He’s My Special Guy

“She isn’t with someone else, is she? I’ll go get her if she is.”

She slaps his shoulder. “She wouldn’t do that to you. Besides,” she continues, tugging open the button on his pants, “Every one down there knows she belongs to you anyway. They aren’t going to touch what’s yours.”

Though practiced in the art of soothing egos, she’s not even bluffing. Everyone does know. From the second he walks in the door to the moment he’s led upstairs, he’s given a wide berth by just about everyone in the crowded room. Hiding under the brims of their hats or behind their glasses of whiskey, they all try to avoid his attention. The dim corners of a crowded saloon are usually a good place to lay low… until he comes through. 

The weight of his presence now extends to the both of you. When he rides into town, news spreads fast, with your spots reserved just for him. 

In the tub, he’s agitated – his hands skating over her thighs, his hips shifting under her weight. Distracted when she makes small talk with him, he only half pays attention.

“Am I really that bad of a consolation prize?”

Her teasing brings him to the present, and his expression immediately softens, visibly contrite. 

“You’re right,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she accepts, amused. “I guess I know now who your favorite is.”

He arches a dark eyebrow, and she laughs. 

“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings, honey.” Leaning forward, her sweet breath skims over his lips. “She can be your favorite,” she purrs, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just as long as you keep on fucking me as good as you do.”

Her crude words have Din pulling back, and a delighted smile lights her face. “You think you’re the only one who can talk a big game, mister? You think you’re the only one who knows all the dirty words?”

For the first time tonight, his face lights with a grin, and she winks.

The bath continues after that. 

Weeks’ worth of sweat, oil and grime worked out under her gentle hands, every touch peppered with a lingering massage, or a sweet kiss. He savors the sensations: the steaming water, the slippery glide of flesh, the plush give of her body on top of his. His skin constantly covered from the elements, his voice rough from disuse – bounty hunting is a lonely profession, barren and void of so many things. 

But this is sheer decadence. 

Loneliness remedied with companionship, hard soothed with soft, rough erased with sweet. 

And you, the sweetest of them all. 

The door clicks open, and he opens his eyes to greet you – only his words are caught in his throat at the sight of you walking in. Gracie smirks, eager and bright on his lap, and with his eyes fixed on you, you preen at the way his hand squeezes the rim of the tub. 

Perching yourself on the edge, you let him take you in. 

Hungry, his eyes devour everything, like he can’t settle on which part of you to look at. Your delicate silk stockings, the tiny little bows at the top of your thighs, the plush skin shown above. The weight of his gaze drags upwards in open admiration of the rest of your outfit: a loose teddy made of creamy silk, the material so fine it’s nearly transparent. Every curve on display, you shift in your seat and his hooded eyes drop to the watch the sway of your breasts under the fabric, the tight peaks visible pebbles underneath cream. 

His rough fingertips brush along your exposed thigh, and with that one action, the power in the room shifts. 

Dragging his finger up along the inside of your thigh, he gently lifts the fabric of the teddy to peek under it. Finding you bare, he looks up as you squirm under his attention.

“What’s all this?” Though his question is a careful one, the low pitch of his voice is thick with lust. 

His finger travels back down to the top of the stocking, and hooks just under the fabric with a slow slide back and forth.

Swallowing hard, you answer. “I thought I would wear something special for you. Do you like it?”

His eyes meet yours. “I think you know I do.”

His hand slips underneath the teddy, reaching around to cup the lush curve of your bottom at the same time Gracie slips her hand under the water. He kneads your warm skin, filling his palm with your flesh and Gracie circles his cock in her small grip, stroking the velvety heft. 

“Oh, he likes it alright,” she teases. 

Knowing that he likes the chase almost more than the capture, you stand up, leaving his reach. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you feel the weight of his gaze as you casually lean back on your elbows. Your heel comes up to rest on the edge of the mattress, your legs slowly dropping open and the gusset of the teddy falls to the side, exposing your bare core. 

Immediately, he braces himself on the edge of the tub, rising to get out. 

Gracie scrambles out of the way, giggling at his instantaneous reaction. She climbs out after him, grabbing a towel to drag over his wet limbs, but he only has eyes for you. He tries to brush her off, and she scolds him with a cluck of her tongue – a sound that makes him defer to her, staying in place while she finishes. 

A slight smirk pulls at your lips, and you reach down between your legs to toy with the silk, teasing it all the way to the side. Your delicate fingers dance over your curls, creating a heavy sensation between your hips. Wetness gathers along your seam, and when your hand moves lower to touch it, he gives you a look of warning. 

“Don’t you dare touch that cunt, girl.” His jaw flexes, his tone menacing, serious. “It’s mine. Only I get to touch it.”

Stilling your hand for a beat like you mean to obey, you ignore his order and press your touch downward, sliding your fingers over your slick, glistening seam. You play for a moment, working yourself up, dipping your fingers inside with a slick glide, spreading yourself open so he can see just how wet you are. Already soaked with anticipation, you press down on your clit and let out a soft whimper, your back arching as you put on a show for him. 

Leaning over you with his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, he cages you in, heat rolling off his skin. 

“You think this is a game?” 

Arousal flares bright at the sound of his low voice, two of your fingers sliding deeper. You tilt your hips up to meet your hand, and he grips your hip with a bruising, needy force, pinning your rolling hips down. 

“I told you not to touch it.”

His attention makes you achy and wet, needy to be filled. You’re playing a dangerous game disobeying him…a game you know he likes best. Every order meant to be obeyed, every push past his boundaries is a thrilling game of chance. You could be rewarded with pleasure, or have it withheld until you beg – but either way, you know he’ll take care of you. 

Expecting a sterner scolding, you’re surprised at the abrupt shift of the mattress as he pulls away from you. 

Grabbing the chair from your vanity, he places it right in front of where you’re stretched out. The picture of assurance, he takes a seat, and leaning forward, he wraps his hands around your knees. His hold slides up over the smooth, slippery stocking, and you wonder if he’s too eager to play a game tonight. 

You expected to be punished, but this seems more reverential. 

His hold skates down and up again, a low, satisfied hum collecting at the base of his throat. He gets lost in it, following the smooth glide of silk down your legs and back up again, kneading your calves, thrumming his touch over the arch of your foot. The sound of his satisfaction softens you, your belly tightening at the drag of his thumbs up along the inside of your thighs to open you up. 

He leans closer, the heat of his breath felt in warm, humid gusts along your sensitive skin, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip as you tremble, waiting…

And then he’s sitting up, reaching for Gracie. 

Your mouth pops open in protest, and wordless, he guides her onto his lap, facing you. 

Running his hands over her, you watch his thick fingers curl around her bare hips as he strokes the skin there. Her plush ass pressed against his hard cock, her legs open over his thighs, he reaches around to fill his hands with her breasts, pulling her back against his chest. His broad hands squeeze, and he looks over her shoulder at you.

You’re frozen in place, and he continues. 

One hand guiding her mouth to his, another one spanning her soft belly to slide south. His tanned forearm bands across her skin, his wrist flexing as he extends his thick finger to brush along her open, slick seam. A filthy image: his mouth hungrily devouring hers, his fingers coaxing her open with his skillful touch. His fingers play with her clit, teasing the bud until her hips jerk forward, and you hear the soft moan he drinks from her mouth as he dips his finger lower, taunting her with the promise of fullness only to gather that slick wetness to smear upwards, finding her clit again. 

She breaks the kiss with another soft moan, her head lolling back onto his shoulder.

“Does that feel good, Gracie?” he asks, his touch teasing, playing, swirling. 

“Yes.” Her voice is shaky and breathless, her eyes closed tight, her fingers digging into his spread thighs.

In reward for her answer, his touch slips down and he fills her with two thick fingers. 

A keening whine breaks from her throat, and you feel your limbs bloom with heat as he continues to focus on you, his eyes never leaving your face. Arrogance and lust, the stare of a man who knows he has the upper hand, he draws you in and holds you captive without uttering a single word. 

Pulling his skillful hand from Gracie’s cunt, he presses a kiss to her shoulder and guides her forward, until her hands position themselves on the mattress between your legs. His hand splays across her back, and he gently pushes down, down, down, until her face is so close to your spread core that you can feel the heat of her breath on your wet curls. You swallow hard, your cunt clenching at the warm promise of her mouth, and your hips shift restlessly as he keeps one hand on her spine to hold her in place, while his other hand disappears behind her. 

Positioning himself at her entrance, bared wide open for him with her pelvis tilted the way it is, her tight whimper laced with relief tells you when he breaches her, a sound that shifts into a moan when he tugs her hips back to fill her completely. 

Muscles along his jaw feather as he looks down, watching himself disappear into her. 

Methodical, measured, steady – he guides her hips back and pushes them forward in a maddeningly restrained pace. Frustratingly full of self-control, he slowly builds her up while driving you mad with arousal. Her mouth is right there, and he’s right there, and everything is too much to look at and feel, and yet kept tantalizingly out of reach. 

Your face collapses with want, and his lips pull into a small smile when he sees how close Gracie’s face is between your spread thighs. Giving her another couple of slow, full thrusts, he glides his hands down the creamy expanse of her back before grasping her elbows, roughly pulling her back up against him. One hand circling the base of her throat and the other working slick circles over her clit, he watches as your hand darts down in your search for relief, your eyes fixed on the spot where he’s stretching her open.

“Tell her, Gracie,” he taunts, catching her earlobe with his teeth. “Tell her how good it feels.”

“So – it’s so good,” she whines in a breathless stutter, her hips rolling against his.

His attention turns to you. “This could’ve been you girl, if only you listened to me.” 

Making sure you’re watching, he slides his hand down from Gracie’s throat to her hip, his hand stretching wide across. Pressing low on her belly, he flexes his hips up and she keens in his lap, falling forward to brace herself on your knee. Her fingers dig into the silk, piercing the fabric, and she uses her hold as both an anchor and as a means of purchase, fucking herself back onto his cock. 

“Tell her, Gracie,” he growls, hands wrapped around her hips to fuck up into her hard enough that every thrust bounces her in his hold. “Tell her how hard I’m gonna make you come.” 

You might come yourself at the sound they’re making, at the low command of his voice. Gracie’s fingers pull and twist your stocking as her body sends her higher and higher, the grace in her fluid movements giving away to raw hunger. She chases it, eyes cinched shut, perfect mouth open in a desperate pant. She tries to hang on, but the silk prevents her from gripping your leg, and in mercy, you sit up and slide to the edge of the mattress right as she starts to come. 

Brushing her hair back from her face, you cup her face in your hands. 

“I’m…I’m going to come,” she pleads, and nodding with tender understanding, you capture her open mouth in a kiss. 

She greedily deepens it immediately, her fingers curling around the nape of your neck to tug you closer. The waves of her peak wash over her, her hips grinding against his lap as her mouth consumes yours in a hungry, messy kiss. She moves against him until she’s spent, melting forward into your arms, and her mouth turns sweeter, slower, her tongue lingering against yours until she’s still, breathing sweet puffs of air between your parted lips. 

Standing on shaky fawn legs, she crawls onto the bed, curling up on her side. 

And with her out from between the two of you, a weighted, charged air fills the space. 

His brow arches in silent challenge. 

Grinning, you try to slide backwards on the bed just as he’s up in a flash, lunging to grab your ankle. Your stockings prevent his grip, your ankle slipping through his hold, and he drops to his knees on the floor, pushing his way between your thighs. Roughly shoving the soaked crotch of your outfit to the side and dragging you back to the edge of the bed, he bends to devour you whole. 

His mouth stays tight at the crux of your thighs, but his hands wander. They wrap around your calves to smooth upwards, span over the top of your thighs to open you wider, glide with weighted reverence up and around your hips, pushing under the teddy to cup your ass

Sliding your hand into his thick curls, you wrap your silk-encased legs over his shoulders, the muscles in his solid back sliding under your heels. He groans as if in pain, and you give into the sound, and to the thick, wet glide of his tongue. He worships your clit, hollowing his cheeks to give it a firm suck, and your hold on his curls tightens. 

Your body flush with heat under the buttery soft silk, the cradle of your hips holds taut arousal that he laps up, smearing his tongue over your clit again, and again, and again as your hips mindlessly roll against his worshiping mouth. 

Arching your back, a moan pours from your throat when you come. 

No time at all between your throbbing release into his mouth and him standing from the floor, he positions himself between your pliant legs and grabs your knees, pulling them up until you tip onto your back. One of his knees on the mattress and one foot planted on the floor, he lines himself up with a weighted smear and fills you so hard your body jolts upwards. 

Pushing your knees to your chest, he slides his hands under the back of your stockings, pinning you in place with the weight in his hold. His hips snap forward, again, and again, your cunt achingly full as it accepts everything he forces you to take. Feral, he’s beyond words, just pitch black eyes fixed on where you’re joined paired  rhythmic grunts that match the bounce of a curl over his brow. 

It’s punishing, hard, his hand roughly tugging the teddy down to watch your breasts bounce with weight, the angle of his cock forcing your first peak to crest into a second one. This time, it consumes you both. 

Your higher pitched moan covered by his lower one, his stomach tightens as his hands flex to hold you in place, his head tipping back back in relish as he finally lets go, filling you with his spend. 

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he slips out and watches a rush of milky, mixed arousal spill out of you. It drips down the swell of your ass, and he lets out a shuddering, ragged exhale at the sight, undoing the bow of one stocking with a tug. Sliding the silk off your leg, he bundles it in his hold and gently, gently uses it to wipe his come off your skin. 

The motions are just as delicate as they are thorough, and when he’s finished, he tosses the used silk onto the floor. 

Lights out and under the covers, he pulls you to him, your back to his front. The silk has warmed to the heat of your body, and he curls into it, letting out a contended hum at the decadent sensation. His hands roam and explore, smoothing over every soft curve as if memorizing the way you feel. 

His face fits into the nape of your neck, and even as you feel him fall asleep, his hands roam until they stop. 

__

In the night, you admire him in the dark. 

Handsome, boyish. He looks younger than he usually does with his hair mussed and his jaw slack, every wrinkle smoothed out. He clutches you to his chest, like a favorite toy or a comfort he can’t sleep without. Like he’s afraid, even in his sleep, that you’ll move away. 

You would never. 

Admiring his profile, you skim your finger over the shape of his lips, and are surprised when he smiles under your touch. His eyes stay closed, his mouth pursing into a barely there kiss. 

“Go back to sleep,” you whisper, and he rolls over, wrapping the heavy weight of his arm over your hip to pull you close. Having removed your teddy in the night, you can tell by the way he grabs and kneads that he’s pleased with your bare skin. 

In the dark room, his voice is impossibly deep with intimacy, and thick with sleep. “I liked what you were wearing earlier,” he murmurs. “But I think this is my favorite girl.”

Running his touch down your back, he strokes the smooth skin of your backside and pulls your leg over his hip, rolling you underneath him. Ghosting the tip of his nose along your neck, he palms your heavy breast, his hand covering the whole of it before his touch slips down to guide himself into you with a soft exhale. 

“I just want to feel you.” A confession, paired with the gentle rocking of his hips. “When I think about you while I’m away, I want to remember you just like this.” 

His strokes are languid and smooth, and winding your arms around his shoulders, you pull him in for a kiss. His mouth slants over yours, his tongue dipping in to taste, and he swallows every moan you gift him. Deep, aching thrusts, he rocks into you, and your hips roll up to meet every kiss of his. 

Pulling back, he fits his face into the crook of your neck. You feel him breathe you in, and a smile breaks across your face. 

“You’re so good to me, girl,” he hums, his mouth warm and delicate on your skin. “I just want to make you feel good.” One deep stroke, another. “Does this feel good?”