Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 9: Clara

I woke up to the crisp morning song of a warbler. Warmth surrounded me. As I blinked my eyes open, I realised I hadn't slept so well in a long time.

There was heavy pressure on my chest. Glancing down, I saw Jasper's arm, tucked tightly around me. He held me tightly against his solid frame, his chin rested above the top of my head, and I could feel his rough stubble tickling my skin.

I sat up slowly, detaching myself from his heavy limbs. He let out a soft groan and rolled to his back. Still fast asleep.

He was a heavy sleeper.

For a moment, my legs curled up to my chest and I gazed down at the big man. He was still only wearing his drawers. His chest was shaped by hard muscle, smooth golden skin pulled tautly, a smattering of childhood scars and a dusting of dark hair trailed downwards and disappeared into his drawers. As my gaze moved downwards, I suddenly noticed the jutting shape in his drawers.

I blinked for a second as I came to terms with what I was seeing. He was much bigger than George was. I knew men sometimes woke up hard, but there was something so vulnerable in catching him in this state.

I quickly turned away, some part of me wanting him to be able to keep his dignity, the other surveying the edge of the cave for his pistols.

As I began to slither away, I felt his arm snake around my waist again and drag me back down on top of him. His hard member poked me in the stomach as his eyes cracked open to stare at me sprawled on his chest.

"You're not running away this morning sweetheart," he murmured. "Else I'll be putting those cuffs on you again."

"I don't think so," I bit back, pushing off his chest. It vibrated deliciously under my touch as he chuckled.

He grabbed hold of my hips and lifted me off him, dumping me onto the earth next to him. His hand remained on my upper arm as he sat up, running his fingers through his black hair.

"Did you make breakfast?" he asked me with a smirk.

I ignored his expression.

Ares, who was asleep on his back, stretched out in the morning sunshine and trotted over towards us. He rubbed his soft fur against my face.

"How's your shoulder?" Jasper asked as he crawled to the edge of the cave and hopped out. I could only see his torso as he slipped his shirt back on, along with his trousers and jacket. Hiding away the beautiful mascule speciem that he was.

He slid his two gun belts low on his hips, checking that both his pistols and his rifle were loaded and weren't impacted by the rain.

"Hurts," I answered, sitting on the edge of the cave, my legs hanging down.

He glanced up at me, squinting in the morning sun.

"Do you want me to change the bandage again?" he asked.

I hesitated, and then nodded. It had gotten wet last night, it would be best. And he was very good at it. And I had no desire to be crippled for life.

"Stay here," he ordered as he rifled through his saddlebags. I pulled down my torn shirt to look at my shoulder. There didn't seem to be any blood on the bandage I was currently wearing, which I supposed was a good sign.

Jasper's hand grasped my arm as he stepped toward me, sliding between my legs and unravelling the bandage. His face was so close to mine, my knees brushed against his hips just slightly. I wasn't even sure he noticed, but I certainly did.

He pulled the bandage free and I watched as he examined my wound, his fingers grazing my skin lightly.

"It looks good," he murmured, his warm breath against my skin.