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Eliza is not sure how they ended up here. All she had planned for the day was to go into work, maybe eat supper there, and then go home. With her mother visiting her aunt, she knew that all she was supposed to do was go to work and go straight home. Sure, she was often social at work—she had to be. But it wasn’t like her to have guests over. Being alone for the next few weeks, her mother had explicitly told her not to have any visitors come inside. She had already let the neighbors come in a few times, maybe that’s why she had felt so emboldened? Then again, she supposed that they weren’t necessarily inside , as she was fairly certain her mother only meant for her not to bring anyone into the house .
The man hummed a little against her mouth. How had they ended up here? What even was his—
Oh, she scolded herself, what was his name? You should at least remember his name.
“You’re real pretty, miss,” he had said to her, staring up at her partially through his eyelashes. He had had lovely blue eyes, though she hadn’t been about to tell him that.
“You’re real drunk, mister,” she had replied. He had laughed.
“Suppose I am.”
She had offered him a smile and a “Let me know if you need anything,” before returning to attend to her other patrons. Part of her had assumed that he would have been gone by the time she came back. Or that he would have turned his attention to one of the other girls who would have maybe played along with his advances more. But as she had gone about her night, she had continuously thought about those eyes, sparing glances at him from across the room. She had caught his eye once or twice, turning away before he could beckon her over.
Partially against her better sense, she had returned some time later to collect his plate, instead of passing off his table to another girl. He had still been alone. No other girls had been loitering around him and he had smiled at her again. He had a lovely smile. She had smiled in return despite herself.
“You got a feller?” he had asked her. She remembered thinking, My… he is drunker than I thought. She had smiled a little more.
“What concern is it of yours?” she had asked, laughing lightly. He had leaned back in his chair, holding up his hands in surrender.
“I guess it’s no concern of mine,” he had replied. “I was just thinking he was mighty lucky.” He had given her that look through his eyelashes again, paired with that dastardly smile and Eliza had felt her heart flutter. She had looked down at the floor, feeling herself flush.
“Well, there’s no feller in my life,” she had replied. “So there’s no one for you to be jealous of.” He had smiled wider.
“Who said I was jealous?”
“Don’t be funny.” She had swatted at him playfully, laughing despite herself. He had leant back forward, resting his arms against the table.
“It’s rather late, miss. You need someone to walk you home?” He had smirked a little. “Seeing as you don’t have a feller?”
She had humoredly scoffed and turned slightly away from him. “Sir, I’m not sure what sort of lady you think I am. I may be a waitress but that doesn’t mean I’ll let a stranger walk me home!”
His smile had faltered for a moment before he seemingly caught on and hung his head for a moment, chuckling.
“I guess I hadn’t properly introduced myself.” He had looked back up at her. Her stomach had knotted at the sight of those gleaming eyes and smile. “Arthur Morgan.”
Arthur Morgan. His name rattled around in her mind. Arthur Morgan had sobered up some in the hour it had taken her to finish her shift. He had smiled at her more on the walk home, holding out a kerosene lamp in front of them and chatting with her as they made their way out of town and up the path towards the home she shared with her mother and the ghost of her father. She had stopped several paces from her front door, biting her bottom lip and smoothing out her skirt nervously. She had asked him if he was handy. When he replied that he liked to think himself so, she asked if he would be willing to look at a broken hinge on their barn door.
He had accepted.
Eliza couldn’t remember who had kissed who first, though she wasn’t sure it mattered now. It hadn’t mattered to her before when she had snuck up to the hayloft with the newly hired farmhand Theodore several years prior. It was only that once, given that her father passed soon after. Her and Mother had to sell all the animals just to pay off the hands and she had never seen Theodore again. Maybe that’s why she had brought Arthur to the barn instead of inside. Now, it didn’t smell of straw and sheep and shit. All she could smell was the faint whiskey on his breath and stale sweat.
“I’m not sure what sort of lady you take me for,” she muttered, pulling away from him slightly. The reflection of the lamp danced across his darkened eyes like the moon on disturbed water. She wanted to get lost in his eyes, let herself be ensconced and devoured by their depths. She wanted to pull him close and not let go. Some part of her was wanting and hungry and needy. And some part was hesitating. It was quieter, but she knew to listen for it.
He smiled at her, his mouth still inches away from hers. “Was I presumptuous, miss?”
“All I asked was for you to take a look at my barn door,” she teased. She hoped that he understood that she was being facetious.
“And I can still do that if you would like me to,” he answered, smiling unwavering. “I had just assumed that when you kissed me, that was supposed to take precedent.”
Heat rose in her cheeks and she looked away, but her hands didn’t move from where they were resting on his shoulders. Momentarily, she debated pushing him away and scurrying inside and pretending this all hadn’t happened. Would he follow her if she did? He didn’t seem like the type. He had offered to walk her home instead of asking her to come upstairs to one of the hotel rooms. He hadn’t asked to go in with her when they had arrived. Seemingly, he would actually fix the door if she really wanted him to. He had been polite to her all evening and hadn’t badgered her to speak with him. Maybe that’s why she had invited him back here in the first place.
“I suppose you were right about that,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. He laughed at it nevertheless. Her heart fluttered and something twisted in her stomach in a pleasant way. She looked back up at him, not sure what she was expecting to see. Gently, he placed a finger under her chin and his thumb below her lips, tilting her head up as he leaned back in and kissed her. Slow and gentle, not as hungry as before.
“Well,” he started, pulling away again. “Supposing I am right to follow your lead and given that you are a lady.” He kissed her again. His hands returning to her waist, he carefully backed her up a few steps until her back was pressed against the barn wall. Even through the layers of fabric of her chemise and corset , she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. She wanted him closer, she wanted to feel his skin on hers. She was sharply disappointed as he broke the kiss once more. “I suppose I should treat you like one.”
As he stepped back from her, rejection cut through her. Treat me like a lady? She opened her mouth in protest. Is he going to just leave me —her mind went quiet as she watched him dropped to his knees, lifting up the layers of her skirt and looking up at her through his lashes. That look melted any reservations she may have held and she wanted whatever he would give her.
“I was always told ‘ladies first,’” he said to her. “If that’s alright with you?”
“Yes,” she breathed, nodding.
He smiled again as he lifted the fabric layers up towards her waist, revealing her drawers . Pinning the excess layers against her stomach gently with one hand, he pushed the slit in her drawers open, exposing the dark curls and delicate skin to the chilled night air. Before she could anticipate what would happen next, his mouth made contact with her and she gasped. The brush of his lips tickled slightly, but it was overridden by the pleasure that coursed through her as he licked her. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again until her breathing was becoming labored as she curled forward slightly.
He glanced up at her around her petticoats, not removing his mouth. He repositioned his hand to keep the fabric out of the way as he held her by the waist, his tongue still moving. Without pausing, he put his other hand around the back of her leg, lifting it on to his shoulder and then swiftly moving his hand to the side of her waist to better support her. Instinctively, Eliza’s hand went to the back of his head. Whether it was for support or to encourage him, she wasn’t sure, but he continued.
A noise escaped from the back of her throat as his tongue passed over an especially sensitive spot. Seeming to catch on, he focused his tongue there and she felt her belly begin to tighten. Her unsupported leg shook and her muscles tensed. Everything was so warm and wet and she distantly wondered where he had ever learned to do this. He seemed so adept at it, continuously finding just the right spot that seemed to light her whole body on fire and made colors dance behind her eye lids.
As another moan passed her lips, he readjusted his hands again so that the one that had been supporting her leg at the waist was now also holding up her skirt as his other disappeared for a brief moment. Shortly, she felt his fingers part her folds of skin slightly and one of them worked its way into her, rubbing gently inside of her. Something akin to a cry escaped her mouth and she gripped his hair. He didn’t flinch, working his tongue and finger in tandem.
“Arthur,” she gasped, another one of his fingers slipping inside of her. He hummed in response, sending pleasure vibrating through her core. Eliza wasn’t sure what noises she was making, nor did she really care. Every stroke of his fingers and tongue were clouding her mind more and more. Despite how cold it had been just minutes prior, she felt like she was on fire. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his face and fingers. Every time she rocked forward and back, he was right there to meet her—licking and rubbing and humming. Seemingly, he was pleased with what he was doing to her. The most she had done with Theodore was kiss him and had stroked him hurriedly a few times before they risked getting caught. She never could have imagined anything like this was possible.
But there was Arthur Morgan, on his knees in front of her, fingers inside of her, and tongue moving in circles on her delicate skin. There was no one to catch them this time, though part of Eliza felt like she wouldn’t even care if they did. All she cared about was the feeling of his tongue on her, the feeling of his hair between her fingers, the satisfaction he was seemingly taking in every moan that escaped her. Something had been twisting in her stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every passing moment. She never wanted this to stop.
She felt something snap. The muscles of her stomach shuddered as waves of pleasure coursed through her, escaping her like a sob. She bent forward, the boning of her corset digging into her skin, loose tendrils of hair falling into her face. Arthur removed his mouth from her to look up at her.
“That’s my girl,” she heard Arthur say distantly, his fingers still moving inside her. Involuntarily, she whimpered, feeling herself rhythmical clench and loosen around his fingers. The pleasure slowly subsided, though she still felt foggy and almost light-headed. Arthur pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh as he gently removed his fingers from her and her leg from his shoulder. His chin shone slightly in the lamp light, as her skirt fell back down. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and stood. Eliza had to do everything in her power to keep herself upright and not to melt down the wall into a puddle on the barn floor. Her breathing was still uneven and her ribs hurt from where her corset had dug into her.
As he finished cleaning off his face and fingers, he looked back over at her. With a sly smile, he stated, “I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous in what sort of treatment a lady like yourself was deserving.”
“When will I see you again?” The words tumbled out of her mouth as he barely finished his sentence. Arthur laughed.
“You’re eager to be treated like a lady again?”