Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

17. Colors, Pt. 1

Striker and I stayed at that tiny oasis past dusk, lying naked and exhausted in each other's arms for well over an hour. The bright orbs of molten lava over the steep mountain peaks colored us and the land a deep orange. I stared at the light reflected off the small pond near us, admiring how it made the water dance like flames. I laid my head on his chest as he kept an arm hooked around my waist, his hand resting on my bare hip.

"We should be getting back soon," I murmured to him at one point. "I'll need to get some actual sleep before heading back home tomorrow."

He took my hand in his and brought it to his lips. "We oughta stop by the diner when we get back into town." He smiled in amusement against my knuckles. "You must be hungry after workin' up an appetite like you did."

I bit my lip. He was actually right, I was starving — and I had certainly worked up an appetite.

We got dressed soon after and gathered our things. Striker helped me onto Bombproof's back, and I winced when I felt a fresh soreness in my womanhood. He pulled himself up into the saddle behind me and smacked his tail on the hell horse's rear.

As Bombproof trotted across the hard desert ground, each little bounce he made aggravated the soreness. I grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle.

"You alright, darlin'?" Striker said.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Just . . . sore." I turned my head to look back at him and half-smiled. "I didn't think about the ride back when we were in the moment."

He hummed in understanding, his free hand finding my waist. "You gonna make it?"

I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, I'll be okay. It'll go away eventually."

Of course, the ride back into town didn't help my pain — in fact it only made it worse. Fortunately, we hadn't gone quite as far from town as we had the day before, so were able to reach the outskirts after about twenty minutes of trotting and loping.

Bombproof slowed back to a walk once we passed the first couple of shacks, and it wasn't long before we made it to the diner. Striker guided Bombproof to a nearby post, tying him there before helping me down and going inside. It was a quaint little place, what one would imagine when thinking of a typical diner: cheap metal chairs and tables, cherry red cushioned booths, a bar counter with rotating stools bolted to the tiled floor, an old jukebox in the corner. It was getting late — there was hardly anyone else inside. We were allowed to seat ourselves, so I picked out a booth near the back of the diner.

We ordered our food and gorged ourselves like kings. We hadn't touched the food we took with us out of town, so neither of us had eaten all day. Watching the man in front of me shovel half a plate of collard greens in his mouth at once, I snickered as a particular thought crossed my mind.

"What're you laughin' about?" Striker said after swallowing a rather large bite.

I smirked. "Seems like you worked up an appetite yourself."

He chortled and took a long swig of his drink. "What can I say, darlin'? You wore me out."

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. I wanted to retort, but all I could do was nibble my lip as the memories of that afternoon replayed in my head. Everything he did felt so good. He quickly picked up on what brought me pleasure — and what didn't. Remembering the sensation of him inside me gave me chills, and a wetness threatened to line my panties at the mere thought of it.

But more than that, he treated me with such care, such tenderness, that I couldn't resist giving myself to him. When we had met, I would've never expected this rugged halfling cowboy imp to be so gentle with his lover.