Verboten

28.

The customer is a man who patronizes the saloon nearly every day. He lives in town and you've known him for years; he always keeps to himself and behaves politely, treating the women with respect and striking cordial conversation with you whenever the service is slow enough to have a chat. You never dreamed that you would have been purchased tonight, let alone by a man who tends to keep to himself and lay low of prostitution, but you suppose it makes sense considering your luck and how you have none.

He leads you up the stairs towards his room, glancing over your shoulder at your father as you ascend and finding him grinning evilly at your fate. You wonder if he has anything to do with this transaction as a form of punishment, or just personal self gain to bring in an influx of extra cash. It seems as time goes by that he has less and less regard for your happiness and well-being and it's to a point now where all of his care has just slipped away. He would have never put you up for purchase on a day of the week that wasn't Friday before, but now it's apparent that he's nothing but a demon in your father's clothing.

Harry is somewhere in the desert either dead or alive and you are stuck inside of this saloon upon his request, following a man into a room who is too civilized for you to blatantly hold up and rob with a clear conscience. Perhaps you'll be able to convince him to go easy on you or choose another woman in your place, but when he turns around and weaves his fingers through yours, drawing you close to plant a kiss to your knuckles, you smile to entertain him while you sob internally.

You pinch your nose and bow your head once you've reached his door, your toe tapping against the wooden floor in angst as your mind circles painfully over three thoughts: whether or not Harry is alive and had success, how you are supposed to manage the situation unfolding before you and what is to become of you by daybreak.

The door creaks open and the squeaking of the hinges mimics the pain in your barely-beating heart. He steps aside and gestures into the dark room which is illuminated by a single flickering oil lamp on the nightstand. You nod at him and step inside, glancing over your shoulder to watch his next move as you shuffle from foot to foot nervously.

He nods at you and tosses the key onto the washstand near the threshold of the door, taking a few steps back and pulling the entrance closed as he goes. You stare at him in confusion until he's disappeared behind the folded entryway, the rumble of an all too familiar intonation sending a chill from your toes to your scalp, "sorry I'm late."

Caramel. Oats. Sand. Honey. Barley. Flint. Maple syrup. Salt. Gravel. His voice is a hundred alternating flashes of rough and smooth and you're spinning on your heel with your palms cupping your mouth at the sight of your beloved before you. A familiar suit of black armor, his large and enduring hands hanging easily at his sides, his plush mouth elegant and perfectly heart-shaped as he allows it to part slightly for even flow of breath.

Shadows dance across his face, making his brow appear heavier than usual and cast streaks of black upon his forehead and nose from the hair curtaining his temples. The light from the lamp blazes and shines in his eyes as he licks his lips and takes a step closer to you, extending a single steady hand in your direction as he silently beckons you forward.

You squeal in unchecked excitement as you take two steps and leap, your legs naturally wrapping around his waist and his palms engulfing your bottom in a squeeze as your mouths attach and you both tumble backwards into the bed behind him, your fingers weaving into his hair as you cry out in between kisses to his succulent lips. His hands roam the expanse of your back and torso, moaning as he claws at the bare skin of your chest and shoulders before he begins blindly unlacing your corset.

You whine into his mouth, his throat swallowing every sentiment you have to give before he finally frees you from the confines of bone and cotton. He slips your dress over your head and tosses it across the room, attaching his mouth to your breast and humming at the balmy taste of your skin.