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

77. Tender Lovin'

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Striker and I rode through town on Bombproof to the inn where we had stayed when we met. It was late afternoon by the time we reached the inn, and Striker led Bombproof over to a small, newly-built fenced area beside the building where one other hellhorse was loitering, then hopped off of his horse's back.

"C'mon, darlin'," he said, lifting his arms toward me.

I swung a leg over the saddle and leaned forward, falling directly into Striker's arms. He carefully set me down on the ground and said, "Alright, lemme get Bombproof settled."

"Okay," I said. "You do that — I'll go get us a room."

Striker led Bombproof into the corral while I headed inside, passing by the half-filled saloon to check in. Striker entered the saloon a few minutes later, our luggage slung over his shoulder, and we walked upstairs to find our room. I was admittedly a little surprised that he let me climb the stairs without his help, given how much of a stink he'd made about it before — although he did watch me like a hawk as I did.

Of course, when we got to our room and shut the door, he set down our bags and placed his hands on my shoulders. "You alright? Are you hurtin' any?"

I couldn't help but smile at his doting attitude, and I lightly rested a hand on his chest and answered, "Only a teensy bit from climbing those stairs, I think. But I'm fine."

"Good," he said before taking off his hat and planting a firm kiss on my lips.

I let out a surprised squeak at the sudden show of affection, but quickly gathered myself and kissed him back with equal fervor, wrapping my arms around his neck. He tilted his head slightly to the side to deepen the kiss, and I met his enthusiasm by licking his bottom lip. A small chuckle escaped his nose as he parted his lips and granted me entry. Our tongues danced and mingled for a moment until I stepped closer and gently pressed my thigh against the crotch of his pants, causing him to moan softly into my mouth. We pulled away from the kiss to catch our breath, a thin strand of saliva connecting our lips, and I looked up at him with a knowing smirk.

Striker mirrored my expression and murmured with a smile, "Yeah?"

I nodded, and he wasted no time shrugging off his jacket and pulling me into his lap at the foot of the bed. His hands slithered underneath my flannel and up my sides, his touch sending chills up my spine, and I hurriedly began to unbutton my shirt while he shed his own.

I had an idea as to why he was so eager in his actions: We hadn't had sex in several days, primarily because I just hadn't felt up to it. I figured all the rain recently had caused my belly wound to ache more than usual, and I was stuck doubled over in bed most of the time. The way Striker behaved during my string of bad days so closely resembled how he acted when I'd found him in that cavern: hesitant and overly cautious, as though I had become as fragile as an eggshell.

But today was one of my good days — and I was determined to keep it that way, at least for the duration of the festival. I was tired of this pain, how it left me crippled and hindered me from doing what I wanted. I wasn't going to let it ruin the weekend ahead. And I think he could see that.

Striker peeled the button-up off my body, kissing and nibbling my collarbone as he yanked it off of me and tossed it haphazardly onto the floor. I stood to take off my jeans, Striker promptly following my lead, and I kicked my shoes and pants off my feet and sprawled out onto the bed, looking up at him expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips, and removed his boxer briefs before crawling onto the mattress. He hovered over me, his eyes softening as he fixed that mesmerizing gaze on me. I lifted a hand to cup his cheek, and he lowered his head to kiss me gently, his hands reaching around to undo my bra.