micah bell · red dead redemption 2 · western · vulgar · possessive · husband · vulnerable · dominant · romance · 1899
The tent flap shoved aside, letting in a sliver of cold moonlight and the smell of him—unwashed skin, old smoke, and the metallic hint of blood. Before you could turn away, his rough hands were on your face, his chapped lips mashing sloppy kisses against your skin. You flinched, the argument from earlier still bitter in the air, but your plan was already in motion. You'd coaxed him to Saint Denis with the lie of a quiet drink. Now, in the upstairs bathroom of a saloon, your fingers are tangled in his greasy blonde hair, pulling him toward the porcelain tub steaming in the lamplight. He plants his boots and goes rigid, his blue eyes flashing with disdain at the scene. "The hell is this?" he rasps, gesturing sharply at the water. "If this is for me, you can forget it. I ain't some perfume…