Deed to Damnation

Mistress

It was late by the time Henry passed out. He had ravaged her before and after the hearty meal and even in his drunken sleep, pawed at her once in a while, throwing his leg over her possessively. And Ireland would be lying if she said she wasn't physically exhausted too. Her husband's brand of lovemaking was voracious and demanding, pushing her to the brink of collapse at some points. Every muscle ached, her thighs burned as he ordered her to ride him until she could no longer do it. He had chuckled at her fatigue and simply flipped her on her back to continue chasing his pleasure. By the time he was through, she was worn and thirsty and felt as if she could sleep for days on end. But as exhausting as it was, he had not been selfish bringing her to her own rapture as only he knew how, until she could not give any more, her legs shaking from one powerful, breathtaking release after another.
Now it was long past midnight, the boisterous parlor downstairs finally quieting and coming to a close. Ireland only wanted to sleep. Her body felt as heavy as her eyes but her mind would not allow it. She watched Henry as he slept, his eyes closed and peaceful, hooded by long, dark lashes. Reaching out, she touch the salt and pepper overgrown scruff on his strong jaw. She still found it fascinating to touch, thick and scratchy and so uniquely masculine. She leaned in gingerly, careful not to wake him and inhaled slowly. He always smelled of vanilla tobacco and sometimes gun grease and leather when he returned from the places he occasionally disappeared to. To her, it had become synonymous with him and it was somewhat intoxicating although she would never admit it to him. Right now there was the gentle vanilla mixed with a biting hint of whiskey and something else. Her musk was there too, soft and primal. It was the scent of their lovemaking and she had come to like that as well, another thing she would never say.
Henry's eyes fluttered open and Ireland closed hers quickly. She didn't want him to know she had been watching him and feigned sleep. The mattress creaked as he sat up and she peeked again, watching the muscles in his back move fluidly as he ran his fingers through his mussed hair.
"I know you're awake." He said, his voice gravelly from sleep.
He sipped from a half empty water goblet and looked at her over his shoulder. She had the covers pulled up over her nose and was peering at him with shining jade eyes. A damn beautiful sight she was, he thought. Her skin was still flushed and her hair was a tangled mane of copper. He had heard of what some described as afterglow from a torrid role in the sack but he had never bothered to see if that was even a thing before, never sticking around long enough or simply not caring if there was. But just as he had never taken the time exploring and familiarizing himself with his conquests like he did with Ireland, he now saw exactly what people had meant. She looked too seductive to not crawl next to her and have her again. He pulled the blanket from her roughly but that's where the gruffness ended. He snaked on top of her and gently nudged her legs apart with his knee, sliding his way up her body, his prickly chest hair tickling her smooth belly. She gasped gently as he embedded himself inside of her and took her mouth hungrily , his tongue dancing sensually with hers.
Ireland was sore from the night before but her body accepted him and she let him have his way, not asking anything in return. She did not have the energy to capture her own bliss, content to let him have his pleasure. She wondered if it would always be like this, fervent and mysterious and all encompassing. Never would she have imagined that this man, a gangster with such a hardened heart, could make her forget who he was, worse yet, who she was, when he ravaged her. It was like her old self was slowly being stolen away, just like the gold in the Black Hills. And now she was considering a role as a house mistress just to hold onto the last tangible piece of her former self.
Henry collapsed on top of her when he was sated, his panting steamy and hot against her neck. Slowly, he raised his head and looked into her sleepy face.
"You haven't slept." He grumbled.
"How do you know?" She asked.
"Because you've been tossing around and keeping me up." He answered, rolling off of her. "Something on your mind or do you want my tongue between your legs again?"
His teasing made her blush. It was hard enough learning to accept her newly acquired want for something that she had once considered sinful and frightening without his taunting.
"I want to sleep." She admitted. "I'm very tired Henry, but I don't want to leave here. I'm worried about Missy and the others. I'm worried about myself too."
Henry gave her a look like she was crazy and couldn't hide his annoyance.
"I didn't marry you to have you think. I married you to save your soul, remember?" He answered "You're mine and my needs are all you should be worried about. Do that and you won't ever have to worry about yourself either."
She sat quietly for a few moments, angry at his reasoning and angry at herself for what she was about to say. And in his haughty opinion, this was all she was good for and being given anything she wanted as long as she played along nicely was enough to keep her compliant. It wasn't. She was not just some thing, no matter what he thought. Besides, being holed up in the wilderness with no one but Henry and his gang made her anxious. She would essentially be alone, as Henry saw her as nothing but a feather in his hat. Eventually, he would ignore her and the loneliness would be crushing.
"Your needs? "She countered. "Well, you need this place to make more money and I can fill that need. What you have let happen is abysmal, turning my beautiful inn into a flophouse with shabby clientele and letting the girls fend for themselves."
She expected him to lash out just like he always did when she dared insult his decisions and handling of situations, including her life. But instead of getting barked at or worse, see him reach for his discarded belt, he grinned.
"So what you're trying to say is that you've decided to try your hand at mistressing the women and running this house until we head to the hills?" He asked.
Ireland sat up and gave a deep sigh. She really didn't want to. Not this way. But she was more concerned about the women, particularly her best friend. She feared that she would never see her again and Ireland felt like she owed her a lot. Missy had shown fierce loyalty, even shunning Henry's advances to preserve their friendship despite how in love she was with him.
"I think so." She finally uttered. "But if I do it well, you have to promise me you'll keep it."
Henry laid on his side, his head resting on his outstretched arm. He was still wearing that small grin and his eyes displayed a curiousness. It was making her uneasy.
"I don't make promises. Results move me, Ireland. Not silly sentiments." He responded coolly.
She had expected that kind of answer of course. Basically, he was telling her not to disappoint him or there would be consequences. The problem was that he was not an easy man to please.
"Now get some sleep. There's more to this little endeavor than you think. There's a lot to learn. I'll tell the girls about your new position tomorrow." He stated, and turned down the oil lamp until they were enclosed in darkness.
And Ireland did find sleep but it was neither deep nor restful.