Lone Wolf of Saturnine

That's Murfree Country

For the second morning in a row, Charles woke with Irene in his arms. It was already growing into a situation he wanted repeated every morning. Her body was warm and a comfort in his arms, enough to make him want to close his eyes and sink back into a blissful sleep.

That is, until remnants of their conversation of last night trickled into the forefront of his mind. Charles glanced down, to the top of Irene's head, her blonde hair loose and shining from the sunlight streaming between the plank walls. He recalled the sight of her trembling in front of him, frightened from the storm.

It wasn't until she'd pleaded for him to hold her that he realized how debilitating her fear had truly been. It was a concept he had a hard time understanding. He'd never found nature a thing to fear, but it was something he could accept and try to help her with. Mostly, it was what she hadn't said that had left him with misgivings. She only gave brief details as to her past, but they'd been enough to get him guessing.

She hadn't made it obvious, what her tangled past contained, but he could put together the few clues she had provided him. She had a reward on her head. She feared being taken in by the law. 'Irene' wasn't her real name. Charles knew only too well the kind of person who possessed these traits.

An outlaw.

When Irene had told him she was on a poster, he'd wracked his mind trying to think of any and all women he'd ever seen on wanted posters. Who could she be? Someone with a high enough price on her head that she believed she would be recognized on sight.

A few names and faces came to mind. Belle Starr, Pearl Hart, Etta Place...but, from his memory, none of them matched in resemblance or age of Irene. He didn't even know if she worked alone or part of a gang like him. Was she merely a petty thief, or a hardened bank robber? A possible murderer? Without her revealing her name, it would be impossible to figure out.

As if she sensed his mind buzzing, Irene stirred in his arms. He watched her eyelids flutter briefly before they slowly opened. Her sleepy gaze rose and she met his eyes. Her crystal, blue-gray irises took his breath away. In them, he saw her full trust, guilelessness, and hope. All his swirling doubts about her ground to a halt.

How could Charles believe her to be involved in anything nefarious when she gazed at him like that? She'd left him with so much unanswered, but the more he looked at her, the less worried he grew of who she truly was. He'd always been careful about who he put his faith in, but the purity in her gaze could tell no lie. He saw no malice, no thief, no murderer. She was simply Irene.

Irene tilted her chin and leaned closer. He knew what she sought and was unable to resist when her lips met his. Because, he didn't have any resistance when it came to her. He'd been falling for her since they'd met, secrets and all.

The contact between them struck as electric as the lightning of last night. Her mouth was so soft, pliant, yet responsive and firm in their endeavor. She hummed in pleasure against his mouth and it sent all other thoughts from his mind. All he felt was her mouth, her warm breath, her breasts pressing against him, and fingers clutching the nape of his neck. Her skin smelled clean, freshened from the rainfall.

Their lips moved furiously together, the kiss deepening as her tongue entered his mouth. Charles was all hers, unable to stop himself. Instead, he wanted more. He wanted her closer.

Irene was of the same mind as she shifted her position. She rose, pushing him back against the bed, but never allowing their mouths to lose contact. She moved over his chest, resting over top of him, her knees on either side of his hips.

Her fingers began to unbutton his shirt, moving down one by one in a smooth and agile line. As she loosened his shirt, he started on hers, but he had more difficulty with finding her buttons with his hands wedged between their bodies.