her like that - and she felt fantastic.

Jon’s fingers were holding her in place, partially pushing her to the hay, partially keeping her steady. His beard scratched slightly to her skin as he moved his head, but he somehow seemed to know exactly what to do to make her feel good. He kissed, and licked, and nudged his way around her arsehole before pushing just the tip of his tongue to her muscles. Daenerys couldn’t quite decide whether it was too embarrassing to allow him access or not, but by the time Jon slipped one hand from her arse to her cunt and gently rounded her nub, all reservations evaporated.

As soon as Daenerys relaxed, Jon’s tongue rounded the soft inners of her arsehole, and she groaned in pleasure and sunk further into the bale. It was impossible for her to stay upright. By now, her body was slumped forward, her arse only held up by Jon as he ate her out.

“Oh God, Jon,” she whimpered. She wasn’t sure how long she could last if he was going at her like that. Her sex was soaked. She could feel her own juices slipping down the insides of her legs. But when his tongue drew back, and he instead inserted a finger into her hole, she also knew that she wasn’t ready for it to be over.

“How’d you like me?” Jon asked. His voice was teasing. It felt less like a question and more like a dare.

Daenerys couldn’t believe he was going to make her say it. “You’re no gentleman,” she panted, pressing her cheek to the hay.

“Guess I’m a yokel after all,” he chuckled.

Daenerys’ mouth felt parched. Sweat was slipping down her forehead. Perhaps it was Jon’s slow fingering of her hole, perhaps the morning sun growing warmer, perhaps the fact that she was about to beg a stranger to fuck her arse. Whatever it was, Daenerys’ eyes could barely focus. Her mind was spinning; was it going to hurt, would she like it, would he fit? - and it was only when she saw something glimmer in the sun that any hesitation slipped away. “Vaseline,” she whispered.

Jon paused behind her. “What?” he asked, his voice confused.

Daenerys fought to prod herself up onto her elbows as she nodded toward the tin. “Vaseline,” she said again, and this time her voice was stronger.

Jon glanced in the direction of her stare, and a small smile spread on his lips. “Aye,” he said, and he reached out to grab the tin out of the dirt. “It’s almost like you planned it.”

Daenerys blushed. “I’d never!” she said, but her words turned to a whimper as Jon’s lubed fingers seconds later pushed into her behind. The vaseline eased his way in, and she felt her muscles relax instantly. “I’d neve- oh, God, yes!” She pressed her face into the hay, the sweet smell filling her nostrils and the dusty crop settling over her tongue as her lips parted in a long, needy moan.

Jon worked her arse with ease; he started slowly, teasing her, letting the lube coat her wet and ready. By the time his fingers were practically fucking her, Daenerys’ back was arched, and her arse moved before his eyes in a teasing wag.

“How much longer?” she asked, ashamed of how desperate she was to get filled and yet not caring anymore.

Jon smacked her buttocks with his free hand and groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. “You still haven’t asked,” he reminded her.

Daenerys closed her eyes tightly. She could hear the zipper from his jeans as he opened them, followed by the rustling of the fabric slipping to the floor. Soon, his warm, hard cock pushed between her buttocks. His cockhead nestled at her opening. She could feel how it pulsated.

“You wanted a gentleman?” Jon asked, his hand slipping up her back to round her shoulder. When he leaned in over her, she felt his weight push her further into the hay. “I’d think such a man would wait for the lady to ask.”

Before she could stop herself, Daenerys said: “I don’t want a gentleman.” Her eyes snapped over her shoulder, and she stared right into Jon’s greys as she admitted: “I want you to fuck me. Now.”

Jon smirked. Then, he took a strong hold of her shoulder with one hand and his member with the other as he jerked his hips, pushing himself inside of her.

It was only his cockhead that managed to get past her muscles at first, but it was enough to make Daenerys whine. Not in pain as much as in surprise - the feeling of being filled was strange, and it took her a minute of panting to realise that Jon was not moving at all. He was waiting, the muscles of his hand shivering lightly as he brushed it from his cock to her buttocks, his fingertips roughly dipping into her flesh.

“Alright?” he asked, his voice slightly strained.

Daenerys bit down around the collar again and nodded. “Alright.”

Jon pushed further into her. Daenerys groaned and felt her back arch. It seemed to encourage him, because he let his hips roll forward, making his full length sink into her tight hole. The moment his balls slapped her soft skin, they both moaned, and Daenerys was shy to think: This is the best I’ve ever felt.

It was tight. It was slightly uncomfortable. It was definitely weird. But when Jon slowly started moving, his cock inching its way out of her before gliding back in, continuously stretching her open, she started feeling really good. It was the sensation of being completely surrounded by him, his body pushing her down, his cock claiming her, and his hands grabbing onto her flesh with greed and desire. It felt safe.

And when Jon picked up his pace, his hand slipping down her breasts to between her legs, his tips playing with her nub, it also felt extremely exciting.

As Jon started fucking her behind at a pace, Daenerys lolled her head back and let go of a breath of air she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. As she gasped, she felt her chest opening up, her breasts slightly swinging, her hips sinking, her arse jiggling. She was in pleasure, but out of control; when she licked her lips, she was ashamed to find drool had started running from the corners of her mouth down her chin. But she couldn’t wipe it away - if she lifted her hand, she would lose balance,and if she lost balance, she wasn’t sure she would ever get back up, because her knees were quivering like never before.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she whimpered. Jon’s fingers were digging into her hair, slipping her locks around his hand as he kept her in place, back arched, head up. “Oh my God!” His other hand was still on her sex, and before she knew of it, his fingertips were inside of her cunt, fingering her at the same pace he was fucking her arse.

“Nice and wet,” Jon commented in her ear. She could only assume it was a pleasing compliment, because he started grunting shortly after. His hips jerked quicker. She felt like he was trying to fuck her into the ground.

And I would let him, she realised, her eyes rolling back before she closed her eyes and just gave into the pleasure that was running across her skin. She felt like she was burning. She couldn’t breathe properly. The moment Jon’s thumb rubbed to her nub, she had to let go.

So she did; Daenerys lolled her head back, her arms giving in under her as an orgasm rolled across her sex. It was like a warm, pulsating sensation of relief took over her body, and her face dropped to the bale, her mouth wide open as she gasped for air.

Daenerys wanted to collapse, but she couldn’t - behind her, Jon was still at it, his hand now off her sex as he grabbed a strong hold of her buttocks, leaned in over her, and jerked into her hole a few last times. Then, with a deep grunt, he came.

It felt different than when a man came inside of her cunt. She couldn’t quite tell if it was lube or cum that dripped down her leg when he pulled out, only that she still felt incredibly full. The muscles in her arse tightened as if trying to keep everything inside of her, but the rest of her body gave in. The moment Jon let go of her skin, she sunk to the floor, her body succumbing to the hay.

Jon settled next to her, naked and panting. She lazily watched him through the chopped stalks as she tried to calm her own heartbeat. His hair was a mess, his skin glistening with sweat, his moustache looked wet from panting, and his grey eyes seemed unfocused. His fat cock rested against his thigh, the length of it still partially hard, but she could tell he was softening.

There was something extremely handsome about how raw he looked. If it wasn’t for the ache in her body, she would’ve climbed right on top of him and pushed his cock to her wet cunt. But the moment she flipped over, laying down next to him, her arse throbbed, and she could only grimace.

Jon chuckled. “That bad?” he asked and ran his fingertips through her hair.

Daenerys glanced up at him shyly. “I’ve never-” she started, but she stopped herself short of admitting anything, biting her lower lip. She was tired of feeling like a dumb city girl who knew nothing about anything, but when Jon nodded and said:

“Me neither,” she blinked in surprise.

“Really?”

He shook his head.

“Not even that… tongue thing?” Daenerys asked blushing.

Jon looked out of the open barn door. A group of clucking chickens were passing by, chased by a rooster. “Never,” he said. His cheeks looked more tan than usual.

Daenerys hid a smile behind her hair. “Well,” she said, “you’re a natural.”

Jon looked back at her, his grey eyes glimmering as he said: “All it takes is a good partner.”

It was late in the afternoon by the time Jon dropped her off at the outskirts of the city. She sensed she should’ve been embarrassed by being driven around in a tractor, her fine blue dress looking awfully out of place next to the dirty old overalls that Jon were wearing - but in fact, she found that she didn’t care at all.

As she slipped down from the seat, she looked up at him with a small smile. “Thank you,” she said, “for everything. You’re quite the host.”

Jon laughed. “Don’t go spreading rumours now.”

“I won’t.” Daenerys glanced around. They were on the main road leading into the centre. People passing them by were staring shamelessly. She could only imagine what her ex-friend would say if he saw her now, having chosen a tractor over his beloved Maserati. It made her feel giddy.

“You know,” Jon said, placing his hands back on the steering wheel, “if you ever want to invade my space again, I might just let you.”

Daenerys brushed her palms to her arse and said: “You know, I think you were the one who invaded my space.” She noticed Jon’s cheeks flush and smiled. “But I’d love to,” she added, feeling her heart flutter a bit as his grey eyes met hers, “truly.”

“I’ll see you around then,” Jon said as he started the tractor back up. As it rolled down the street, Daenerys waved after him, feeling smug at having had the last word. Until Jon shouted: “Bring a tub of vaseline next time!”

As she walked home past the crowds of staring passerbys, she was blushing furiously, but even with her backside aching she had to admit: There will be a next time. Soon.