Tarnik’s eyes searched hers—still tense and unsure. She could feel the tremble in his thighs beneath her hands.

  “M— Miss Veo—”

  She placed a single finger over his lips.

  “Just Veolo,” she whispered, then took her finger away.

  “Veolo…” he said, voice soft. Then louder, more raw: “May I touch you?”

  He wasn’t trying to be smooth. Or cocky. Not the way he had acted that first night in the saloon, when she had smashed his face through a table.

  He was hesitant, and honest. And probably a little scared, too.

  She nodded once. “Yeah. You can touch me.”

  He moved slowly, standing and hands rising like he was afraid he’d mess it up. He didn’t grab or grope—just set his palms against her hips like she was something he didn’t think he deserved. And for a long time, that had been true.

  But not anymore.

  It took her a while to see it, but he had honestly taken the lesson to heart. He hadn’t made comments, or jokes, or insults treating any of them like objects. He’d shown humility—even shame—and didn’t even try to protest Violet’s brutal judgement.

  The way he looked at her now wasn’t with hunger. It was with awe. Gratitude. Something fragile and warm she hadn’t expected from him.

  “You’re shaking,” she murmured.

  “Yeah,” he breathed, eyes flicking down. “Didn’t expect this.”

  “Didn’t plan it either. But I see you, Tarnik.”

  He looked slightly choked up.

  “You can be a real son of a bitch, sometimes,” her voice caught a playful edge, causing his eyes to drop down.

  She pressed two fingers under his chin, gently lifting his eyes to hers once more. There was something boyish behind all the hardened years.

  “I see you trying to be better,” Veolo told him softly.

  She was looking at the part of him that had never learned gentleness. Never been taught how to give or receive it.

  So she showed him.

  Veolo leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. She ran the back of her knuckles across his cheek. Their breaths mingled, warm and close.

  Then she kissed him.

  Slow.

  Gentle.

  Tender.

  Tarnik’s hands gripped her waist a little tighter, but he still didn’t pull. He wasn’t trying to take control—he was starting to let his walls down a little.

  When she broke the kiss, she didn’t pull away. Just rested her brow against his, closing her eyes.

  He looked at her delicately, like he was on the edge of falling apart.

  She pulled his hands higher, sliding them up her sides, over her ribs, until they settled just beneath her shoulder blades. He was breathing harder now, but not from lust—more like disbelief. Like he didn’t think he deserved to hold her like this.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He swallowed hard. Then, voice thick: “Yeah. Just… never felt anything like this.”

  Veolo smiled. Not her usual swagger, like she threw at people in a fistfight. Something softer. Quieter.

  “Good.”

  She guided him gently back down onto the bench, straddling him with ease. But there was no tease in it, no flaunting. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her chest to his, letting the warmth pass between them.

  The spray from the pipe still misted them both, but she didn’t care. She kissed him again, slower this time—longer. Tarnik’s hands stayed respectful, but she could feel how badly he wanted to touch more, how tightly he held himself back.

  He was swollen, firm, pulsing against the heat between her legs.

  But they remained separated—and he wasn’t even trying to ask for more.

  “You’re allowed to enjoy it,” she whispered against his lips. “I want you to.”

  That seemed to undo something in him. He exhaled, shakily, and relaxed under her touch. His hands skimmed down her back now, fingers trembling slightly as her tongue danced with his.

  They didn’t rush or crash into each other.

  Instead, it was a slow unfolding—two people laying down their weapons. She guided his mouth to her chest, holding his head there as she stroked his back. The reverence in him made her ache. His mouth around her nipple, he shuddered suddenly from the intimacy of the moment.

  “You’re ok,” Veolo whispered to him.

  A small whimper escaped.

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  Veolo swung her leg off, standing gracefully. Tarnik looked up at her, wondering what came next.

  “You asked me a question, the first night we met,” Veolo looked down over the bridge of her nose.

  He was completely lost. “Questio— wha?”

  She grinned wide.

  Then she lowered herself down, slow and smooth, until she was on her knees between his legs. She kissed his neck, then his collarbone, then his chest—making her way lower and lower. Her chest wasn’t done growing yet—but already plenty large—she let the soft skin glide down his torso as she moved.

  His face was one of disbelief. He almost tried to fight her, but gave up almost immediately as her hand held firm on his chest. She reached his beltline, kissing the skin across his hip bone as she felt him throbbing just beneath her chin.

  “You don't have t—” he tried to protest, but lost the ability to speak as she took him in her mouth.

  She could already tell this would be quick. He squirmed as her head moved up and down—strong, deliberate motions. Her tongue pressed into the underside of his length and she used one hand to gently cup his balls—

  And there it was.

  “Haaghh,” he cried out as her mouth filled quickly from him.

  She plunged, trying to get it as far back as possible as the dam continued to break.

  Some of his release spilled out of her mouth before she could swallow it all, sliding down to the base.

  She felt his hand on the back of her head, then he quickly removed it—as if thinking he was not allowed. But she reached up and grabbed it, guiding him back quickly. His fingers gripped her hair hard.

  When finally he yielded, she sank all the way down, mouth still around him—a little easier now that he was starting to soften. She recovered the little that had escaped, then withdrew.

  Veolo wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb and looked up at him. Tarnik was still breathless, pupils wide, chest heaving like he’d just gone a round in the ring.

  She stood slowly, languid and unhurried, letting his gaze follow the trail of her body. Water still beaded down her skin, tracing her curves in the dimming light.

  Then she smirked. “My turn.”

  Tarnik blinked like he hadn’t heard her right. “I—I mean… yeah, o-of course. What, uh… do you want me to—?”

  She tilted her head at him, and her brow furrowed. “Tarnik.”

  He didn't look away, but his expression moved a sliver toward timid.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Tarnik,” she said again, firmer. “All that big talk when we met and you've never even…”

  She was teasing, keeping her tone light because she knew how vulnerable he was right now.

  He wasn’t blameless. But from everything Veolo had seen of this shit town, it was likely no one around here indulged. He’d just never had a chance to learn.

  “That's it, get up.”

  Tarnik stood, not too quick but not slow either.

  Veolo grabbed his hand and started walking toward the entrance to his house.

  ‘Where are we going?” He asked nervously.

  Veolo slowed to a stop and looked back at him. Then she remembered a tip Violet had told her that men enjoy sometimes. She let go of the hand she was leading him with.

  And wrapped her fingers around his cock.

  She slowly continued walking again, pulling him along like that.

  “I'm going to find another table for your face,” but her tone obviously wasn't serious.

  Inside, his house was rough, but clean—sparse furniture, mostly handmade.

  “Which way to the bed?”

  He pointed.

  “Come,” she ordered gently, tugging his leash.

  The bed was a wide, low thing—the mattress clean but thin, the blanket slightly faded.

  She positioned him so his back was facing the bed, then slowly guided him backwards until he backed into the edge of the bed and sat down.

  She leaned in.

  Suddenly, Tarnik blurted out, “Why are you doing this? I mean—why me? Of all people, after everything that happened—after how I treated you that first night.”

  Veolo leaned her forehead to his, same as before. “Because you deserved it. And we both needed it.”

  He opened his mouth, but no words came. Just that stunned look again, like he didn’t know what to do with kindness wrapped in dominance.

  She kissed his cheek, then his lips.

  Then she pushed him gently until he laid back, legs still bent at the knees and hanging off the edge of the bed. She kissed his chest, slowly making her way upward this time.

  And she kept climbing.

  One knee planted off to the left side of his head. Then the other on the right.

  And now he understood.

  Veolo stared down at him from above, her thighs bracketing his face, one hand braced against the headboard. She reached down and gently tapped his cheek with her fingers.

  “Figure it out,” she said. “You’re a smart boy. Use your tongue.”

  Tarnik looked up at her, eyes huge. “I—I don’t want to mess it up—”

  “Oh, you will,” Veolo grinned, breath already catching. She bit her bottom lip. “That’s part of the fun.”

  Then she lowered herself onto his face, letting him taste her. It was a bit awkward.

  At first.

  But she didn’t correct him—not yet.

  She let him explore.

  But when his rhythm started to falter, she braced both hands on the headboard and rolled her hips just enough to smother his mouth again.

  “If you don’t get it right,” she panted, “you’re gonna suffocate. But I’m hoping you will—” a small noise escaped her, half gasp, half laugh. “So you can drown.”

  A muffled sound escaped him—maybe a plea—but he tried harder. Tongue searching, then flattening, then curling again.

  “Oh—” Veolo breathed. “Better. Keep going.”

  Her thighs tensed around his head, heat pulsing through her core as he started to find a rhythm that worked. She closed her eyes and let the tension melt off her shoulders. Let herself feel the gift of it—not just his tongue, but the raw, honest effort in every movement.

  She started to move her hips, grinding along his face as they found a groove.

  Then tension was building.

  “...Tarnik…” Veolo’s eyes were closed, her jaw set as she focused, hips rocking back and forth.

  When she said his name, he almost—

  “Don’t fucking stop,” she almost yelled at him.

  Her hand went down to rest atop his head as she bucked, grinding harder.

  Almost.

  “Yes,” her breathing grew shallow.

  And quicker.

  “Yes.”

  So close.

  He hadn’t even been using his hands, he’d just laid there doing as she bid.

  But suddenly she felt his fingers slide across her thighs, gripping firm—

  “FUCK.”

  The orgasm rolled through her core—her thighs squeezed his head hard and she felt him flail a little as he momentarily lost all air supply.

  But he didn’t complain—didn’t make a sound.

  His hands just held her tight as her hips shook.

  The last wave rippled through her thighs, stealing her breath. She slumped forward, bracing herself with one hand on the headboard and the other still atop his head. Her chest heaved as she slowly caught her breath.

  Tarnik was dazed beneath her—sweaty, gasping softly, face wet from her. He looked like he’d just seen a star go nova from the inside out.

  “Damn,” Veolo muttered, finally lifting off of him.

  She swung one leg over and stepped down off the bed. Her knees were a little weak, but she didn't stumble. She ran one hand through her hair—a grounding movement—then turned to look at him.

  He was still lying there, hands on his chest like he didn’t know what to do next.

  I made him so timid. That won’t do…

  She narrowed her eyes at him—half amused, half exasperated. “What, you think we’re done?”

  He rapidly shook his head back and forth. “N-no ma’am.”

  Veolo laughed once. “Hey. Get over here.” She beckoned with one finger.

  Tarnik rose and moved to her.

  Less than an inch from his face, she said, “What did I tell you to call me?”

  “Right. Sorry. Veolo.”

  “What’s my name?” she cocked an eyebrow with attitude.

  “Veolo.”

  “Who put your face through a table?!”

  “Veolo.”

  Her tone softened. “Who took care of you?” Her arms wrapped around his head, pulling him close. His face was nestled where her shoulder met her neck.

  “...Veolo,” Tarnik said quietly.

  She put her lips right next to his ear.

  And whispered:

  “Fuck.”

  “Me.”

  Tarnik’s breath hitched.

  When they broke apart, he looked at her with fire in his eyes.

  Good.

  He slowly crawled off the bed, eyes never leaving hers. They were like two predators circling each other.

  “Big Man Tarnik,” she teased him. “Watching me this whole fucking month, afraid of my fists.”

  He didn’t respond. But he kept moving closer—slowly. He was half hard, growing fuller.

  “Shame you couldn’t pin my arms behind my back, huh?”

  Her body still faced the bed. He was standing off to her side, almost behind her, so she had to look sidelong over her shoulder to see him.

  She put her arms behind her in the small of her back.

  “Oh no…” she said with a grin.

  He took the bait.

  Tarnik grabbed both of her wrists with one hand. He almost pushed her down, but he didn’t try hard enough. He was still unsure.

  “Do I look fucking fragile, Tarnik?”

  He shoved her forward, bending her at the waist.

  “Mmm,” she grinned, face in the blanket.

  Then she felt him.

  The length, laid atop her ass. He pulled his hips back, sliding it down, and the tip pressed against her folds.

  When he slid into her, she exhaled—low and steady.

  “Good,” she whispered.

  He started with shallow thrusts, cautious, controlled. It felt good—but she had some shit to work through.

  “Harder,” she said.

  Tarnik’s let go of her wrists and grabbed her waist. He adjusted—hips snapping forward with more confidence now. More force. Veolo grabbed the blanket as she arched back into him.

  “Yes.”

  He moved harder, pounding into her with all that pent-up guilt, all that repressed want, all that effort he’d been putting in ever since she beat the shit out of him in the saloon.

  Now, she was giving him something back. Letting him use her to de-stress—but only because she chose it.

  He leaned over suddenly, pushing her more onto the bed so she lay prone—his legs straddling hers. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck. His cock hit deep now, burying against her with each thrust.

  “Fuck,” Veolo groaned, the sound rough and feral. “Right there.”

  Tarnik didn’t say anything, he just kept going—driven, desperate to give her everything she wanted. She could feel every movement saying thank you, in a way his mouth never would.

  She grunted with pleasure as his body slapped against hers, plunging deep.

  “Tarnik,” she said through bared teeth.

  “Yes,” he growled.

  “I’m asking for it.”

  He fucked harder.

  “Don’t you dare fucking stop,” she rasped.

  His pace intensified.

  More.

  “You think you’re gonna win this fight?!”

  She felt the hand on her neck move into her hair and grab hard.

  Yes.

  “Come on, Tarnik!”

  He shoved her face down.

  She felt him putting his whole body into every thrust.

  The bed shook back and forth beneath them.

  Veolo bit the blanket in bliss as her eyes rolled back.

  They slammed together again and again, the room filled with the slap of wet skin and the breathless moans she refused to suppress.

  Tarnik finally sank himself to the hilt, a low, guttural noise escaping him like an exhale of aggression. A second climax ripped through her—the feeling of his throbs scratching the itch she felt in every muscle. The warmth of his release filled her deep inside.

  And finally.

  The unbearable tension beneath her skin began to fade.