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aftercare - noun – the act of comforting after sex.
The gesture was simple, and yet it makes your heart stutter dangerously within your chest. You exhale quietly, allowing yourself to enjoy the sensation of his lips pressed against the warm skin of your stomach. He places a second kiss there, and in the back of your mind you wonder if that’s a part of your body he’s particularly fond of. You don’t let yourself to dwell on the thought for too long, and instead choose to focus your attention on the way his muscles move as he pulls himself up to be closer to you. He was strong, and yet he somehow managed to handle your body with a certain kind of tenderness that you knew you could only get from him. He doesn’t bother to reach for the thin sheets that had gotten tangled during your cherished moments of lovemaking; he knows you well enough to understand that you felt more content with his arms around you instead. And so, there’s no hesitation in his movements when he pulls you into his arms, absentmindedly brushing away the mess of stray hairs that had fallen into your line of sight. He murmurs something about how good you did, but you don’t catch it in your drowsy state as your breathing finally begins to even out and your eyelids begin to close on their own accord. The last thing you remember before falling into your peaceful slumber was the feeling of his hands weaving through your hair, his lips pressed against your forehead, and a few words along the lines of, I love you.
dirty secret – noun – something kept from the world by two people.
Your fingers move with ease, working the buttons of your blouse slowly but purposefully. You knew he liked it that way, and you knew he was watching; you always knew. This little game of yours grew more risky every time you both played—what started with Arthur simply having a small glimpse of your half-dressed form through a small slit in your tent turned into you putting yourself on full display in the dead of night, free for any of the gang members to see if they happened to wake up and make a small journey past your tent. You drop the long-sleeved shirt onto the dirty ground without much thought, and when Arthur realizes that you’d been wearing absolutely nothing underneath, a muffled moan filters through the quiet air. The sound is almost inaudible, mixing in with the other noises of the nature surrounding you; but it reaches your ears and for a moment, all you can think about is the way he might be stroking himself. The image of him hopelessly pumping his cock and making an absolute mess of himself while cumming was enough make you want to reach a climax of your own. And so, you lay back on your makeshift bed, one hand resting on your your breast and the other snaking its way down as you spread your legs, preparing to give him a real show.
forever - noun - until the end of time.
“Will you let me see this one, then?” Arthur looks up when your tired voice disrupts the quiet space between you two, and for a moment all he can do is grin. Seeing your bare form sprawled in a manner that was somehow both careless and graceful had struck a yearning within him. And yet, he knew that capturing the moment was far more important; he had the next two days to make love to you, after all. It could wait. “Nah,” His head shakes fondly as he absentmindedly scratches at the growing stubble on his face, his posture straightening as he takes a moment to glance down at the worn journal within his lap. “Go back to sleep, that’s how you were when I started drawin’ ya.” It’s really more of a plea than a demand, and you seem to realize this as you flop down lazily onto the fancy mattress inside of the Saint Denis hotel room, your hair falling in a mess around you in a similar fashion to the sheets. “Alright, Mr. Morgan.” You claim your defeat as you prop a pillow beneath your head, your eyes closing as you prepare to get a few more hours of sleep. “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan.” He chuckles quietly, and notices the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips. It was a joke, of course—you and Arthur weren’t married. But as he listened to the tranquil sound of your soft breathing, and as he sketched your sleeping form in that journal that he planned to keep until his dying days, he couldn’t help but feel like now would be a better time than any to ask you to be his, forever.
unfair – adjective – something that is not just.
To anyone else, the scene looked natural; a woman cozying up to her lover, his lap her seat for the time being—and it looked particularly normal considering the lack of chairs around the saloon. But Arthur knew you better than that, and from the moment you plopped yourself down onto his lap, he knew you were up to something. It wasn’t until you balanced yourself on his thigh that he felt the heat between your legs. He settled a hand on your hip, gripping tightly while his right hand stayed settled on the whiskey bottle placed on the table. He could feel the subtle movement of your hips, and as he tried to focus his attention on the poker game he’d been waiting to join in, he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had any idea what you were doing to him. If they did, they were certainly too drunk to care. A quiet hum leaves your throat, the sound causing Arthur’s pants to tighten a bit more as he feels himself growing hard beneath you. “You’re a real dirty girl, ya know that?” He speaks quietly in your ear, his foot tapping impatiently as you continue to grind against his thigh. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Morgan.” You bite down on your lip gently, Arthur recognizing it as a sign that you’re close. With one last stroke of your clit against his leg, you tremble lightly, Arthur holding you securely as you have your orgasm right there in the center of the saloon. You sigh when a few moments pass, reaching for the whiskey bottle he’d been drinking from before pushing yourself up and standing. His eyes follow you, lust hidden beneath his gaze as he tilts his head. “What about me?” A small frown tugs down at the corner of his lips, and he pushes his chair forward in an attempt to hide the large bulge growing in his pants. You turn around to face him, the sweetest smile on your face as you shrug. “You can wait. There’s a party going on, after all.” With that, you leave the miserable man behind, taking the whiskey with you as you leave to join Lenny over at the bar.
wet – adjective – covered or saturated with liquid.
When he finds you standing over the grave, he ignored every initial instinct in his body. He wanted to tell you that he was worried, that he’d been searching for you since before sunrise, and that you shouldn’t just take off without telling anyone back at camp. While it was all true, Arthur was smart enough to know now was not the time for scolding; not while you were mourning the loss of your fellow gang member. He dismounts his horse, his footsteps discernible as his boots sink into the thick mud with every step he takes. His eyes fall onto the named etched into the wooden plank, and for a moment all he can think about is how he tried to shelter you from this. When he’s close enough, you crane your head enough to see him. Distress is written all over your face, you’re shivering from the heavy rain that pours down on the two of you, and your eyes look swollen as you stare at him hopelessly. He wishes he could take your pain away; someone else should be standing in your place and grieving, he tells himself, someone who could have prevented this—Dutch, maybe. Hearing your sniffle, Arthur shushes you as you sputter out nonsense. “I know, darlin’.” He removes his hat from his head, placing it on yours instead as he ignores the droplets of rain that land on his scalp. “I know, come on. Let’s go.” He promises you that he understands your grief as he removes his coat next, slinging it over your shoulders before sliding a hand around your lower back and guiding you back to his horse. You go without fuss thankfully, and all Arthur can think about as he rides back with you tucked underneath him is who you would be mourning next. Probably himself. Nobody said the outlaw life was easy.
x – verb – to cross something out.
The way he looks up at you has your heart thudding harshly within your chest. It’s frightening and exciting altogether, and every time you think you can’t take anymore, he finds a way to push you to yet another orgasm. You’ve lost count tonight, and just when you wonder if you’re about to pass out, the sensation of his tongue against your opening has you on high alert, your sensitive buds sending waves of pleasure over your body. “Arthur.” Tears build up in the corner of your eyes, his name rolling off your tongue was a praise and a plea wrapped in one. You want to reach down and grab onto something in order to give yourself the illusion that you had even a little control of your body—the sheets, his hair, any of them would do, but he doesn’t allow it. “Keep them there.” The words come out strained, the animalistic sound drawing out a moan from you. You obey, your hands balling into a fists as your wrists remain crossed above your head. The moment his tongue pressed against your clit, Arthur can feel you coming undone around him. He doesn’t stop, and has no intention of doing so until he has you seeing stars.
yearning – noun - a feeling of intense longing.
You didn’t have a chance to ask him how everything went, or if everyone was safe. You nearly had the air knocked out of your lungs before you had the chance to part your lips and say anything at all. He had dragged you away from prying eyes and ears, and while your current location was not entirely private it was good enough to satisfy Arthur and his growing impatience. You don’t remember exactly how you had ended up under him—everything had moved so fast, he had moved too fast. Your mind was stuck trying to catch up, and the feeling of his lips against your neck did nothing to clear your conscience. His breathing is heavy as he moves down to your chest, tearing any fabric in the way of his intentions. He places a kiss upon your left breast and then the right, only pausing to murmur three little words. I missed you. Your own breath hitches in your throat, and that familiar heat grows between your legs as you bring a hand up to rest at the back of his neck. The action makes him lock eyes with you, and within that beautiful blue color, all you see is longing. “Do you want me?” His hands wait patiently at your hips, gripping gently as he awaited your permission to proceed. You swallow silently, your head nodding with no hesitation as you pull him a little closer. “Yes. Inside of me.”
zzz – noun – the sound associated with sleeping.
“And then, Hosea taught me how to play dominoes. I think he cheated, ‘cause there’s no way he can win that many times. Right?” Your eyebrows come together as you frown, the memory of his countless victories provoked a feeling of resentment within your heart, but you were quick to disregard it. “Oh, I went fishin’ with Kieran. He talks about horses an awful lot. I think that’s all we talked about actually.” You pause, your fingers stopping their journey through your lover’s hair as you try to recall the small events of last few days. “Oh! I got something for you.” Excitement bubbles within your stomach and you’re prepared to move his head from within your lap in order to stand. However, the soft sound of snoring has your movements coming to a complete stop, and it doesn’t dawn on you until then that Arthur had fallen asleep while listening to you talk about everything that had happened during his absence from camp. You exhale quietly, shaking your head with a small smile as you brush his hair away from his face. The gentle action doesn’t seem to disturb him, and you allow his head to rest within your lap while getting into a more comfortable position of your own. Your soft fingers continue to run through his brown locks, and you place a small kiss to his temple while deciding that his present can wait until later.