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written-in-flowers · 3 months ago

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Title: Boiling Pot

Pairing: Caleb Sykes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Summary: After your sister shoots James Sykes and runs off, you're forced to direct your husband's angry eyes elsewhere.

Tags: Implied/referenced domestic violence, dub-con(kind of? just in case), martial sex, established relationship, quick sex, p in v penetration, implied/referenced blackmail, creampie, slight breeding kink (you KNOW he has one),

Prequel

*****

The gunshots woke you up first. One large blast pulled you right out of your dreams, and another made you bolt upright. Caleb absent your bed, you'd woken up to an empty house. A hazy confusion joined the fright in your chest when a third rang out. The thought of bandits or Caleb outside made your heart jump at yet another shot. You immediately pulled on your house coat, and rushed over to the frosty window.

In the distance, you caught sight of Lucy's house less than a half mile away. A small square on the vast blanket of snow, you watched a figure draped in black rush outside while more gunshots fired. A gasp caught in your throat when you recognized the long brown braid. Lucy. You watched, frozen by shock, as she hopped into a wagon and drove off. James’s horse ran past your house into the forest beyond, frightened by the commotion. You followed the wagon with your eyes, stunned by her courage.

Then, your sister was gone.

She’d told you she planned on leaving him. She said she couldn’t take it anymore, and needed to leave. You’d said you’d go with her, but she insisted you stay behind. This was her fight, not yours. When you argued that his family would likely come for you too, Lucy had shaken her head.

‘No, they won’t touch you. Caleb won’t let them.’

Yes, but nothing stopped Caleb from touching you.

You stayed by the window, the winter chill seeping through the wooden floor and walls. However, you barely felt it as the realization hit you. The Sykes clan looked after their own regardless of that person’s faults. They’ll see what Lucy did and run off after her. You knew Junior would hunt her to the ends of the earth just to ring her neck. Whether alive or dead, they’d do it. Lucy said she'd be travelling to Bannon, a small town nearby, and to not follow her. You told her it wasn't smart to travel with a baby as young as her son; you said she'd need someone to help her. You said there must be another way to escape James and his family, but she’d disagreed. Now, she’d be on the run with an infant. Lucy was no fool. She’d outsmart those Sykes brothers. You tried keeping this bit of comfort as you walked back into your one-room house.

Anxiety burrowed deep into your stomach. It numbed your toes, and made your hands shake. You trembled, pulling on layers of clothes to warm you, and kept messing up your boot buttons. Visions of an angry Caleb bursting through the door came to you. He might always get along with his father, but that was still his kin. You know if any Sykes would hurt Lucy, it'd be him. While Lucy was no coward, she was no match for Caleb, especially when enraged. If he thinks you know something, nobody is stopping him from hurting you instead.

It’d taken several tries to light the fireplace and stove, your hands unable to keep the match straight. You started on breakfast to keep it from festering in your head, but it creeped towards you. In the back of your head, you kept picturing Caleb’s strong hands slapping your cheek or, worse, his belt stinging your back. You didn't care how many times he claimed to love you, you knew people in love didn't hurt each other.

Your husband will likely question you on his own, which equally frightened you. Placing round biscuits in a basket, you pictured his rough hand going across your face again. A wrong answer would end in a slap.

The horses nearby made you nearly drop the skillet of eggs. You could hear voices far off, and knew somebody found James in the house. Cautiously, you peeked behind a curtain to see a group of men approaching the door. The tallest and largest of them stood near the doorway, hands on his hips as he shook his head. Junior Sykes, James’s eldest son. You recognized him by his large, imposing figure and confident walk. You saw him gesture to the men nearby, and then all went to the door. Soon, they were hauling a limp body into a wagon. Had she killed him? You hoped not. It’ll only end up being worse for her. Right as you thought they’d leave, a lone figure stood watching them go. A gasp caught in your throat, and you immediately moved away from the window. Your heart hammered in your chest, and the urge to flee hit you.

‘’He’s your husband. He won’t hurt you if you’re honest with him.’

You tried comforting yourself with this information. Every tender moment Caleb showed you filled your head. The man in those moments wouldn’t dream of putting a hand to you. But, when his anger took hold of him, a much more wicked man turned up. The footsteps on your porch made your heart jump into your throat. You rushed over to the stove, dumping bacon onto a plate to look busy.

“Good morning, my lovely wife.”

His voice filled the small house. It struck fear right into your chest. You could feel him taking up space behind you. His deep drawl vibrated down to your core, sitting and festering like a wound. The phrase wasn't said in his usual loving way, with a gentle caress and a kiss behind it. It was sarcastic, and mean. His anger isn't quite high yet. There was a possibility to cool it back down. You turned around to see him standing two feet away, long overcoat covering his skinny frame and greasy golden hair under his hat.

Caleb Sykes, the youngest of James’s sons, had his eye on you since your father began working the Sykes’ land eight years ago. You never shook off the feeling of his eyes on you whenever you walked past him. He'd occasionally corner you in town or near your house, flirting and even giving you gifts. Every day he asked you to marry him. No matter the circumstance or conversation, he'd slip in the question. You always said no. Your father didn't approve and your sister cautioned you against it. Caleb only brought trouble.

When your father died, Caleb took a page out of his father's own book. He implied that if you didn't marry him, he'd get you kicked off the property. It wasn't as if either you or Lucy brought anything to the family. You'd lived there by their grace, and it could be taken away. Fearful of being left without a home, you reluctantly agreed. Memories of that first night alone came back to you. He'd been quite gentle and sweet, taking his time warming you before going inside. Perhaps a little bit of that innocence he liked so much might keep his anger at bay.

He put his rifle against the wall and removed his black hat, eyes locked on you when he saw you standing by the table.

“Morning, honey,” you turned to smile at him, putting dishes on the table. “I made your favorite. I thought you'd be famished after your ride.”

“That can wait,” he said, shrugging off his coat. This meant he didn't intend on going back to the main house right away. Another bad sign. “Where did Lucy go?” He began rolling up his sleeves, “And don't think about lying to me.”

“I don't know,” you gulped. “I didn't even know she'd left.”

“You ain't deaf, woman,” he said, fixing the sleeves at his elbows. “You heard the gunshots. I heard them and we were farther out. So, Imma ask you again: where did Lucy go?”

A fire slowly started kindling within his pale eyes. You forced yourself to keep acting natural. “You can't be serious,” you scoffed. “Lucy ain't never shot anyone before. I don't think she'd-”

“-I ain't asking you again,” he said, “Where'd she go?”

“I don't know,” you stammered. “She never told me anything about leaving. Not a word, not a word.”

His hand moved quicker than you expected. Fingers cupped your chin and held it tightly as he forced you to look at him. Panic tightens your chest when you stare directly into his eyes. While Junior intimidated people with his size, Caleb did it with his eyes. A certain maliciousness always lingered behind them, waiting for a chance to come out. Any wrong answer might give it a reason to come out.

“You mean to tell me that the sister who loves you more than anything,” he began, “Who put herself through hell with my father for you to have a home, ran off without telling you?”

“I'm as surprised as you,” you answered, trying to steady your breathing. “I thought it was someone coming for your father. He's not well liked and you know that.”

“Bullshit,” he squeezed your jaw, and you winced in pain. “I'm asking you one more time: where did your sister go?”

“I swear I don't know…” you gingerly touched the hand touching you. “I'd never lie to you, honey. You know that.”

His hand slowly released you when he saw the truth in your eyes. An ache still pained where he'd squeezed but he'd left worse before. Like a boiling pot, if you didn't lower the heat soon, it'd rise up even faster. He remained suspicious, so you weren't out of danger yet.

“You're my husband, Caleb,” you continued, hands on his forearms. “I wouldn't dream of keeping secrets from you. I thought you trusted me.” You slightly leaned into him, never breaking eye contact. You dropped your voice and said, “Your family has been good to me…” you ran your hands to his wrists, then on his belt, “You're always good to me.”

“I am, aren't I?” he asked, one hand bringing you closer by the jaw.

“You are,” you insisted, moving until you were an inch from one another. “I'm the luckiest woman in the world to have a man like you,” you continued, hands going up to his chest. “You take such good care of me,” you nuzzled his nose with your own, “In every way a man can.”

A smirk broke the stony expression. His arms went around your waist, forehead pressing to yours. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” You touched the buttons of his vest, circling the top one first. “It's strange you bring up my sister and your father,” you said, “I had a dream about you and me.”

“Oh? What about you and me?”

“I think it was our wedding night,” you said, coming up with it on the spot, “And it was you between my thighs.” The low rumble from his chest was a good indicator. You continued, “I woke up remembering how gentle you'd been with me. You treated me like I was one of those fancy porcelain dolls.”

“With how beautiful you were, someone might have thought you were one,” he replied, arms around your waist.

“You don't have to go back right now, do you?” you asked innocently. “Can't you stay for a while?” You pecked his lips softly, beard brushing your soft chin. “I missed you this morning.”

As expected, your diversion worked. “I can spare a few minutes for you,” he said, lifting you onto the table.

You let out a giggle as he laid you down. Immediately, his hands deftly undid the front buttons of your dress. Stopping at your waist, your torso was exposed to the winter chill coming through the walls. It was only Caleb’s body keeping you warm as he kissed and felt up your sides. Rough beard grazing you in each kiss, you couldn’t help being excited by his touch. You never expected the tenderness on your wedding night and it's all he's shown since then. Heat flared between your legs as his mouth reached the tops of your breasts. He knew your body too well by now, hitting all the right spots.

You gasped softly when his hands, rough from years of work and riding, went down your thighs to lift your dress. The layers of wool rising up to your waist, only his hard body kept the cold away. Not that it mattered. Your sex throbbed the moment his groin touched you, the bulge noticeable now with so few layers left. He groaned against your skin when you grinded against him. More layers were tugged down until your bare flesh rubbed into the hard bulge in his pants. He didn't waste time sliding his hand between you, letting out a soft groan.

“You really did miss me,” he smirked, kissing your lips while his fingers circled it. “You're dripping for me.”

“Yes,” you breathed, hands gripping his shoulders as pleasure started clouding your head. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He chuckled at your answer, then rolled his thumb along the top part of your sex. The simple touch made you squirm underneath him. The small pearl hidden within pulsed as he continued circling it. You didn't know who was more distracted: you or your husband. Reaching down to his belt, you undid it with ease. He brought your lips to his again, moaning into your mouth when you finally grabbed him. Hot in your cold hand, you felt the muscle twitch in each stroke. You learned pleasuring him was equally satisfying for you. Lucy never told you what sex was like until your wedding day. All she'd said was he'd put himself inside you, it might hurt, and it'd be over quickly. She'd been wrong when it came to Caleb.

‘I want to take my time with you,’ he'd said in your ear while he undressed you.

He'd grown fully hard by the time he pushed the first inch inside. With time so limited, he didn't hesitate to start quickly. Holding your thighs apart, he stood up straight as he thrusted. You held one of his hands to your breasts while he went, the extra touch driving you to push back. A small smile went across his face when you did this, his ego stroked by it. You felt him pushing right into the center of you, that spot creating a tightness within you. Caleb knew he’d found it once you gripped his hand tighter and whined out his name. He drew just as close with his closed eyes and panting groans. The house came alive with the sounds of your moans mingling with his. This always worked on him. His anger could always be simmered with loving caresses and promises of longing. As long as he stayed deep inside you, he’d slowly forget what he'd even been upset about. The added benefit of his expertise only made you choose it more.

It ended quicker than usual. The both of you knew Junior could return any moment looking for him. You pulled him closer to you, kissing him deeply as your orgasm came. The knots inside blew like dynamite throughout your body. Caleb pushed right into it, thrusting rapidly and letting you ride it out on him. He finished in a few final thrusts, filling you each time. You'll admit you enjoyed the hot sensation it briefly gave you, and the idea of being so full of him excites you. Everyone expected you to have a child soon, so this might be the time that happens.

“So good,” he murmured, kissing your neck a few more times. “I really am a lucky man.”

“I just want to please you,” you said softly, purposefully clenching yourself around him for a low groan. “You're my husband and I want to make you happy.”

“You're doing a fine job of it,” he said. He laid a few more kisses on you before all tenderness suddenly disappeared. Trapping you underneath him, his voice lowered as he asked,

“Now…where's your sister?”

****

A/N: my first and maybe last Horizon fic. Jamie was too good in this movie so I couldn't help myself lol I hope you enjoyed this little read, I know it's not much but yeah, that's it haha

#jamie campbell bower #caleb sykes #horizon an american saga #horizon an american saga fanfiction #horizon fanfic #jamie campbell bower fanfiction #jamie campbell bower smut #caleb sykes smut

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written-in-flowers · 2 months ago

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Stubborn Pains: Caleb x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Caleb Sykes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8k

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Summary: Upon hearing about your engagement to your father's friend, you decide to have one last night with the man of your dreams.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, fist fighting, one night stand, no strings attached, forced engagement, infidelity(?), oral sex (m. receiving), vaginal fingering, breast play, biting, scratching, light edging, vaginal sex, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, light spanking.

****

It all started with Mr. Harold Fletcher. A greasy, pompous old man with a bald patch the size of a jam jar, he'd known your family for years. He wore velvet waistcoats, a black bowler hat and a golden pocket watch on his side. You never thought much of him. He was simply the man who owned the brothel and saloon across from your family's general goods. He was always kind, gentle Mr. Fletcher, who gave you candy and pats on the head as a child. He doted on you constantly, and considered you a daughter.

Then, you grew up.

The world crumbled around your shoulders the day your father broke the news. In a business deal with Mr. Fletcher, your parents received a share of the local hotel and Mr. Fletcher received your hand in marriage. You couldn't believe your parents wished to do business with someone like him. Everyone knew his true business, and you never imagined your family participating in that. You looked across the table at the man, with his round belly pushing against his buttons and greying mustache bushy and hard like a brush. His beady eyes twinkled, rosy cheeks puffing in his smile. You saw the same look in his eyes that you’d seen in the men in his “hotel”. A sick feeling settled in your stomach remembering the lustful, lingering glances they’d give the scantily clad women. While he insisted he’d be nothing but a gentleman with you, you saw the opposite in his eyes.

“Your Ma and I ain't gonna be around forever,” your father said. “You'll need somebody to provide for you when we're gone, and Harold is a good man. He'll take care of you.”

Fletcher was the same age as your father. He'd lost his previous wife some years before, and swore he'd never marry again. You didn’t speak. Your real thoughts bunched in the base of your throat like a ball in a pipe. The words receded at your parents encouraging smiles and Mr. Fletcher’s hopeful eyes. Heat raised up around your collar, and you took deep subtle breaths. This could not be happening, you’d thought. You’d always imagined inheriting the family store, running the business on your own and living happily. Whether with a husband or not didn’t matter much to you. You always believed you’d have a choice in the matter. All your friends married men they’d loved; your little sister, Ellie, married just last June to a man she loved more than anyone. It’d been a man she chose; not one her family picked for her. Alright, so you’d never met a man you liked enough to consider, but it’d still be your choice.

“Is this because of Ellie?” The question escaped before reason could stop you.

“What?” Your father asked incredulously.

“Ellie’s younger than me and already married with a baby on the way,” you said anxiously, twisting the end of your apron under the table. “You and Mama always complain that I haven’t married or found a man. Are you doing this because I haven’t?”

“Of course not, honey,” your mother assured you.

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“We’re not ‘doing’ anything to you,” your father chimed in. “This deal can really help the family out.”

“We’re a general goods store. We get plenty of business without…” you shifted a glance over to Fletcher, “Without having to partner with a brothel owner.”

“Brothel?” Fletcher gruffed in a laugh. “Darling, I promise you my hotel-”

“-Is a brothel in disguise,” you cut him off. The bubbling resentment slowly lifted up from your gut. “Is that the sort of place you want your daughter working? A place where loose women flaunt their undergarments and give themselves to the highest bidder? A place where somebody can touch me without my asking? How do we know he ain’t gonna sell me off like he does those ladies?”

“YN,” your mother gasped, “How could you ever think we’d want something like that for you? Harold’s business is perfectly respectable.”

You snorted a laugh.

“YN, listen,” Fletcher moved closer to you, “I know my hotel and saloon have a bit of a reputation in this town, but it’s a steady business. Your parents’ heads will stay above water with this little arrangement, and you’ll be taken care of. I wouldn’t put you anywhere people could touch you,” he said, a gentle caress in his voice. “You’d be my wife, and those are hardly places for a wife and mother to be.”

‘Mother’. You thought you’d vomit right there.

“It’s already settled, YN,” your father said, annoyed.

You stared at the three of them. Seeing your father's shaking hand signing the papers, the thought instantly came to you. The main reason for your debt stood right in front of you.

“How could you?” You asked him, the shock creeping over you.

“‘How could I’ what?”

“Sell me like this.”

“Sell you?” he huffed, hands on hips. “Nobody is selling you, honey. This is how marriage is done. You have to sign papers to-”

“-I meant how can you sell me off to pay off your debts.”

He hesitated, and you saw guilt glimmer in his eyes for a moment. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You do,” you accused. “You've been gambling again, and now you owe that family money. I should tell you that you're selling me to the wrong man. It's James Sykes or one of his sons I should be given away to. Not this man,” you nodded over to Fletcher.

“I am doing no such thing, young lady! And who are you to judge what I do?” he snapped at you. “I hope you know what you're getting, Harold. Maybe you can straighten the girl out.”

You said nothing more as the three settled up the contract and signed it. Betrayal

shot like snake venom up into your heart. You sat in your chair, their voices being drowned out by the crashing walls. After closing, your father always walked across the street to indulge in drinking and card games. Overhearing your parents' frequent arguments, you knew he often spent more than he had. This led to him getting loans from Fletcher and the Sykes clan, stacking up quite a debt. You sensed this was Fletcher’s idea. You wanted to simultaneously cry and scream. When Fletcher waddled back to his hotel, you stared into your lap.

“I'm not marrying him,” you told your mother as she picked up the table.

“We all do things we don’t want to do, YN. I promise, you’ll see this is the right decision.”

“I don’t want to marry him,” you said more firmly.

“You can’t be unmarried forever, honey. You need a man-”

“-I need a man that I chose, not one chosen for me!”

“You will come to see this in your best interest,” she said, doing her best to remain calm. “Harold is a nice man who will treat you well. We can't say that about too many men around here. Look at those Sykes boys. They're far from gentlemen. They wouldn't be kind to a woman like you.”

“I don't care. I didn't pick him. I don't want him and you can't make me marry him!”

“What do you plan to do? Run off?”

“I just might!”

You stormed out of the house and into the store on the other side. Shelves carrying the everyday items, customers bought items for the road or home from your parents’ store. A good chunk of their business came from people passing through the little town or the farming families who lived nearby. You ignored the people currently walking in, and headed for the fresh air outside.

Various scenarios flashed through your head as you walked down past several shops. You pictured yourself standing at the altar in a white dress, your arm linked with Fletcher’s as you tearfully said your vows. You could feel his harsh, bristly mustache on your lips when you both said ‘I do’. Life with him would be hell for you. Your parents might not see it, but you did. How long would it be before Fletcher decided to make some money out of you? He was hardly the sort of man you saw yourself marrying, if you saw anyone. In place of fat, sweaty Fletcher, you saw a strapping young man. He’d be rough and tough. He’d be the sort who’d burn the world down just for you, and strike anyone who tried touching you. Ellie often dreamed of a prince on a white horse. You dreamed of another kind of man.

In the local post office, you found Laura. Slim, blond and young, you had known her since childhood. Laura often radiated a comforting aura that you needed right now. You waited until she finished with a customer before going over to her. Seeing your discontent, she frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

You spotted her mother watching from a corner, then said, “Can we talk somewhere?”

“Of course.”

The both of you went back outside, and you rushed into the whole story. Retelling it stirred the upset all over again. Laura listened intently, leaning against the porch railing, and you saw the concern on her face. She only spoke once you finished.

“Don’t hate me, but,” she winced, “Perhaps this won’t be the disaster you think it is?”

“What?” Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Were you not hearing me just now?”

“I was, and, well, there are worse choices. Listen,” she said when you turned away from her, “Listen, I know this isn’t an ideal situation. It wouldn’t be for any woman, but Mr. Fletcher is a nice man. He’s got a good business and money. He’s the richest man in town.” The two of you began walking together back to the store. “You’d be a rich lady with nice clothes and fancy jewelry. I bet Mr. Fletcher would give you anything you asked.”

“I don't care about any of that stuff. I'm happy with what God has given me.”

“But it doesn't hurt to take what He's putting in front of you.”

You both passed right by the hotel. A two story building with a few rooms, you already saw yourself bustling around inside. You wondered how you’d feel working alongside the painted ladies pretending to be barmaids, watching them lead gentlemen upstairs for a “good time”. Fletcher could fool people all he wanted. Everyone knew about his “business”. You’d be married to a pimp who takes advantage of women in bad situations. Why would your family want you married to a man like that? Why couldn't your father pay the family off another way? You tried finding comfort in a picture of domesticity: working in the hotel in the daytime, having children you’d love more than life, and taking care of the home. You’d be comfortable. You’d wear nice dresses, and jewelry. Fletcher would keep you happy at least. Yes, you’d have to give yourself over to him which sickened you, but it could be much worse, right?

No. This did not feel right. Fletcher was a weak man who stuttered when confronted. You’d seen him cower from larger men many times. Patrons walked all over him, and the ladies told him off once or twice. He managed to intimidate your father because he's just as spineless. You didn’t see yourself being with a man like that. You spent most of your life protecting yourself; it would have been nice to have a real protector. The man in your dreams would knock out a man’s teeth without hesitation.

You’d told Laura to move out into the street to avoid being seen by Fletcher when the saloon doors suddenly flung open. Your heart jumped when a large body flew past you onto the ground. It took you a moment to realize it was a man. Grizzled, bearded in a dark coat, he groaned as he tried standing in the muddy road. You spotted the rage in his eyes as he wiped mud off the side of his face.

“Fucking bastard!”

His voice hit you like a brick, instantly sending shivers down to your center. Raspy and low, it was followed by thumping footsteps on the wooden porch. When you turned to the speaker, a young man with long blond hair came hurrying down the steps. His waistcoat tight around his slender middle, you took in the image of Caleb Sykes. His opponent stood his ground as Caleb reached him, and took the first swing. Caleb dodged it easily, leaning back and putting up his fists. Right away, bar patrons came out onto the porch and started cheering and jeering. You spotted one man already accepting bets.

“I got two bucks on Sykes!”

“Put three on the boy!”

“Five on my brother,” you heard a particularly low voice say from nearby.

Laura took your elbow to pull you away from the fight, muttering about getting out of there, but you barely moved. Your chest tightened watching Caleb make a quick jab to the man’s face, getting a hit in his nose. The man made another punch that Caleb backed away from and answered with a hit. The atmosphere building around the street entered your veins and created a sense of excitement in you. Adrenaline started coursing as you watched the two men circle one another. Caleb had nothing but pure rage in his eyes. His pale blue eyes made a man’s blood run cold; you trembled seeing them from afar. His opponent did get a few quick hits into his stomach and chest, causing Caleb to stumble back but he immediately regained his balance. Caleb charged at him, but the man managed to swing him around to bash him against the side of the porch.

“YN, we should leave,” Laura said to you, but you kept watching.

The man pushed Caleb’s head into the wall, but Caleb elbowed his ribs to get him off. They put their fists up once again, fists flying and grunts being made. A grapple landed them both in the ground, but this did not stop them. More people called out encouragement to their fighter. Your eyes followed them around on the floor, unable to look away. Caleb eventually straddled the man, and instantly began bashing his face with his fist.

“You want to say that to me again? Huh?!” Caleb’s voice was full of anger, a taunt being laced into it as he pulled harder. “You want to say that again?!”

“Oh god,” Laura looked away in disgust.

“Alright, alright, get him off,” you heard the deep voice say once more. “For Christ’s sake, get him off.”

Two men came and dragged Caleb towards the steps. The speaker was the tallest man you knew. Junior Sykes stood a few inches taller than six-feet, with brown hair hanging on either side of his face. His eyes, as blue as his younger brother’s, stared at Caleb from the bottom step. Caleb, panting and wiping blood from his bottom lip, stared right back with fire still blazing in his eyes. Junior said nothing, but instead gave him a rag to wipe his bloody knuckles with.

“Good lord,” Laura breathed. “That gave me such a fright.”

You gazed at Caleb, your heart pumping hard in your chest. Being kept inside the store and the home, you never saw real fights.

“YN, we should go,” Laura said, getting your elbow again.

His eyes finally found yours in the dispersing crowd. The kindling rage gradually faded into something softer once he spotted you. You looked over the blond strands hanging to his shoulders, strays getting stuck to his cheeks in places. His beard was rough, cut close and a slightly darker shade than his hair. You wondered what it felt like scratching your supple skin in each kiss. The smirk he gave you brought butterflies to your stomach.

“YN!”

Laura, irritated by your stubbornness, pulled you away. You felt his gaze trail behind you up to the store. When you reached the door, you chanced another glance at him. Everyone in town knew about the Sykes family. A rough, tough family of outlaws who disguised themselves as ranchers, they ruled the territory through intimidation and violence. Everyone in town paid them for “protection”, including your family. This was their town. Your parents often told you to stay away from anyone associated with them. They said they were no good, and they’d only bring you trouble. But, they should’ve known you like a little trouble. It’s what separated you from Ellie.

“What was going on out there?” Your mother asked, eyes wide and peeking through the store windows.

“A fight from in the saloon,” Laura answered urgently. “Oh, it was just awful, Mrs. Abernathy…”

You stood by the window, idly picking up a rag to wipe the window. Slightly breathless, you watched Caleb walk back inside, holding the cloth to his hand. Right as he moved inside, Fletcher came outside. Hands on his hips, he stared up and down the street. Likely, he scanned the street for any lawmen who happened to be around. Not that it mattered. Nobody stopped Sykes from doing anything, not even the town’s wimpy sheriff.

“And Fletcher did nothing to stop it from happening,” you said, glaring at his back.

“What do you expect him to do?” Your father asked from behind the counter. “A smart man doesn’t risk his own neck trying to break up two fellas in a fight.”

“A coward, you mean,” you muttered, tying your apron around your waist. “If two men ever got into it in here, you’d at least say something,” you told him. “Fletcher just stands there.”

“His name is Harold,” your mother cut in. “He’s going to be your husband soon. You should get used to calling him that.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Laura stared at you for a moment, then looked back to your mother. “I should get going. My Ma said she’ll be stopping by for some things later on today.”

“Alright, I’ll see her then, honey.”

You smiled as Laura left, then moved to the storage room. The adrenaline from watching the fight still rattled through you. Memories of an enraged Caleb slamming his fist into his larger rival made you shudder. You continued thinking about it while stocking the fabric section of the store. Sounds of people staring to enter the shop fell on deaf ears. You’d never seen a man like him before. The boys around town might get into squabbles with one another, but they never acted with such ferocity.

“Morning, Wyatt,” a familiar voice said from the door.

“Junior, good to see you,” your father said nervously. You knew it definitely wasn’t good to see Junior Sykes, but you said nothing. “What can I do for you?”

Junior and him began discussing purchases and prices. You finished with the cloth, then moved to grab the broom before someone came up behind you.

“Excuse me, Miss,” Caleb said, “Could you tell me where the bandages are?”

You gulped thickly and turned to see him standing in a long black coat and his hat now. Up close, you understood why people didn’t cross Caleb. While Junior towered over people physically, something entirely different lingered in Caleb’s eyes. One look at them and a brave man turned into a coward. He looked you up and down as if to memorize every feature before walking closer.

“I’m a bit banged up,” he said, showing his bruised hand, “If you can’t tell.”

“They’re up at the counter,” you told him, trying to steady your breathing.

“Would you mind showing me?”

“Sure thing.”

You left the broom in the corner and led him through the shop. You bit your lower lip to keep a squeal from escaping you. “I hope you aren’t too shook up,” he said from behind you. “A proper lady like you shouldn’t see things like that.”

“I’m not,” you answered. “It was actually a bit exciting. I’ve never seen a real fight like that before.”

“Really?”

“Boys around here get into it, but it’s always wrestling on the ground or a bunch of talking. They never…”

“Got dirty?”

“No.”

You brought him to the counter. Walking to the shelves behind it, you found the box of gauze and bandages. Taking two rolls, you turned back around.

“And I’d bet my horse that a lot of those fights were over you,” he said, taking out a coin purse from his pocket. “I know I’d fight a room full of men if the prize was getting to talk to you.”

The implication sent a warm rush up your neck. “That won’t be much of a contest,” you replied, shyly sliding the bandages over to him. “Men around here are a little too soft for me.”

“Is that so?” He leaned closer, lifting your chin so you’d look at him. Just the simple touch sent more heat waves over your body. “You like bad men, honey?”

“I certainly like men who don’t cower from a fight,” you said, “If that’s what you mean.”

“Then you should know I never do-”

“-YN,” your father said your name firmly from nearby, “Go help your mother in the storage room. She needs your help counting the inventory.”

“I’m tending to a customer, Pa,” you said, still looking at Caleb. “She’ll be fine for a moment longer.”

“I said go, young lady,” he said, gaze shifting to Caleb before going back to you. “Now.”

“YN,” Caleb let your name rest on his tongue, eyes scanning your face until he landed on your lips, “A pretty name for a pretty face.”

“YN Jean Abernathy…” your father said again.

“I should go,” you said, sliding away from his touch. “You should get something to fight off infection. Those cuts look pretty bad.”

“I’ve had worse, darling, trust me.” He gave you another look over, then said, “You should come by the hotel tonight. I can get you into plenty of trouble.”

Your father’s scowl forced you away from him. You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the storage room, smiled and then walked inside. As your mother handed you a list and pencil, you couldn’t shake off Caleb’s touch. His calloused hands told you he worked with them often, and knew how to use them. It honestly wouldn’t be your first roll around with a boy. Your mother caught you kissing plenty of boys throughout your youth; she often made excuses and lied when people heard what you’d done. You guessed that was part of why they wanted you gone so badly.

You had finished helping with inventory when your mother spoke. “Oh, here it is! I’ve been looking for it all over.”

You looked up to see your mother pulling out a small paper packet from the back of a shelf. The size of your hand, it was tied with thin twine. “What is it?” You asked her.

“Harold had ordered this a while back, and your father put it back here for safekeeping,” she said, dusting it off with her apron. “It’s some kind of fancy spice he puts in his meals. He says it gives them a little kick.” She gave you a glance, then held it out to you. “Go on and give it to him. Make sure he gets it before it’s lost again.”

“Can’t Pa go give it when he goes out?” You groaned, having no wish to interact with Fletcher.

“You know your father will be too drunk to remember,” she dismissed. She thrust the parcel into your hand, then said, “Go on now. Tell him it’s free of charge.”

“Mother-”

“-Why is everything a damn struggle with you, child? I said ‘go’ and you’ll go,” she snapped irritably. “Your sister never gave me this much trouble. She always did what was expected of her.”

This stung. Like a bee sting, it started swelling in your throat until it tightened. Yes, she always brought up Ellie. You stormed away before she said anything else, not wanting to hear anymore. You loved your sister; you truly did. Yet, you knew your parents favored her slightly more than you. She never caused them trouble or upset them like you did. You always seemed to disappoint or irritate them, while she obeyed them. Ellie would have married Fletcher without protesting as expected of a “lady”. You tried pushing it out of your mind as you made your way to the saloon.

Night having fallen, farmers and travelers unwound at the gambling tables of Fletcher’s hotel and saloon. The barmaids came around with trays of drinks, showing off more than what is decent. You walked into the loud music and commotion going on; you wrinkled at the cigarette and cigar smoke bombarding your senses. Staring around, you already caught your father sitting with friends at a table. He’d likely gamble his money away tonight. It’s partially why the business floundered: he often gambled money he’d skimmed from the top. They’re using your body to pay off whatever debts your father owed. It made hate boil in your blood.

“-Prettiest thing you’ve ever seen,” Fletcher’s voice caught your ear from the door. He stood behind the bar, talking cordially with one of his customers. “Young, soft and all curves,” he told the man, “And her father says she ain’t ever been spoiled either. I told him if he didn’t want me telling Sykes about what he owes, he’d give the girl over to me.”

“Does she know that?”

You moved closer slowly, making sure to keep out of sight in the crowd.

“Of course not,” he waved it away. “We told her it’s a business deal. You know, to keep her quiet. That girl can really put up a fight when the mood hits her, but I’m going to stomp that out of her.”

“How?”

“You see, girls like her are stubborn horses. With a little breaking in, they come to heel eventually. Her mother tells me she’s a bit of a troublemaker and a thorn in her side. She thinks a good, honest man will straighten her out.”

“Ha, honest man?! That woman’s blind if she thinks you’re honest, Harold.”

“What the old hag don’t know won’t hurt her,” he replied, chuckling. “Oh, I can’t wait until I get that little beauty in my bed. It’s got my blood pumping already.”

It also pumped yours, but much differently. Your fingers crushed the thin packet easily, the twine making a line in your palm as anger took you. You were just currency to them. You’re a shiny silver dollar they can pass off. Yes, you aren’t the most obedient of children, but you didn’t think your family would sell you to pay a debt. You thought they cared more than that. A slight stinging came to your nose, and you huffed it out. The spice packet was thrown onto the ground, and you crushed it beneath your shoe. Thin russet power came out from the tiny corners when you rubbed it up and down on the floor. Then, you kicked it to a corner. Damn Fletcher and his spices and his stupid mustache and fat belly and greasy hair, and everything else about him. Damn your father and his drinking and his lies. Damn your mother’s discontent and dislike of you. Damn all of them.

“Come to see me, sweetheart?” Caleb came in behind you, taking off his hat. He leaned up against the bar, "You should’ve bundled up. It’s getting cold out there. Unless…” he smirked, “You were hoping to get warm another way.”

You looked over at Fletcher serving drinks, then an idea popped into your head. “I came for a drink,” you said, smiling at him. “My mother can be a slavedriver on a bad day, and today was a bad day.”

“Well then, honey, what are you drinking?”

“I usually have a beer and then head home,” you shrugged. Moving closer, you touched the very end of his black scarf, “But, I’m looking for something a bit stronger tonight.”

His fingers found the end of your braid, gently swirling it around his finger. “I know just the thing to get you right,” he said as he observed you again. “Beth,” he called to the woman behind your side of the bar, “Two brandies.”

The woman nodded and set about pouring them. You sat with Caleb at the bar, far from your father’s and Fletcher’s eyes. It was hard to not look at him. He set something alight inside your lower belly, and it trailed down the longer you looked at him. It brought a small smile on your face, and heat into your cheeks again. Everything about him allured him. The smell of old leather and cigarettes drew you closer to him, and you couldn’t help catching the light in his gold strands. You took in the slope of his nose, and his prominent Adam's apple when admiring his profile. If you’d ever met the man of your dreams, he’s sitting right beside you now.

“I thought you might’ve come for Fletcher,” he said once the barmaid passed you both glasses of brandy. “He’s been telling anybody who’d listen that you’re going to be his new wife come this Sunday.”

“Yes, that’s right,” you nodded. This brought back the conversation you’d just heard. “They told me it was a business deal, and…well, I don’t believe that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“From what I’ve always understood, there ain’t a business in this town that your family doesn’t own some part of. I know that he’s paid your family some kind of protection fee before. It’s why he’s so damn scared when your brother shows up,” you said, downing your brandy in one shot. “Am I right so far?”

“So far, yes,” he nodded, impressed by your knowledge. “We own this place. Fletcher just runs it and likes to pretend he owns it. It’s good business, honestly. Men can’t resist good liquor and a pretty woman to serve it,” he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

“Well, according to Fletcher, he and my father made some kind of deal. To keep his debt quiet, my father sells me off to Fletcher. I don’t know if he’s paying it for my father or just not telling your father it’s owed.” You glared over at Fletcher, who hadn’t noticed you yet. “He’d rather sell me to a bastard like that rather than be an honest man. He’d never do this to my sister.”

“Sister?”

“Ellie, my younger sister,” you said. “She got married and had a baby, so naturally, my parents like her more. She’s their pride and joy, and I’m a stubborn pain in their side.”

“Psh, tell me about it. Junior’s the favorite in my family. It’s why he’s always in charge,” he said, ordering brandy and keeping the bottle. He poured you both two more brandies and lifted his drink up, “To being stubborn pains.”

“To being stubborn pains.”

You clinked glasses and laughed before drinking. More butterflies moved around in your stomach. You couldn’t look away from Caleb, and you didn’t want to either. Talking to him felt like dipping your hands into a different world. He told you stories of places he’d been, and things he’d done. You listened as he painted tapestries with clever words, each one vivid in your mind. You’d never met anyone like him before. The way he talked with his hands, giving tiny details, and occasionally going off on tangents amused you. You truly lost track of time drinking brandy and talking to him.

“...And then the damn thing charges at me, and gets me right in the arm. I had to stab it to get it off me,” he said, pulling back his sleeve to show you the bite marks on his forearm. “I thought the bastard would rip off my arm if I didn’t.”

“At least you got it, right?” You asked, giggling softly. Your fingers traced one of the marks, picturing wolf fangs piercing the tender skin.

“I did.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Skinned it and ate it,” he shrugged.

“I’ve never gone hunting before,” you said. “My family isn't the type.”

“And you shouldn’t have to,” he added. “It can be dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Not if you got a six-foot bear standing in front of you or a coyote about to tear you apart. No,” he admired you for a moment, “A gentle, pretty lady like you should be safe at home while her husband provides for her…Gives her anything she wants…” he cupped your chin, his thumb tracing underneath your lips. “A man that takes care of his lady.”

“I might be content with that sort of life for the right kind of man,” you replied, your hand sliding onto his knee.

“What kind of man would that be?”

“The kind of me who doesn’t let insults go unanswered,” you gave his knee a soft squeeze before sliding onto his lap completely. He easily embraced you, one arm around your back and the other across your thighs. “The kind who would protect me and fight for me when he has to. Not like my father or Fletcher who’d give me away if it saves their own skin.”

“Good thing for me,” he said softly, his hand resting on your thigh. “I’m exactly the kind of man you want.”

You gulped when his hand moved further up. You suddenly wished your skirt wasn’t in the way. Only a whisper of his warmth went through the layers to your skin. His grip stayed gentle and careful. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers right to your core.

“How about we get out of here, hm?” He asked, hand going further up to your hip. “You and I can go somewhere real quiet and get to know each other even better.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“YN, what are you doing?”

Fletcher finally noticed you. Either that or he finally gathered the courage to say something.

“Enjoying myself,” you said, the brandy starting to catch up, “Before I’m sold off like a horse at an auction.”

“Oh, YN, don’t be so-”

“-You heard the lady, Harold,” Caleb said, hand cupping your neck as he kissed your jaw. “She’s enjoying herself.” He carefully slid you off his lap, his hands on your waist, “Come on, pretty. I got a bed upstairs that needs warming.”

“Now, hold on there,” Fletcher said. “The young lady is spoken for. There’s plenty of other ladies around here you can pick from.”

“I don’t want them,” he smirked at you. “I like the one I got right here.”

He snaked his arm around your waist, guiding you to the staircase. You giggled at the nerves bundling in your stomach. You knew exactly what Caleb had in mind, and it excited you. The both of you went up to the second floor, where he led you into a room down the hall. Brandy made your head swim, and your entire body flushed into a sudden comforting heat. You walked inside, seeing the large bed, wash basin, dresser and mirror. Not by any means luxurious, but it looked comfortable. You turned to face him as he came up behind you, and immediately fell into his embrace. His mouth caught yours in a slow kiss, hand on the back of your neck to keep you still. The intoxicating brandy on his lips mixed with yours, and you eagerly brushed your tongue into his own. No boy ever kissed you with such passion before. They always treated you like a china doll, keeping their kisses timid and light. Caleb held you with confidence, likely knowing he had you right where he wanted you.

“He says you’re untouched,” he muttered between kisses, “Is that true?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Not even a little bit,” you said, pressing yourself against him. “My father’s a dirty liar. I’ve been touched plenty…” you put his hand on your chest, “And I want to be touched by you.”

He exhaled deeply, shuddering as he squeezed. “Good,” he groaned, kissing you again. “I don’t have the patience for virgins.”

Your whimper came softly, brought on by his beard brushing your neck. You hastily unbuttoned his waistcoat while he worked on removing your top. Every layer removed stirred more anticipation between you. He’d be different. You knew he would be somehow. That same anticipation stirred up an arousal that no boy had done before. They stoked coals, but nothing compared to the fire Caleb’s hard body created. You released a soft whimper when his hands smoothed over your naked skin. A hand placed on the middle of your back, the other grasped your backside. The light squeeze sparked the tautness clenching inside your sex. It pulsed when he pulled your hips to his, his hardening shaft just barely grazing your lips. You couldn’t help yourself. Reaching down between you, you took hold of the semi-hard erection poking your thighs. It was better than most you’d seen before. Blood causing it to swell in your hand, you imagined the pleasure you brought when he began moaning into your neck. Sliding up and down him lightly, you yearned for him even more when you felt him pulsate against your fingers. Your mother would be raving mad if she ever saw you this way. Your father and Fletcher being just downstairs, likely aware of what is happening, furthered your need for Caleb. One last good time before you’re married off to an old man.

“What’re you-”

Caleb didn’t get to finish his sentence when you sunk to your knees and stared up at him lustfully. You grabbed him by the base, and gave the thick head soft kitten licks. The toughest man you’d ever met suddenly folded at your touch, groaning while watching you lick his head and shaft. Your pussy pulsed at the heavy muscle resting on your tongue. Veins pumped more blood through the smooth skin, and you traced each one. It’d taken practicing with George Willis, a local boy, to know how much men enjoyed this. You learned they all turned into whimpering messes once you slid them in your mouth, and Caleb was no exception. Unlike George, he didn’t mind standing. In fact, he took advantage of this position: he wrapped your long braid around his hand and pushed on your head gently. You let him guide you. You held onto his thighs, straightened your back and moaned as his full cock went into your mouth.

“I’d never think a lady like you did things like this,” he huffed a laugh, looking down at you on your knees. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You nodded with him still filling your mouth. A salty, thin substance started sliding onto your tongue as he pushed and pulled at your hair. You kept your eyes on him the entire time, taking in the lust overcoming him. His moans, throaty and deep, dampened your sex more. A man’s moans. Not a little boy who had no idea what to do with you. You started sucking him harder, earning more precum in the process, and swallowed whatever fell back too deep. Even as your jaw slightly ached, you kept letting him use you. Perhaps if he did, he may take you with him. You could leave this boring town behind and start new somewhere else.

Eventually, you heard his moans become a stream of breathy curses. The pulsing in your cunt became almost unbearable; it ached for some kind of stimulation. His grip on your hair became tighter, and he held you in place while he started thrusting into your mouth. The head nearly choked you whenever he forced you right to the end; he did short strokes that caused you to gag on him. Caleb seemed to like this, since he kept doing it every so often. Picturing this cock deep inside you made your hips move back and forth with need.

“On the bed, darling,” he groaned, forcing himself away from you.

Unlike the other boys, Caleb kissed you right after. He kissed you long and deep once he got you on your back. Your body instantly started grinding against him, unable to hold back your pathetic whining. He chuckled at your eagerness, and answered it with his fingers. You spread your thighs further apart for his hand, gripping at his back when he plunged two digits into your dripping sex. The added pleasure of his thumb rolling around your clitoris nearly sent you spiraling.

“Caleb,” you breathed his name. “Don’t stop. That feels so good, please.”

“Oh yeah? And this too?”

He started moving them faster and deeper, his mouth going down to your bare breasts. He started sucking on the sensitive peaks, his tongue flicking at them to add more pleasure. It had you squirming under him, wanting the cock throbbing on your inner thigh.

“Hm? This feels good too, honey?” he asked, giving one nipple a tender bite.

“Yes,” you shuddered at the slight sting.

He continued giving your breasts soft bites and suckles while he fingered you. Pleasure sparked when he touched on a specific spot in you. Eyes rolling back, your nails dragged across his shoulders and earned a low moan from him. Caleb went right after it. He kept pushing right against the spot, thumb sliding over the hardness underneath the hood. Your arms and legs went up the bed, and your back started arching as that familiar bliss built up in each push. His fingers moved even faster until you both heard the wet slaps his palm made whenever it met your clit. You couldn’t handle the strain starting in your muscles; your toes curled at the approaching orgasm.

“No, no, no,” he grunted, immediately removing his fingers. “You’re finishing on me. You’re going to finish with me in you.”

“Yes, please,” you moaned, the emptiness causing your sex to clench and unclench for him.

He easily flipped you onto your front, lifting your hips up and head into the pillow. Pure euphoria coursed in your veins the second he shoved himself inside you. Fate brought the two of you together for this exact feeling. You swore your bodies move in sync with each other; desire and need blossoming in unison in each thrust. His groan matched yours, and he stayed fully buried for a few seconds. Your walls throbbed around him, squeezing the hard cock penetrating you. Caleb held onto your waist as he started at a steady pace. The smacking of your hips to his became background noise to the sounds the two of you made together. Your arms went around the pillow, fingers curling into it when your orgasm approached once more. The need to hold onto something as Caleb charged after it.

Your face went into it to muffle your constant moans, but then Caleb yanked your head up by your braid again.

“I want him to hear,” he grunted. “I want him to hear what I’m doing to you.”

“Oh god, Caleb…”

“This is mine now,” he gave your ass a sharp smack that rippled through your body. “He can marry you if he wants, this is still mine.” He went faster, body slamming into yours. “And I’m going to make sure everybody in this town knows that.”

“Yes, yes!” you said through gritted teeth, “Yes, I’m yours! Fuck me like I’m yours!”

Grabbing both your arms, Caleb held them behind you as he went faster and deeper. The wooden bed frame lightly bumped the wall in time with his rhythm, likely alerting the people next door of what was happening. You wanted them to know too. You needed all of them to know that even if you did marry someone else, Caleb Sykes could have you whenever he wanted. Your body belonged to him and only him. What was Fletcher going to do? Huff and puff? That didn’t scare you.

It took several more thrusts before you were quaking in his arms. You continued saying his name, completely lost in the sensations he created through your body. You never had it hit you so hard before. The addicting release became something you didn’t want to let go of right away. Even when it began fading, you chased it down by pushing backwards. Caleb’s cock twitched and throbbed deep inside you, a warm spray bursting there. His thrusts became more erratic, and he tightened his grip. Most men pulled out when they finished, but not him. You didn’t stop him either. You didn’t want him to even when he began slowing down. His body laying on top of yours, his hands went underneath you and his lips started putting kisses on your back. You kept grinding, wanting to keep him there for a bit longer.

“In a little bit,” he muttered in your shoulder, “I’m far from done with this beautiful body.”

“Need to make sure he knows, hm?” you giggled, recalling the bravado said in the heat of the moment.

“He’ll know when you’re leaking with me on your wedding night,” he groaned, emphasizing with a few gentle pushes.

That excited you more than anything else had before.

****

Caleb kept good on his word. He’d pulled you into the alley beside the saloon right after the ceremony. You’d done your best not to moan his name loudly or bring attention to what he was doing to you, but it was hard. He felt so good. You thought your body might be on fire just from his body being against yours. While the town celebrated your nuptials, you and Caleb rutted together in a dark alley. You know men like Caleb are far from husband material. He’d told you as much once you both finished that final time. While this did bring down your mood, you understood. He left you after that with tender kisses and promises of returning. A part of you knew this was not likely, but it felt good imagining it.

You walked up to the house on the hill with Fletcher stumbling drunkenly behind you. He smelled of beer and sweat, and it nearly brought back up your dinner. You’d done exactly what your parents wanted, so they were elated. People in town congratulated both you and Fletcher on your marriage. Yet, you saw the accusation and judgement in their eyes. What happened that night in the hotel became the talk of the town the following day. Everyone knew that YN Abernathy went into bed with Caleb Sykes before her marriage to Harold Fletcher. It gave all the old church ladies something to talk about in their sewing circles. Your mother could not even excuse or deny the claims when they confronted her. Your father pretended to know nothing about it, despite having been there. Fletcher, your new husband, tried spinning it in a positive way. If picky Caleb chose his bride to bed, then he must’ve picked a good one.

“Come ‘ere, girlie,” Fletcher said once in the bedroom.

You giggled at him trying to remove his clothes, but failing miserably. You blew out the lanterns once he fell naked onto the bed, having no desire to see what he looked like. He said nothing as you laid on your back in just your chemise. He seemed to know without saying it: only Caleb had the privilege of seeing you naked. You laid flat on your back, and he did the rest. Like your mother once told you, it finished quicker than you expected. Grunting and panting heavily, Fletcher stayed on top of you as he pushed in and out. You didn’t dare touch his wet, hairy body. You shut your eyes to block out his moaning, trying to place Caleb’s over it instead, but to no avail. Your husband simply overpowered those fantasies. Fletcher pumped a few times, grunting and panting in your ear, then came inside you.

You stayed on your side of the bed and stared at the ceiling. The hope of running off with Caleb crashed into an ocean of defeat and regret. The picture of you on his horse, his protective arms around your waist, riding off into the sunset slowly faded. You knew it wouldn’t happen, but it was nice to dream. While you wiped Fletcher off your inner thighs and sex, you stared out the window. In the distance you saw the hotel. Caleb was there, likely sleeping off you and the booze. You wished you could go to him. Did he feel the same way? Did he dream of holding you like he’d done these past few nights? Most likely not. He isn’t the type. You knew what this really was, and you have no right to demand anything else. It was a bit of fun. Nothing more.

You went back to the slumbering walrus that was your husband, and did your best not to sob too loudly.

*****

You’d found your true love in a small seven-pound baby boy. You named Jacob Fletcher, and he was the most beautiful baby you’d ever seen. Everyone who saw him said so. They always commented on his pretty blue eyes. Pale baby blues always looked wide and full of spunk even for a baby. Nobody dared mention how neither you or Fletcher had such an eye color. They didn’t say anything about his blond hair with its straight strands. Sharp, angular features didn’t resemble his father at all, even though people claimed they saw Fletcher in him. Nobody stated the obvious, and neither did you. Yet, whenever you looked at Jacob in his bassinet, slumbering quietly in the middle of the night, you found comfort in the truth.

If you could not have Caleb, then you can have a part of him in your son.

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