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Dutch insisted you accompany Arthur to the North West to scout potential new locations to move camp. Shady Belle wasn’t secure enough. Not only was the old plantation too close to the city for comfort, everyone seemed to know where you all were and what you were up to. And, of course, the wretched heat, the abundance of alligators, and the corpses of your friends piling up on the wayside. You’d be glad to leave the place behind.
It had been about a year since you got caught up with Dutch’s boys, after you found solace with them while on the run yourself for a simple petty theft. Well, several cases of petty theft, and a few drunken brawls, and one or two murders. Self defense, of course, it had to be. Better making my money as a criminal than be stuck earning pennies washing old cowboys’ feet in the backroom of a saloon, you told yourself each time that bounty on your head got a few more dollars added.
You hadn’t been keen to go with Arthur, seeing the mission as a total dead-end. Dutch, in his infinite, delusional wisdom, had paired several of you off to scout new locations. Lenny and Javier in the North East, Micah and Bill in the midwest, and had even sent Charles and Sadie to approach the West and test the waters for your return. You’d be shocked if either of them bother to cross the border, since you all know you’re dead meat the second you step foot near Blackwater.
You felt like you knew Arthur well, by now, though you didn’t know if you’d consider him a friend like you would Mary-Beth and Tilly, or Lenny and Charles. Most of your understanding of Arthur came from observing him at a distance, which you found yourself doing far too often for it to be healthy. You’d watch him in the mornings, chopping wood, all sweat-slicken, his shirt clinging to his chest with the wet, his lofty stance and broad shoulders looking divine in the early light. You’d watch him effortlessly carrying hay bales around for the horses, still sweaty, still divine. Of the older men, he was the sweetest by far, always doing chores, bringing gifts and trinkets for the girls, but kept up some tough exterior. But your favourite thing to see him do was be still, drawing in his journal, writing who knows what. You were sure that tough exterior didn’t go to deep, since no other men would be caught drawing doodles of the baby bunnies that used to roam Horseshoe, or the flowers that grew around Clemens.
The night before you set off, Tilly and Mary-Beth had teasingly pulled you aside in the gazebo out front, so Tilly could tell you, “Arthur was drawin’ you in that little book of his, you know.”
“Oh, come on, Tils.” You had rolled your eyes. “Not this again.”
She had been harping on about ‘you and Arthur’ ever since Jack had returned home safe, and the lot of you drank too much that night out of relief and celebration. With everyone gathered at the fire, you had to sit on the floor for the lack of space. Arthur, in his drunk contentment, had pulled you up to sit on his lap, sharing a cigarette with you, feeding you sips of beer, resting his head on your shoulder and speaking in your ear, all kinds of little comments and jokes about the others, just between the two of you. When you said goodnight to him, faces so close, you were sure you saw his eyes flicker to your lips as if he’d kiss you, but he didn’t. You’d be lying if you said that night hadn’t fueled your already obsessive desire, but you didn’t see a chance in Hell of anything happening with Mr. Arthur, so for your own sake, you wanted the girls to stop making it worse.
“He was drawin’ you, Miss, he was!” Mary-Beth insisted, her eyes aglow with excitement. “He thinks he’s real slick with all his little masterpieces, tryna hide them away. But Sadie’s slicker, and she saw he had drawn a whole bunch of you in there last night.”
“You ain’t got Sadie in on all this as well, God damn, I told y’all it’s nothin’.” You groaned, but they only giggled.
“Oh, come on,” Mary-Beth prodded your arms. “It’s excitin’. He’s a real romantic at heart, I just know it. I see how he stares at you when he thinks nobody’s lookin’, he’s got the stars in his eyes.”
So here you found yourself, reminiscing your conversation with your friends, while preparing to make a camp on frozen, brambled ground with Arthur Morgan. “Can’t we keep moving?” You asked him, remaining on horseback while he was starting to set up a tent. “There seems to be a town only a few miles from here. I’ve had enough of the cold. I want a bed and a bath.” You complained. You were dirty, you were freezing, and you needed at least one night away from Arthur so you could release a bit of tension on your own. The frost had driven you into the same tent for warmth, and it was increasingly painful to be in such close quarters with him, trying desperately to sleep every night but instead being focused on the melodic hum of his breath, thinking about how it felt on the back of your neck when you were drunk together.
“Ain’t no time nor money for that.” He rejected.
“Oh come on, Arthur, I know you got some money in them pockets.” You said dryly. “I never see your name in the damn ledger, but you’re still off doing plenty of robbin’. I want a real bed,” you huffed.
“Ain’t happenin’.” he grumbled, but your frustrations outmatched him.
“Well, you ought to keep me safe, tough guy, a young lady out in the wilds. You don’t want me runnin’ into trouble, do you?” You tested, and he looked up to you now with concern. “So you best follow me to town.”
You took off through the trees on your horse, and he took to his own horse to follow, shouting out behind you. “For God’s sake, you maniac of a woman.”
He didn’t put up much more of a fight, and you were relieved, following the map loosely enough until you saw the town in a distant clearing. If you could call it a town. It had small homesteads, a saloon, one general store, and most fortunately - a hotel for travellers heading North. The roads were mud, the buildings were bare, and few people seemed to be around, the whole town shaded by those almighty pine trees, shrouding it in darkness though the sun had yet to set.
When you hitched your horse, Arthur caught up behind you a second later. “You’re gonna owe me for this.” He said, gruff, and you shrugged.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want a nice night’s sleep. Might distract from this dead-end journey we’re on.”
You walked through the mud up to the hotel. It looked a small building from the outside, but felt even more cramped within. A balding man with a moustache waxed into curls, and little round spectacles, stood behind a fancifully engraved counter, with a little etched metal sign atop it, reading ‘WELCOME TRAVELLERS’. There was even an oriental vase of fresh flowers on the desk, though it was just salting the mine. The rest of the place seemed almost dilapidated. Dusty, messy, spiderwebs in corners, and crates piled up behind the counter as it was such a tiny place they must have had nowhere else to put them.
“Hello folks. You’ve found the Great Pines town Hotel. I am Mr. Waites-” he began to greet you, but Arthur interrupted bluntly.
“We need two beds tonight.”
“Only one room available at the moment, I’m afraid, so you may have to move along.” Waites answered, harshly, holding his moustached lip up high.
Arthur groaned, turning to you in annoyance. “Well-”
“Well,” You interrupted before he could surrender. “It’s fine, darling,” You feigned, placing your hand tightly on Arthur’s upper arm, which stiffened with discomfort at your touch as you stood close into him. “This is my husband, sir, we can take the one room.”
“Well, Mrs…” Mr Waites looked at Arthur incredulously, moustache quivering.
“Kilgore,” Arthur sighed, putting very little emotional effort into your story, muscles tensing under the grip of your hand.
“I don’t believe you are wearing a wedding band.” Waites questioned, doubtful. “We don’t welcome working girls here.”
You gasped, faking shock and disrespect. You placed your hands on the counter in a defiant stance. “Well, sir, I am no prostitute. This is my husband, and we don’t travel wearing any jewellery, let alone golden wedding bands. What, with all these criminals running amuck, robbing trains and all sorts? It’s wise to leave the valuables at home, agreed? Now, how much is a room and bath, or would you prefer to lose our business?”
“It’ll be seven dollars total, ma’am.” Waites gave in, and you looked over your shoulder to Arthur, who had the makings of a grin at the corner of his mouth, and silently handed the money over. “It’ll be upstairs, the last door on your right, and the bathroom is opposite.”
“Thank you, sir.” Arthur told him, behind you, the chuckle apparent in his voice, as you took his hand and led him up the creaking wooden stairs.
He shook you off once you reached the landing. “Listen, lady, as much as I may be impressed by your persuasive abilities, don’t go pullin’ tricks like that on me, again.”
“Tricks on you?” You scoffed. “It’s a trick on him.”
“Well, look, you ran off to find a bed and now what? I gotta sleep on the rug?” He huffed.
“Yes.” You said bluntly, opening the door to enter the bedroom.
It wasn’t so bad in the room, small, but it felt cosy. The bed was on the right of the door, up against the wall, with a rug at the foot of it in front of a little steel fireplace. There was even an armchair squeezed in, and a dressing table no more than a foot wide, with a little mirror and washbowl.
Arthur shut the door behind him as you dropped yourself flat on the bed. “Oh, well there’s a silver linin’,” he said, sarcastically. “Least I’ll be sleepin’ sittin’ up while you take the bed.” he sighed, taking a seat in the armchair to remove his boots.
It didn’t seem fair to you to take the bed and leave him uncomfortable. You paused for a moment, questioning yourself, since you knew deep down you wouldn’t sleep a wink if he shared the bed with you, but you also knew how badly you’d like to see him under the sheets. “There’s room in the bed for two, Arthur. We’ve slept about as close in the tent.” You tried to speak casually, but it came across sheepish, and you cursed yourself for feeling your stomach tighten.
Arthur paused for a second, still looking downward where he was fiddling with the spurs on his boots. “Don’t think gettin’ in that bed is a very wise idea, miss.” He mumbled, not looking at you for a second.
“Suit yourself.” You mumbled. You knew it was for the best, but it didn’t change your frustration. Well, if something real good wouldn’t happen with Arthur, at least you’d get a moment alone to touch yourself in the bath, knowing he was only the other side of the hallway.
“You go get your bath first, lady, since you demanded,” He told you, and you silently took your things to do so.
You couldn’t get off in the tub. It was like the frustration had gone too far, all your angst and desperation distracting you from pleasure. Does he even see me that way? Does he even remember holding me so close that drunken night? Did Sadie really see him drawing me, or did she get it wrong? It was all a whirlwind in your head. You just had to give up, trying to at least be relieved you were clean, and had a real mattress to sleep on tonight.
A bit over an hour later, it was dark outside, the fire was burning, and you both were clean and silent. You were trying to read a book Mary-Beth had recommended, but the whimsical romance wasn’t your kind of literature. Plus, it was hard to concentrate on reading when you kept stealing glances at Arthur in the chair, drawing in his journal. So focused, his face so calm, he looked divine. Fresh stubble, strands of hair falling so delicately to frame his face. You wanted desperately to know what he was drawing, but it felt too intrusive to ask. Tilly and Mary-Beth’s voices kept popping into your head from the week before, all giddy with glee about him drawing you all over the page.
“Are you drawing me?” You blurted out, like vomit, squeezing your eyes shut as if it would hide you from the embarrassment of your own sudden question.
Arthur clapped the book shut, your questioning completely arresting his attention. His head snapped up to look at you, his expression of calm dissipating entirely. You flushed hot from his intense stare, and just before you could apologise for your stupid question, he took a deep breath in, saying, “Yeah.” his voice was low and delicate. “I was.”
You paid more attention to those words than any of the ones on the page of the book you had been trying to read for the last hour. Your chest tightened, your thighs felt warm, you had to steady yourself. Arthur was still looking at you, locked on, the warm light from the fire lighting his face so beautifully. “Can I see?” you asked gingerly, and he stood up without a word and came to sit with you on the bed.
You watched as his calloused hands flick through the pages, and your body stuttered. He was close enough now that his knee touched your thigh, your shoulders brushed, and though he was fresh and clean, the smell of smoke lingered on him. Like no matter what, he can’t shake his lifestyle. Flipping through the pages, you saw glimpses of sketches and writings, reams of messy cursive paired with drawings of buildings, people, animals, plants. Then he reached the most recent page - you. You were captured on the page propped on the bed, book in one hand, and the other to your mouth. You had been biting your nails while you tried to read without even knowing until you saw he had noticed you doing it. The two of you had been sat there, in silence, heads down in different books, but you had been quietly focused on one another the whole time.
“It’s beautiful, Arthur,” You said, placing your hand on his wrist, looking up into his wide eyes in the warm fire’s glow. The light flicked across him, and his eyes were glossy, face now so close to yours your noses almost touched.
His mouth cracked a tiny smile, but his brow furrowed and he looked away from your gaze, breaking apart your faces. “I really doubt my scribblin’ is that impressive.” He closed the book.
“You always speak down on yourself, and sure, there might be some reasons to, but this ain’t one. Your drawings are beautiful.” You insisted, brushing your thumb in circles on his wrist out of comfort, but he stayed quiet and still.
Reaching forward, you took his cheek in your hand, bringing him back to face you. He blinked slowly, breathing in, so touch-starved that he trembled. Your chest was quaking, heart beating so fast you thought you’d break a rib. “Why didn’t you just kiss me that night we were drunk?”
Hastily, he stood from the bed, shaking you off and placing the journal down on the dressing table. “I’m just, some ugly old fool. Drank too much, made an idiot of myself holding you all close like that. You don’t want a kiss from me.” He huffed, facing away now, towards the fire, holding his hands together anxious, focused on them. Without the old leather hat on that he always wore, you could really see the boy in him, nervous, sweet, quiet, too often obscured by a hostile masculine cover.
“But I do,” you insisted. “I really do want to kiss you.” You asserted, standing up behind him, placing your hands on his upper arms from behind, resting your forehead on his back. He was so stiff at first touch, but softened after a moment of being held.
Turning around to face you, he placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, stiff as a board once again. “I can’t let you be makin’ foolish moves on a man like me.” He rambled, incoherent, and you could only prod him further.
You moved your hands forward onto his chest, forcing him closer, fingers lightly brushing the hair on his chest between the open buttons at the top of his black shirt. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and fast. “So, what? You’ll draw me in your book, think about me, watch me across the swamp, but I ask you for a kiss, and you won’t give me one?”
But then he did. Fiercely, he moved to embrace you, one hand gripping your waist, the other on the back of your neck, his mouth on yours. Lighting on fire, your hands moved to his face, grasping tight on his hair. His mouth moved on yours urgent and rough, his stubble scratchy on your face, his desperation for this moment clear as glass. You met him with vigor, hard and eager, living out the dream of every craving you’d been having for him. Gripping at his shirt collar, you pulled him to the bed, where he leaned down over you as your head hit the pillow.
Faces still close, he had one hand propping himself up, and the other on your neck, thumb lightly scratching at your skin. “Sorry,” He whispered, and you couldn’t help smiling.
“You don’t have a thing to apologise for, Mr. Morgan,” you whispered back, pressing your forehead to his, testing the waters by undoing more of his shirt buttons.
“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, and you nodded.
“Of course. I mean, ain’t you my husband?” You joked, and he laughed, a real laugh from his chest, now smiling so content and beautiful in the dim firelight, his hand making its way up your leg.
Gently, he pushed the fabric of your skirt up, squeezing your thigh, thumb mulling in one spot, then leaning forward slowly to kiss the skin. Writhing under him, you were up in flames as you felt your core buzzing, your clit twitching now he was so close to you. Face between your open skirt, Arthur spoke low into your body. “I been thinkin’ about you for so long.”
Your cunt pulsed seeing him between you like that, hearing his desire so plainly when you had only dreamed of it. His hand reached further up your thigh, to the seam of your underwear, hooking his thumb softly beneath the fabric to stroke against the unexposed skin of your hip. Your muscles clenched, hips rising slightly upward, and he looked up to you devilishly. “Can I taste you?” He asked, fingers grazing the fabric over your clit so gently.
“Yes,” you breathed out, desperate, and he hooked his fingers to pull your underwear aside, exposing yourself to him.
He took a deep breath. “Real pretty,” he whispered, planting a fleeting kiss onto your clit, causing you to whimper. “Gotta draw this in my book sometime.” He mumbled into you, tongue now making its way tentatively in circles on the hood of your clit. You whined, looking down to see his eye contact, so sincere and sexy. He picked up the pace with his tongue, wriggling down on you, and you squirmed. It had been a long time since a man took you like this, let alone one as focused as him. You felt yourself intensely, and he pulled away for air for only a moment, to tell you, “You’re so wet, you taste so good."
You moaned, hips buckling, and he returned his mouth to your cunt, this time lowering his tongue to your opening, pressing it gently inside of you, flickering around. He moaned then, too, swallowing your wet, pushing his tongue deeper in. Your back arched uncontrollably at the sensation, your throat giving way to a harsh groan, one hand clenched in the sheets and the other in his hair. He pulled back again, adjusting to lean on his elbow in front of you, his fingertips gently circling your opening.
“Please,” you begged, and he shushed you gently, moving to lick and suck your clit again. He pushed two of his fingers deep into you, and you gasped, your grip tightening on his hair. “Yes, oh Arthur, yes,” you choked out, and he moaned again onto your clit, the sound making you buzz.
He moved his fingers rhythmically, up and down and gently bending to find that sweet spot in your walls. The licking was far less rhythmic, though, he kissed and sucked and lapped at your clit with fervor, letting out groans and moans as he did. You knew you’d be drawing close before long, your hips bucking, back arching, thrusting yourself into his face uncontrollably. “Arthur,” you moaned out, panting, your thighs beginning to squeeze the side of his head. “I’m going, to - I’m - oh Arthur,” you stuttered, beginning to release, your cunt tightening around his calloused fingers, releasing your orgasm onto his face. He moaned, lapping you up, fingers beginning to slow.
“Beautiful,” he mumbled, removing his fingers to suck them clean, peppering wet kisses on and around your clit as you came down from your high. “You’re so beautiful comin’ for me.”
You whined as he pulled away from you, moving over you on the bed, his stubble glistening from your wet. He came to kiss you, softly, and you tasted yourself on his mouth, making your core heat up again immediately, still twitching from your orgasm. “Please, I need you,” you begged, reaching a hand to his belt, feeling for his rock hard erection through his pants.
“We don’t have to,” he whispered, voice quivering as you rubbed along the shaft of his cock through the fabric. He groaned, low, moving to plant wet kisses beneath your earlobe and down your neck.
“But I need to,” you insisted, and he inhaled sharply as you fiddled witlessly to undo his belt buckle.
He leaned back, up on his knees on the bed, to undo his belt himself to save you the trouble. He looked like a God over you, broad frame lit from the back by the fire, and the sight of him undoing his belt effortlessly while keeping that hungry eye contact locked to yours made your body almost seize up. You were soaked through, all wet dripping down to the sheets, ready to take him.
He removed his trousers and underwear, tore off the unbuttoned shirt so he was entirely nude, but you still wore your clothes. His cock was big, thick, balls hanging low under, skin of them darker than rest of his body. He peeled off the drenched underwear from your legs, and hiked your skirt back up to find his way into you.
He rubbed between your folds with one hand, pumping the tip of his cock with the other, all while looking in your eyes. “You ready?”
“Please,” you begged again, parting your legs as wide as you could to make it easier. He reached forward to cup under one of your knees and push your leg up, spreading you wide for him.
You felt him place the tip of his cock at your entrance, and you felt sick with the lust and desire, as if you were drunk. As he pushed in, your swollen cunt ached around him, stretching to his size. You whined, and he shushed you gently, using his free hand to fix your loose hair out of your face and soothe you as he pushed in deeper. His hand rested on the side of your face, as the delight of the pain in your core made you moan, shutting your eyes to lean into his palm. His thumb traced your lower lip, and found its way into your open mouth, to press on your tongue. You moaned again, and he pushed in deeper, now all the way deep in you, feeling his cock hit your cervix. You bit on his thumb lightly, letting out an arduous whimper.
“Good girl,” he told you, now thrusting in and out, making you squeal from your throat. “You’re takin’ it so well, you’re doing so well, for me,” he cooed, thumb still hooked in your mouth.
You felt delirious in his midst, cock slamming so deep into you, feeling so good you thought you were in a dream. His balls slapped against your ass as he quickened his pace, grunting with each thrust. “Do you like it, sweet girl? You like my cock inside you?” He asked breathlessly, and you opened your mouth to speak but all that escaped at first was a wail after he removed his thumb.
“Yeah,” you squeaked. “It’s so good, Arthur, you feel so good,”
“Oh, you sweet, sweet woman,” he said it like a prayer, eyes now closed, head facing up to the sky. “All mine, all mine,” he whispered repeatedly, then slowing his pace to look at you again. “I’m going to cut this short if I keep movin’ so quick,”
“Oh, but Arthur,” you begged. “I want you to fill me up,”
He groaned, stopping his movements completely, cock twitching in you. “Now don’t go sayin’ things like that to a man, Miss,” he warned, his eyes wide on your face.
“Please,” you begged again. “Arthur, I want your cum in me, I need it,” still deliriously lustful, you reached a hand to him, wanting to feel his body.
He leaned forward, cock pushing deeper into you again, so you could rest a hand on his face like he rested his on yours. “Lucky me,” he mumbled, kissing you again, messy and feral.
His thrusts then became vigorous, pounding into you to the point your head whacked the headboard a few times. You didn’t care, eyes rolling back into your head, taken entirely by the feeling of his cock filling you up. But he moved the hand on your face around to cup your head, holding you gently to stop you hitting the wood.
“Oh, my lady,” he grunted, kissing you again, then burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You got me all yours, you beautiful thing, you angel,” he groaned, one more thrusting pound into you deeper than the rest, a crackled moan coming from his throat as he kissed and nipped at your neck through his orgasm, the hand on your head now gripping your hair as he came inside you.
You moved to the side to catch his mouth with yours, kissing urgently, becoming softer as he saw through his orgasm, tongue gently coming forward to grace your lower lip.
“That’ll be twenty dollars, Mr. Kilgore,” you joked as he pulled out from you, collapsing next to you in a heap.
He laughed, reaching to fix your hair that he had made a mess of, your legs all tangled together as you held close to each other. “Now I know they ain’t letting no working girls in here, Miss, I thought you was my wife?” You laughed too, and he planted a kiss on your forehead, sighing, whispering, “I wish.”