Verboten

19.

You dress in your tightest corset and a scarlet red skirt that hugs your silhouette all the way to the floor, black laces weaving up the back to accentuate your curves. You know that Harry told you he wouldn't be in the saloon much but you were hoping that he would have at least one glimpse of you in this outfit so that he would feel the need to tear you out of it later.

As far as you're concerned, there isn't a single person in the packed saloon who has had their eyes on you more so than usual. You keep you chin lifted high as you weave through crowds, serving drooling and gawking men their toxic beer and whiskey with an abnormal sense of entitlement and superiority. You imagine that this is what it must feel like for the other waitresses who choose to work here and seem to enjoy the business, hooking men into their lures and reeling them in like pathetic panfish.

Harry slinks in and out a total of two times without you noticing him a single instance; slamming a shot of whiskey and rolling a cigarette each time, sitting in his same spot at the bar that he became accustomed to and checking in with the bartender about your wellbeing.

While you were in the midst of collecting a large order at a table stuffed with men playing cards, Harry struck up a compromise with the man behind the bar. In the midst of him observing in The Silver Spur for weeks, he has concluded a few things. Two of them being: the bartender feels for your situation and sympathizes with you and there is a customer who spends each night in the saloon without fail.

Harry and the bartender have come to the agreement that Harry would pay him $30 a week to keep an eye on you whether or not Harry was in town and report back to him about the behavior of patrons and of your father. If you were in danger, the bartender was to alert the regular customer who was there nightly to hunt Harry down at his hotel to come to your aide. If Harry was out of town for bounty work, then he could only hope you've become brave enough to fend for yourself by then.

The third time that Harry stalks into the saloon, he spots you making your way into the powder room for a break to adjust your makeup. He slips the regular customer $2 and tells him to keep your father occupied while he glances over his shoulder and slides into the room behind you.

You gasp when the door opens but Harry presses his finger to his lips to communicate discretion, removing his hat in respect and pressing it to his chest. Your breath fills your lungs in joyful surprise, jumping forward to swing your arms around his neck and seal your lips together, "my love, I thought you'd never come. Have you made sure that-"

He nods and kisses you again, dropping his hat to the floor and wrapping his arms around your waist before backing you up against the wall, "your father is taken care of. You are stunning. My cock is positively throbbing in my drawers."

Your heart gallops in your chest regardless of his promise, worried that your father is too attentive to be easily distracted. You can feel his length straining against his trousers and your stomach flips at the comprehension, the veins in his neck becoming apparent as he tries to control his arousal.

His hands wander down to your bottom and squeeze before swiping over the backs of your thighs, mumbling the word 'Dove' into the skin of your neck. Your head rolls back to thud quietly against the wall behind you as Harry attaches his mouth to the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder and sucks.

A sigh leaks from your nose at the careful work of his lips, tongue and teeth, the sharp corners grazing and periodically digging into your skin as your core clenches and dampens. His hands roam every arch and curve of your body, pulling your pelvis snug against his and his mouth travels up your neck to blemish a new spot. The tip of his nose drags against your throat and rips a shiver to your toes, goosebumps awakening on your arms and legs.