The blackest, loneliest hours of the morning, the formerly bustling
town now fast asleep. Dusty, rutted
streets deserted. No voices, no
movement…only dimly wavering lantern light and inky, impenetrable shadows. The pulsating, rhythmic songs of insects are
the sole accompaniment of a silent, vigilant traveler.
A sultry breeze whispers through drifting lace curtains at an
upstairs bedroom window, darkened and secluded.
She sleeps serenely at last, bedclothes tangled and abandoned in the mid-summer
heat, gossamer white nightgown luminescent in the dusky light, clinging suggestively
to generous, womanly curves. Elegant titian
hair falls loosely in waves over one shoulder, rising and falling evenly with
each tranquil breath she takes in repose.
The doorknob silently turns and an ebony shadow slips
stealthily within like a feral animal from the outlying prairie. Silent footsteps warily approach while
watchful eyes roam hungrily over the unconscious female form, slumbering
blissfully unaware. He languidly takes
in thick lashes against milky white skin and full breasts lifting gently with
each unsuspecting breath. The shapely
form scarcely concealed beneath her filmy nightgown leaves him yearning to feel
her warm flesh beneath his impatient hands.
He perches noiselessly on the edge of her bed like a cat, carefully
removes his hat and drops it soundlessly to the floor. Daringly, he takes a lock of flaming red hair
between his fingers, lifting it to his nose.
Detecting the distinctly feminine aroma of exotic oils and bath soaps, he
closes his eyes and covetously rubs the perfumed silkiness over his stubbly cheek
and sensitized lips, imagining what she would taste like.
His brash scrutiny wanders languorously down her voluptuous
body. Boldly, he lifts the hem of her
thin nightgown and skims it slowly up, up…over long, shapely legs, sensuous bare
hips and softly rounded belly, revealing her creamy nakedness to his overheated
gaze while he stifles an impassioned groan.
He takes a deep breath, inhaling the heady, musky scent of her, and he must
struggle to conquer the overpowering desire to move faster, to take her body
quickly.
He softly trails a hand up one leg and over her full hip,
smiling when she stirs with a breathless sigh.
His fingertips tease her damp red curls apart, and his own breathing becomes
ragged when her lips part suggestively and she bends one knee as if to offer herself
fully to him. Stroking her warm, vulnerable sex with long,
lingering fingers, he bites his lip soundlessly as she responds to his skillful,
probing touch with throaty moans and soft whimpers. He nearly comes, listening to the primitive sounds
he elicits from her, even in her sleep.
She is slick, swollen, and ready for him.
When her lush hips begin moving nearly imperceptibly yet wantonly,
taking his breath away with their primal rhythm, he can no longer ignore his
own aching, throbbing desire. He gratefully
loosens his uncomfortably confining pants and slips hotly between her legs,
moving slowly, slowly, slowly inside of her velvety entrance. He pushes her nightgown higher and ravishes
her with voracious lips, her back arching instinctively, a silent plea offering
her soft, heaving breasts to his scorching mouth.
When he reaches down and touches her secret woman’s place
again, she cries out and cries out an unintelligible name. Her passionate surrender triggers his own
undoing. He comes inside of her satiny
softness at last, in a blinding release that makes his body sweat and tremble
uncontrollably. When he regretfully
pulls out of her most intimate embrace, she utters a tiny bereft sound that makes
him groan.
Kissing her inflamed pink buds, still straining from the lavish
attentions of his mouth, her soft belly, and finally her mound of thick red
curls, he appreciatively inhales her intoxicating scent one last time. Reluctantly, he pulls her nightgown back down
over her glistening damp, bare body. Pausing
to listen for her sated sighs and finally the even breaths of deep sleep again,
he soundlessly slips out the door and down the wooden stairs to the darkened,
lonely street below.
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Doc and Festus sit at a table in the Long Branch, sipping
coffee and arguing about the weather.
“Now, Doc, you know it ain’t usually this gol-dern hot during the
nighttime…”
A graceful vision in butter yellow with upswept copper curls,
Kitty carries the morning paper and her own cup of coffee, joining her two
bickering friends at the table.
Doc growls, “What in thunder do you mean, Festus? Mornin’, Kitty… It’s July, for heaven’s sakes! What do you expect?”
“Well, now I ‘spect it was so hot last night I purt near had
to sleep out on the roof to get a little smidge of fresh air!”
Doc grumbles, eyes searching heavenward, “Oh, goodness
gracious…”
Frowning, Kitty scolds, “Now, you two, don’t you have
anything better to talk about than the weather?” Delicately painted lips carefully sip from
her hot cup as she unfolds the newspaper.
Matt enters the saloon through the swinging doors and ambles
toward their table, hooking his thumbs in his gun belt. He scowls, “Kitty, are these two at it
again?”
She looks over the top of her paper at him. “I’m afraid so, Matt.” She regards him wordlessly, but her eyes softly
gleam when she looks at him. The corners
of Matt’s mouth turn up enigmatically in a warm, private smile as he returns her
intent gaze.
Their subtle, silent communication is interrupted by an
oblivious Festus. “Matthew, whar’s yer
hat?”
“I…um, I’ve managed to lose it somewhere…” Matt sheepishly replies.
Kitty’s brows delicately arch. “Really.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got an old hat back at the office I
can wear…” Matt avoids her eyes and quickly
changes the subject, “Festus, you wanna ride up to the Bailey homestead with me
this morning? I want to check on old man
Bailey. Moss Grimmick tells me he’s been
feelin’ poorly…”
“Shore, Matthew, I’ll ride with ya’.”
Kitty rises as if to leave, tucking her paper under her arm
and retrieving her coffee. “I’ve got to
meet with the whiskey drummer in a little while. You boys have fun on your little trip.” She sidles up close to Matt and huskily murmurs
in his ear, “And if you come back and see me again tonight, I may give you your
hat back.” Winking slyly at him, she swishes
toward her office in a whispering, deliciously fragrant cloud of delicate
yellow fabric. Matt stares wistfully
after her.
Festus squints curiously at him, scratching his head. “What’d she say, Matthew?”
Hurriedly, Doc intervenes, “Oh, never you mind, Festus. Now, if we’re goin’ to Mr. Bailey’s place,
we’d better get goin’.”
“Now who said you was goin’, you old scudder…”
Matt sighs heavily and heads out the door of the Long
Branch, hatless, thinking what a long wait it will be for evening…
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