#rdr2smut

The soft breeze caused ripples to form in the tarp above you  and you smiled faintly, feeling the cool air brush across your face and bare arms.

It had been unbearably hot the last few days, the kind of heat that clung to your skin no matter how still you sat. But down by the lake, beneath the shade of the trees, the air felt lighter. Bearable at least. 

You adjusted yourself against the folded blanket beneath you, one leg bent lazily while the other hung over the edge of the small patch of shade. Above your head, the tarp you’d tied between two trees shifted gently with every passing breeze.

In your hands sat a worn copy of Romeo and Juliet, its corners bent and softened from rereading. 

…My bounty is as boundless as the sea… you murmured quietly to yourself, tracing the words with your thumb.

A splash interrupted you. Not loud. Just enough to pull your attention from the page.

You glanced up.

A man stood several yards down the shore, boots planted near the water’s edge, fishing rod in hand. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, suspenders hanging loose against a faded blue shirt dampened darker with sweat across the back.

You hadn’t noticed him arrive. But now that you’d see him, it was hard to look away. 

He seemed focused entirely on the lake until he reeled the line in and turned slightly - enough for you to catch sight of the scruffy beard and the shadow cast by the brim of his hat.

Then his eyes flicked toward you.

You quickly looked back down at your book.

The lake went quiet again except for the distant buzz of insects and the creak of your tarp overhead.

You tried to continue reading. Tried not to look back at him. But your mind wandered with every second that passed. 

“Good afternoon. ma’am.” 

The voice drifted across the water low and gravelly, enough to pull your attention from the page without startling you.

Up close - or as close as this distance allowed - he looked less intimidating than he had at first glance. Large, certainly. Broad in the shoulders with a face worn tired by sun and hard living. But his posture stayed easy, careful almost, like he understood a woman alone might not appreciate being approached by a stranger.

You placed a finger between the pages of your book.

“Good afternoon.” You replied politely.

“Never thought books would survive out in this heat.”

“They do if you’re careful with them.” 

“Yes ma’am, guess that makes sense.”

The corner of your mouth twitched faintly.

He reeled his line in a little before casting it back out into the lake with practiced ease. The line whistled softly through the air.

For a minute, neither of you spoke.

The tarp above shifted with another cool breeze, dappling moving shadows across the pages in your lap. You tried to return to your reading.

…My only love sprung from my only hate…

“What’re you readin’, if you don’t mind me askin’?” interrupting your reading again. 

The man tipped his hat politely this time, almost apologetic for interrupting.

“Romeo and Juliet.”

He frowned slightly in thought.

“Heard the name before. Don’t think I ever read it.”

“You’re not missing a happy ending.”

That drew a quiet laugh from him.

“No, ma’am?”

“Everyone dies.”

Arthur blinked once.

“Well. That does seem unfortunate.”

You laughed softly before you could stop yourself.

The sound seemed to catch him by surprise. Not in a bad way, more like he hadn’t expected you to laugh at all.

He looked back toward the lake, though you noticed the faint hint of a smile lingering beneath his beard.

“I suppose fishing isn't much different.” You said abruptly and he furrowed his brow. 

“I let most of ‘em go, keep the big ones for dinner.” he sighed “Haven’t caught a damn thing today.”

“Maybe they sensed your pessimism.”

“Yes, ma’am. Fish are known for that.”

You hid another smile behind the spine of your book.

Silence settled again, easier this time.

You found yourself watching him over the top edge of the pages now and then. The slow roll of his sleeves exposed strong forearms tanned by the sun, and every movement he made carried the kind of unthinking steadiness of someone used to long days outdoors. 

After a while, he glanced back toward your tarp.

“That’s clever.”

You lowered the book slightly. “What is?”

“Your tarp.” He nodded toward the knots tied between the trees. “Keeps the sun off better than most tents I’ve slept in.”

“Oh.” You looked up at it briefly. “Thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He paused. “You campin’ out here alone?”

There was no suspicion in the question. Just concern politely disguised as conversation.

“For the afternoon.” 

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I reckon there’s worse ways to spend a hot day than sittin’ in the shade readin’ tragic stories.”

You studied him for a second before replying.

“And there are worse ways than standing in the sun talking to strangers, apparently.”

That finally earned a real smile from him; small, crooked, and unexpectedly warm.

“There are few strangers worth talking to ‘round these parts.” He muttered, readjusting his hat.

“Well I’m glad I made the cut.” 

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, eyes lowering for a moment before lifting back to you.

“Helps you’re easy on the eye,” he said, almost bashful despite the words.

Heat rushed into your cheeks immediately, though the warm afternoon sun disguised it well enough. You looked quickly back down at your book, pretending sudden interest in the page.

“I’m only playin’,” he added after a second when you didn’t answer, the back of his hand rubbing awkwardly along his jaw.

You smiled faintly to yourself before glancing back up at him through your lashes.

“I could say the same for you, sir.”

Arthur blinked.

For the first time since you’d noticed him by the water, he seemed genuinely caught off guard.

A flush crept slowly up the back of his neck and into his cheeks beneath the scruff of his beard, and he cleared his throat roughly as though it might somehow recover his dignity.

“Well.” He shifted his weight awkwardly. “That ain’t usually somethin’ I hear much.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, though the crooked little smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him completely.

You watched him glance away toward the lake again, almost shy now, and the sight of a man his size looking suddenly uncertain made something warm twist pleasantly in your chest.

Arthur adjusted the brim of his hat lower over his eyes.

“You flirt with every fella that interrupts your readin’?”

“Only the polite ones.” 

That earned another laugh from him. 

The breeze stirred between the trees again, carrying the scent of lake water and summer rain somewhere far off. Arthur rested the fishing rod against his shoulder loosely, looking back at you after a moment.

“What happens next then?” he asked, nodding toward the book in your lap.

“In the story?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You studied him for a second, amused.

“You want me to spoil Shakespeare for you?”

“Well, I ain’t gonna read it and now I’m invested.”

You smiled, settling more comfortably beneath the tarp while Arthur lingered by the shore listening, the two of you talking as though you’d known each other longer than a single hot afternoon.

You folded the corner of the page carefully before closing the book halfway in your lap. The conversation had become far more distracting than the story.

Arthur seemed to notice.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to keep interruptin’.”

“You aren’t.”

His gaze lifted back to yours at that, quieter now somehow.

The breeze shifted again, moving the tarp overhead in soft waves. Arthur glanced toward the shade you’d made between the trees.

“Looks comfortable there.”

“It is.”

“Mind if I stand in the shade a minute?” he asked. “Sun’s tryin’ to kill me.”

You smiled faintly. “I suppose -  as long as you don’t attack me.”

“No, ma’am. I won’t.”

He stepped closer then, slow enough not to crowd you, boots crunching softly against the dirt and fallen leaves. Up close, you could better see the lines sun and exhaustion had carved into his face. There was something gentle hidden beneath all the roughness.

Arthur stopped just outside arm’s reach.

“Much appreciated,” he murmured, tipping his head politely.

“You’re very formal for a man standing by a lake with a fishing pole.”

“Well,” he said, “my mama raised me right before the world got ahold of me.”

The honesty in that caught you off guard.

You softened a little. “And here I assumed you were naturally charming.”

He smirked beneath the brim of his hat before finally taking it off, setting it beside him in the grass near the edge of your blanket. Without it, his hair fell messily from where the heat and wind had flattened it. He pushed a hand back through it, rough fingers combing the strands into something more familiar.

You tried not to stare.

“What's your name then, cowboy?” you teased.

“Arthur,” he answered easily, glancing over at you. “And you?”

You smiled innocently and returned your attention to the book in your lap.

“My mama raised me not to open up to random men.”

Arthur barked a short laugh at that, ducking his head.

“Well, sounds like a smart woman.”

“She was.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned back against the tree trunk carefully, long legs stretched out in front of him. “Though I feel obliged to point out you’ve been talkin’ to me near half an hour already.”

“I never said I was followin’ her advice.”

That earned you another grin, slower this time.

“You always this difficult?”

“Only around cowboys.”

“Mhm.” Arthur glanced toward the fishing pole lying abandoned near the shore. “Thought fishin’ was supposed to be the dangerous part of my afternoon.”

“You approached me, remember?”

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m beginnin’ to suspect that was my first mistake.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

Arthur watched the sound leave you with that same quiet fondness creeping back into his expression.

“You got a name I can call you besides ma’am?” he asked after a moment, voice gentler now.

You looked at him over the edge of your book.

“I quite like ma’am actually.” 

Arthur looked back at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward again.

“Oh, do you now?”

“It makes me sound respectable.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied immediately, the amusement in his voice warm and easy.

You smiled behind the edge of your book. “See? I like the way you say it.”

That seemed to catch him off guard more than the flirting had.

Arthur ducked his head slightly, rubbing his thumb along the brim of the hat resting beside him.

“Well,” he muttered, “suppose I can keep sayin’ it then.”

“How gentlemanly.”

“I ought to be.” 

You studied him quietly for a moment while the breeze moved lazily through the trees. Up close like this, he didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as he first had standing down by the lake. Large, yes. Rough around the edges certainly. But there was patience in him. Carefulness.

Arthur glanced toward your book again.

“You read all them fancy stories often?”

“Only the tragic ones.”

“Any reason?”

You thought for a second. “I think sad stories are romantic.”

“I suppose they are.”  

He squinted slightly against the sunlight breaking through the trees, one forearm resting over his bent knee while the other toyed absentmindedly with a loose thread on his hat. 

“But only when they ain’t happenin’ to you,” he added quietly.

You watched the breeze stir through his hair where his hat sat abandoned beside him, the afternoon light catching against the tired lines around his eyes. He looked like someone who knew sad stories better than he wanted to.

“And what about happy ones?” you asked.

Arthur huffed softly through his nose.

“Don’t reckon folks write many books about happy people.”

“No,” you admitted. “I suppose they’d be rather boring.”

“There you go.”

You smiled faintly, hugging the book a little closer to your chest.

“What about you?” you asked cautiously, fingers idly tracing the edge of the page. “You got a love story?”

The question hung gently between you.

Arthur’s faint smile faded into something quieter.

Not unhappy exactly. Just thoughtful.

He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, eyes drifting out across the lake while the breeze stirred softly through the branches overhead.

“Maybe once,” he admitted after a moment.

Your stomach tightened despite yourself.

“Oh.”

Arthur noticed the shift in your expression immediately and glanced back toward you.

“Ain’t got a girl waitin’ on me, if that’s what you’re askin’,” he said, voice calm and reassuring in a way that made heat creep embarrassingly into your face.

“I wasn’t asking that.”

“Mhm.”

You looked down at your book quickly.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, though there was no meanness in it.

“She was a long time ago,” he continued more softly. “Good woman. Smarter than me by a fair margin.”

“What happened?”

Arthur rubbed his thumb slowly along his jaw.

“Life, mostly.”

The answer carried enough weight that you didn’t push further.

For a moment neither of you spoke. But the need to ask rose in your throat. 

“You still love her?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Arthur went still for a second.

Then he smiled faintly,  small enough you almost missed it.

“I reckon you don’t stop carin’ about certain people,” he said. “Even after they stop bein’ yours.”

Something about the honesty of it made your chest ache unexpectedly.

He glanced toward you again then, eyes gentler now.

“But that don’t mean a man can’t keep livin’.”

The words settled warm beneath your ribs.

You looked down, pretending to straighten the pages of your book to hide the smile threatening at your mouth.

Arthur watched you quietly for a moment before speaking again.

“What about you, ma’am?”

You looked back up.

“Got some tragic romance tucked away in your past?”

“No.” You smiled faintly. “Nothing nearly dramatic enough for Shakespeare.”

“Well, that’s probably good.”

“You think so?”

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Well I think it makes me utterly dull.” You muttered, hand running through your hair softly. 

You watched him shift slightly beneath the tarp, careful not to crowd your space despite how comfortably the conversation had settled between you both. His shoulder brushed the tree trunk behind him, large hands resting loosely over one knee.

“You ain’t dull sweetheart,” he said after a moment, voice low. 

The word settled over you far warmer than the afternoon heat ever had.

You looked up from beneath your lashes, caught entirely off guard by how naturally it left him. Not cocky. Not practiced. Just gentle.

Arthur seemed to realize a second later what he’d called you.

A faint flush crept into his face almost immediately, and he cleared his throat softly, glancing toward the lake like it might save him.

“Pardon me,” he muttered. “That just… slipped out.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Did it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Been spendin’ too much time talkin’ to you, apparently.”

“And what does that do?”

“Makes a man careless.”

The way he said it made your stomach flip pleasantly.

Arthur rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, still looking a little embarrassed by his own boldness.

“I only meant…” He paused, searching for the words. “You got a calm about you. Ain’t many people these days can sit quiet with themselves the way you do.”

Your expression softened.

Most people mistook your quietness for shyness or awkwardness. Arthur spoke about it like it was something worth admiring.

The breeze stirred between you again, lifting strands of your hair across your cheek.

He watched you carefully, his hand twitching instinctively like he was going to tuck the strand behind your ear. 

But he stopped himself.

You noticed the restraint immediately, the way his fingers curled slightly before settling back against his knee instead.

Arthur let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost amused at himself.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Keep forgettin’ you don’t know me well enough for that.”

Something about the softness in his voice made your chest tighten.

“You ask permission for everything?” you teased gently.

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

“Try to.”

“That must get exhausting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said dryly. “Women tend to appreciate it though.”

You laughed quietly, and Arthur looked pleased with himself for causing it.

The strand of hair blew across your face again.

This time you tilted your head slightly toward him.

Arthur’s eyes flicked to the movement instantly, like he wasn’t sure he’d understood it correctly.

“You can,” you said softly.

For a second he didn’t move at all.

Then slowly, carefully enough that you could’ve pulled away if you wanted - he reached toward you.

His fingers brushed lightly against your temple, rough fingertips impossibly gentle as he tucked the strand behind your ear.

The touch lasted barely a moment. Still, warmth bloomed across your skin long after he pulled his hand back.

Arthur cleared his throat quietly afterward, suddenly very interested in the lake again.

“There,” he muttered. “Much better.”

You smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

But his voice sounded a little rougher now.

At some point, your shoulder had settled against his.

Neither of you mentioned it.

Arthur glanced down after a while, noticing your hand resting between you both on the blanket.

Then slowly, cautiously, he turned his hand over beside yours.

An offer.

Nothing more.

Your heart fluttered embarrassingly hard as your fingers slipped against his.

Arthur exhaled softly through his nose at the contact, thumb brushing once over your knuckles.

The air beneath the tarp felt smaller somehow. Warmer. And Arthur sat close enough that your knees brushed every so often when one of you shifted, neither of you bothering to move away afterward.

“You’re starin’ again,” you murmured softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The honesty of it made your pulse stumble.

Arthur’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again, restraint written all over his face.

“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly.

You couldn’t.

The breeze stirred softly around you while the lake lapped against the shore in the distance.

Arthur lifted one hand slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, fingertips brushing lightly along your jaw.

“So pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Your breath caught.

Arthur’s eyes lingered on your face openly now, no longer pretending otherwise. His thumb brushed slowly along your cheek, rough fingertips impossibly gentle against your skin.

“Think I've been distracted since the second I saw you sittin’ here,” he admitted quietly.

Heat bloomed through your chest.

“You say that to every woman reading under a tarp?”

A grin tugged at his mouth.

“No, ma’am. Most women ain’t this hard to look away from.”

You tried to hide your smile, but Arthur noticed immediately.

“There it is,” he murmured softly.

“What?”

“That smile.” His eyes flicked over your face like he was memorizing it. “Been tryin’ to get more of those outta you all afternoon.”

Your stomach fluttered embarrassingly hard. Your core aching in  a way only literature could ever make it. 

Arthur leaned a little closer, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him beneath the summer heat.

“You know,” he said lowly, “when I walked down to this lake today, I thought I was gonna spend the afternoon catchin’ fish.”

“And instead?”

“And instead I found the prettiest thing out here lookin’ at me like she’s decidin’ whether I’m trouble.”

You laughed softly under your breath. “And are you?”

Arthur’s gaze dipped briefly to your mouth before lifting again.

“For you?” he murmured. “Oh probably.”

His voice was making you disgustingly wet beneath your petticoats and you prayed the blush on your face wasn't noticeable. 

“You alright there, sweetheart?” he murmured, clearly noticing your silence.

You nodded far too quickly.

That crooked smile returned immediately.“Mhm,” he hummed softly, unconvinced. “Don’t sound very certain.”

“You talk too much.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His thumb brushed lightly beneath your chin again. “But you like it.”

The fact he said it so confidently made your stomach coil, your thighs squeezing together in a desperate attempt to keep your cool. 

Arthur’s eyes drifted over your face, lingering on every tiny reaction you failed to hide from him. The blush in your cheeks. The way your lips parted whenever he leaned closer. The quick rise and fall of your breathing.

He noticed all of it.

And judging by the look on his face, he enjoyed noticing.

“You get shy when somebody compliments you?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe.”

Arthur chuckled warmly beneath his breath.

“Aw, don’t hide now.” He caught your wrist gently before you could turn away completely. “Been workin’ hard for these reactions.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he admitted shamelessly.

The breeze shifted around the tarp again, but you barely noticed it with Arthur sitting so close.

“You know what’s unfair?” he murmured after a moment.

“What?”

“You got me sittin’ here feelin’ like some lovesick idiot over a woman whose name I still don’t know.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Maybe I enjoy keeping you suffering.”

“Well,” Arthur laughed softly, shaking his head, “it’s workin’.”

The sound rumbled low in his chest, warm enough to make your stomach twist pleasantly again.

You became painfully aware then of just how close he’d gotten beneath the tarp. His broad shoulders angled toward you now instead of the lake. The shade cast soft shadows across him, catching along the muscles in his forearms where his sleeves remained rolled carelessly to his elbows.

Arthur was not a delicate man.

Everything about him felt solid. The kind of strength earned through work instead of vanity. Thick forearms dusted with hair, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his faded shirt, large hands capable of gentleness despite looking like they belonged wrapped around reins or rough wood instead of your face.

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it.

Down the slope of his chest. The suspenders hanging loose against his shirt. The spread of his thighs where he sat close beside you in the grass.

Arthur noticed immediately.

A slow smile tugged at his mouth.

“Careful now, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Heat flooded your face instantly as your eyes snapped back to his.

“I wasn’t-”

“Yes, you were.” His voice stayed low and teasing, though there was something rougher beneath it now too. “And I gotta admit…”

He shifted slightly closer.

“…I liked it.”

Your pulse fluttered hard when his hand settled beside your hip against the blanket, caging you in without forcing anything.

“You’re very confident suddenly.”

“No, ma’am.” His eyes dipped briefly to your mouth again. “Just think maybe you want me a little too.”

His jaw flexed slightly.

And only then did you notice the shift in him too. The tension settling heavier throughout his body, his posture tighter despite how relaxed he tried to appear. The spread of his legs, the large bulge in his trousers that grew with each passing comment.

A flicker of heat crossed his expression and he exhaled hard. 

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, almost warningly, “you keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna forget how polite I’m tryin’ to be.”

You swallowed hard beneath the weight of his gaze.

“Well,” you murmured, inching a little closer across the blanket, “That’s no good is it?” 

Arthur’s eyes followed the movement immediately.

You could feel the heat radiating from him now, close enough that your knee brushed firmly against his thigh. Neither of you moved away.

“You accuse me of distractin’ you,” you continued softly, “while you sit there lookin’ like that.”

A low laugh escaped him.

“Like what, sweetheart?”

You let your eyes drift deliberately over him again, slower this time.

“The shoulders.” You reached out lightly, fingers brushing the fabric stretched across his upper arm. “The voice.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened subtly beneath the scruff of his beard.

“And you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

The teasing confidence in his voice only encouraged you further.

You shifted again, leaning back slightly onto one hand. The movement loosened the neckline of your blouse just enough for the warm breeze to brush against newly exposed skin.

Arthur’s eyes dropped instinctively.

Only for a second.

But you caught it.

A smile tugged at your mouth immediately.

“There it is.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, caught.

“Beg pardon,” he muttered, though his voice had gone noticeably rougher.

“You’re very polite for a man who keeps staring at my chest.”

Arthur let out a breathy laugh, dragging a hand down his face.

“Well,” he admitted quietly, “you’re makin’ that awfully difficult not to do.”

Heat fluttered low in your stomach again.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t attack me if I let you under my tarp.” 

Arthur stared at you for half a second before a startled laugh escaped him, low and entirely disbelieving. 

“I’m tryin’ my hardest sweetheart.” 

You smiled innocently, “Seems pretty difficult for you.” 

“Lean any closer and you’ll see how difficult it really is.” 

Arthur’s hand remained steady at your waist, fingers flexing lightly against the fabric of your skirt like he was constantly reminding himself not to pull you fully into his lap.

“You know,” he murmured, eyes dragging slowly over your face before betraying him and dipping briefly lower again, “most women don’t tease armed strangers in the woods.”

“Most armed strangers aren’t blushing because they saw a little bit of collarbone.”

Arthur groaned softly under his breath, tipping his head back against the tree for a second.

“Lord help me.”

You laughed quietly, delighted by how easily he unraveled for you despite trying so hard not to.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much,” he muttered.

“Maybe I like seeing you flustered.”

“Mhm.” A slow grin tugged at his mouth. “And maybe I like being teased by pretty women beneath handmade tents.”

A few moments passed as you basked in the heated tension between you both. 

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he murmured, quieter now, “and I’m gonna stop thinkin’ straight.”

Your breath caught slightly.

“You already stopped thinking straight,” you replied softly.

That earned a low huff of laughter from him, but it faded quickly into something more serious.

“You’re real good at that,” he said quietly.

“At what?”

“Pushin’ a man right up to the edge… then lookin’ at him like you don’t know what you’re doin’.”

His thumb brushed once along your side.

Slow. Deliberate.

“And I’m bein’ real good about not forgettin’ my manners.”

“You’re being very good,” you said quietly. “Almost disappointingly so.” 

“Yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded faintly.The tarp shifted above you with the breeze, but neither of you seemed to notice anymore.

He leaned in and kissed you like he meant to be careful with it. Like every second was something he could still take back if he needed. His hand on yours, his other on your face - not pulling or pressing, just there, like an anchor he was afraid wouldn't hold. 

His eyes were half-lidded when they opened again, focused on you like you were something he couldn't trust himself with anymore.

The world beyond the tarp seemed far away now: the lake, the trees, the distant hum of insects faded into a blur beneath the pounding of your heartbeat. 

Arthur shifted his thumb against your cheek, rough skin warm where it rested there. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

You nodded faintly, the tip of your nose brushing against his. 

His gaze lingered on your mouth again before he exhaled softly, almost frustrated with himself.

“Christ.” he muttered under his breath. 

He kissed you again, deeper this time. His hand sliding from  your cheek to rest against your jaw. His body twitched like he needed the contact more than he wanted to admit. 

When the kiss broke again, he rested his forehead lightly against yours and closed his eyes for a second. 

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, voice roughed down to something almost intimidating, “you are testin’ every good intention I got.” 

“What are your other intentions, Arthur?” 

For a faint second he said nothing, just kept studying you with that restrained intensity. Then that smile tugged on his lips again. 

“You really oughta stop sayin’ things like that.” he murmured. 

“But you like it.” You teased, your other hand tip toeing up his thigh and moving towards his tucked in shirt. 

His hand slid slowly from your jaw, finger trailing down your neck, before jumping to catch your hand on his midriff. 

The movement drew you closer, your chest adjacent to his - almost touching. 

“You keep lookin’ at me like you want somethin’.” he whispered.

“It isn’t ladylike to ask for what I want, cowboy.” 

“And what is it that you want?” 

You laughed, unable to say the words that came to mind. 

“You’re trouble.” he muttered “You’re handsome.” 

“You know,” he said after a moment, lifting his eyes back to yours, “most women ain’t usually this forward with me.”

“Maybe most women haven’t found themselves beneath a tarp with you- and no one in sight.”

Then, very deliberately, he leaned in and kissed you again. Pushing you backwards so he was the one on top. His broad shoulders blocking out the filtered sunlight overhead. 

You lay on your back now, one hand pinned down by his, the other at your side. The shift pulled a quiet sound from your throat. Your heart hammered painfully hard beneath your ribs as Arthur kissed you deeper now, rougher only in the sense that restraint had begun slipping through his fingers. His breathing had turned uneven, every exhale warm against your mouth. 

“You’re real pretty laid out like this,” he murmured before he could seem to stop himself. 

His lips brushed your cheek first, slow enough to make your pulse stutter before trailing lower along your jaw. Then your neck. Then the exposed skin near your collar where your blouse had shifted loose beneath his hands. 

“Real pretty.” 

A startled gasp escaped you, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue explored.

“C’mon ma’am,” he murmured against your skin “where's all that attitude gone?” 

You swallowed hard, fingers instinctively curling tighter around his. 

“You talk entirely too much.” you breathed. 

“Mhm.” Arthur lifted his head just enough to look in your eyes “There you are, thought I'd stunned you silent.” 

You tried to glare at him, but the feeling of him sucking and lapping at your neck felt too good to deny. 

“You blush so easily,” he said softly, as though he was fascinated by you. 

“And whose fault is that?” “Mine, I hope.” 

His right hand still held you in place while his left grabbed at your waist, wandering down to your skirts. 

“You still alright?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. 

“You sure you’re wantin’ this- me?” he asked, that confident facade fading momentarily. 

“I need you.” you whimpered, biting your lip as you held eye contact. 

“Fuck.” That did it. 

The word left him rough and breathless, like it had been dragged out of him against his will. 

Arthur closed his eyes for half a second, his hand instinctively tightening at your waist, bunching the fabric of your skirt in his fist while he breathed hard through his nose. 

He shifted slightly over you, broad shoulders boxing you safely beneath the shade of the tarp while his right hand moved slowly to your leg, caressing you from knee to upper thigh. 

“So soft-” he mewled, thumb flicking against your clothed core briefly before darting away. 

You swallowed hard as he did, his gaze following every miniscule reaction that crossed your face. 

“Tell me if I go too far.” he said softly. But it wasn’t a question, moreso a demand.

He arched his back and he crawled backwards, bunching your skirts up and revealing your dripping undergarments. 

“Jesus wept woman-” his eyes grew wide.  

“Arthur-” you moaned, biting your lip.

With that he forgot about holding back entirely. His rough hand cupped you softly, two fingers pushing your underwear into your wetness. 

You gasped as you felt them enter just and no more. 

Arthur brought them to his mouth and tasted them, eyes rolling back as he did so. 

“Fuck~” his hand went back again, impatient as he tried to figure out how to get them off. “Ah hell.” he growled, taking both his hands and ripping the underwear in half. 

You gasped loudly, the breeze hitting your wet clit, sending a bolt of shivers up your spine. 

“Need to taste you.” He mumbled, bringing his face towards it. 

When his tongue hit your hole it was over. You were a mess, moaning and writhing as he licked and sucked. The noises he made were equally dirty as the ground he rolled his hips into. 

“So good~” he moaned. “Fuck so sweet~” 

“Don’t stop!” you cried, your hand in his hair. 

You could only see his eyes, wild with passion, as he buried his tongue inside you, his nose rubbing against your clit fervently. 

“Arthur~” you cried, your head thrown back in pleasure. 

He pulled away, leaving you with a soft buzzing in your core. 

“I need you, okay sweetheart?” he knelt upwards, wiping his face with his sleeve and undoing his zip with the other hand. 

His cock was massive, the biggest you’d seen. His girth alone was impressive, never mind the length of it. 

He pumped it a few times as it dripped onto the grass. 

“I haven’t done this in a while but- I’ll be gentle-” he started, but you stopped him.

“Just take me- now.” you moaned, body limp against the blanket. 

“Yes ma’am.” he obliged, his right hand against your waist, the left still pumping his cock. 

When he pushed into you,  tears stung in the corners of your eyes and you cried out as you felt more and more of him fill you up. 

“Thatta girl~” he moaned, “just a little more.” 

When his hips finally met yours, you couldn't help but buck yourself up against him, and he laughed softly. 

“Desperate for me, ain’t you girl?” 

You nodded , your head falling to the side, cheeks glistening with tears. 

“Hey now,” he frowned, his thumb coming up and wiping them away, “you’re okay, I got you beautiful.” 

You cried out as he hit that coil in your stomach, the mix of his sweet words and his cock causing you to writhe. Your body shook with pleasure, his name mixed with moans and sobs falling from your lips as your head flew back.   

“Arthur~” you choked out, eyes still squeezed shut. 

He kept thrusting into you, and when you opened your eyes he had unbuttoned his shirt, clearly too hot for all of this exercise. 

“Sweetheart, you’re so good~” he moaned out, shifting so his hands were either side of your head. “So good f’r me.” 

His relentless attack continued, thrusting harder and further than before. His pace steady, but his arms shaking as he got closer and closer. 

“So pretty ain’t you- what would daddy say if he knew what you were up to.” 

That comment caused you to flush red, you hadn’t imagined Arthur to be a dirty talker - you hadn't imagined him to be anymore than a fisherman. 

“Don’t get shy now,.” He moved a hand to your jaw, tipping it so you were forced to look at him, his thrusting slow and slight. “smart girl like you, bet you wanted someone like me to walk up on you.” 

“Arthur~” you started, but it fell into a crude moan as he tightened his hand around your throat. 

“Pretty girl.” He drawled, using your neck and his other hand as anchors to hold you down as he fucked into you. “You gonna take it?” He teased, but you knew exactly what he meant. 

“Take what?” You batted your eyes, looking up into his storm fuelled eyes. 

“Fuck~ so sweet.” He moaned, head hanging low as he thrusted. “I’m gonna pump you full of me, okay pretty girl?” 

You whimpered your approval and he applied more pressure on your neck, causing you to gasp out and writhe under him.

He stopped and watched you for a moment, your silent pleads for him to release you from his grasp. Then he complied, watching as you gasped and choked. 

“Told you I was holding back beautiful.” 

“More- please” you gasped out, his cock splitting you in two. 

“What? You like that pretty girl?” He whispered and you nodded fast. He laughed. “Want me to fuck you harder is that it?” 

“Fuck~ please-” You mewled, tears still rolling down the sides of your face, your pussy burning as its filled to the brink. 

“You done that before?” he asked, more sincerely this time, and you shook your head. “Oh darlin’, I don’t want to scare you.” 

“A-arthur, I wanna.” you coughed out “I want to be had- taken by you.” 

“God almighty woman.” He looked around, noticing no one was there. “On your front then. I won't ask twice.” 

He pulled out of you and you winced, your hole flooded and open at the lack of him. You flipped yourself over, wiggling your hips in the air.

“Atta girl~ so naughty.” He smiled, smacking your cheek. You cried out, and he grabbed it, pushing into the sore spot he had left. “Uh uh pretty girl, you can do better than that.” 

With that he hit the other, then back to the original, over and over relentlessly as you cried for him, tears dripping, your face, now in the dirt  beyond the blanket. 

“Look at you, so dirty.” He pouted, rubbing his cock against your slit. “What would your daddy say hmm?” 

“Arthur- I-” 

“Shhhh shhhh no sweetheart. You done ‘nough talking.” He put his hand over your mouth and pulled you upwards. His other hand holding his dick, slipping the tip against your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty pussy now, that what you want?” 

You moaned against his hand. 

“Thought so.” He grunted, pushing himself into you in one swift movement. 

It hurt horribly at first, and you cried whole heartedly into his hand. He knew it hurt too, as he kept rubbing his thumb gently against your cheek, his body language so different from the tone he had taken with you just moments before. 

“Now now, sweetheart, yr’alright.” 

You moaned into his hand, your drool dripping between his fingers. He let go a little, wiping his hand on the blanket before slotting two fingers into your mouth. 

Your pussy leaked at the taste, and you felt your sweet juice drip down your thighs. 

“Smart girls are always the dirtiest.” He grunted, forcing his fingers down your throat as you sobbed  and moaned. “But you like it, don’t you?” 

“Yeah~” you said, muffled around his fingers. 

His pace after this was relentless, your face was smushed into the dirt again as his hands held you down, one on your ass one on your shoulder. 

“Take me, atta girl, take this cock~”  he grunted, hips bucking wildly as his seed released into your tight cunt. You weren’t far behind, cumming around his thick cock and gasping at the sensation. 

Arthur rolled onto his back beside you with a rough exhale, one forearm thrown over his eyes like he couldn't believe what had just happened.

“Christ alive.” he muttered hoarsely. 

The hand not covering his face found your hand instinctively. 

Arthur let out a quiet laugh under his breath. “You’re dangerous, sweetheart.” 

You turned your head toward him, smiling softly, “You’re the criminal here.” 

He huffed, running his hand from his face into his hair which was a mess now. 

“Best afternoon I've had in a long while.” He admitted quietly. Then after a beat, softer, “I need that again sometime.”

Arthur came into town like the weather.

You knew before you saw him by the dust in the throat of the road, or a shift in the quiet. 

Then the horse, slow, as if it had forgotten where it was meant to go.

He’d stop outside your door.

“Jus’ me,” he’d drone, no further explanation needed.

The house took him in, the way it always did; without protest or welcome. 

Just space made and filled again. 

Hat on the table. 

Boots underneath it. 

The weight of him settling into a chair as if it had been waiting for his return since he'd left.

He watched you.

Not with an intent you could name. 

Not quite hunger, nor care. 

But something older, worn down by months of distance.

You kept your hands busy. 

Cloth. Cup. Knife. 

Anything that kept you from reaching too soon and proving something neither of you wanted proved.

His hand found yours anyway.

No hesitation. No decision you could see. 

Just contact, as natural as breath. 

Rough fingers closing around your palm like it was familiar ground.

His thumb moved once. Slow. Almost absent. 

Like a man checking if the world was still where he left it.

Outside, the light shifted. 

Something in between day and night that never stays long enough to be named.

He spoke little after that. 

You spoke even less.

Though the silence between you was not empty. 

It was occupied like the room, like the chair he would leave behind again and again.

And then the quiet would shift.

Not broken, but changed. 

Heat where there had been distance.

Breath where there had been waiting.

The air tightening around you until even the silence felt close.

Cloth forgotten somewhere between touch and floor.

The rough certainty of him near you, no longer separate.

The house narrowing until there was only the space between skin and breath, then not even that. 

His name would come apart in your mouth when you said it. 

Time losing its edges. 

The world reduced to touch, to breath, to the weight of him atop of you, like something long expected. 

And after it all, nothing resolved.

Only withdrew.

As if the room had briefly misremembered itself. .

He always left before the house could decide to keep him.

Before morning could give it shape. 

And you never asked him not to.

So it always stayed that way.