LetMeTouchU4AWyle

Author's Notes:

'LetMeTouchU4AWyle' is my entry for the 2020 Literotica Geek Pride Story Event,

inspired by the song "Let Me Touch You for a While" by Alison Krauss and Union Station:

All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

********

The Wagoneer's Way was a vestige of an era lost in the dust of time. Tucked too far back from the main drag, and hidden next to an old oil tank storage yard on the wrong side of town, finding the place took a good deal of luck, and more bad than good the locals said.

The western theme bar was certainly not out of place in Wyoming, but it was said to have been old when the last wagon trains passed on their way to the Oregon coast. Little had been done to upgrade the bar's interior in that time or exterior for that matter. The booze was terrible but cheap, and the lighting was subdued and soothing.

The regulars were a quiet bunch, mostly refinery workers looking to relax after a hellish shift refining ore into metal. The men kept to themselves, and the few women who regularly set foot in the place were tougher than the men. Occasionally, fools would stumble into the bar and make a nuisance of themselves, but if they persisted, they'd discover how hard the locals were. None ever made a repeat visit.

There was a jukebox leaning up against the middle of one wall. Without coins, it somehow played continuously in the background, but none of the songs were lively numbers. The music was strictly western, slow ballads of love lost and found, mostly the former, and that was good enough.

Viewing the place from the entrance, there were booths along the right side wall, a few tables directly before the front door, and an ancient and worn bar running the length of the wall to the left. The hall to the washrooms was at the far end of the bar with the jukebox directly opposite the entrance. Before the jukebox was a sadly underutilized dancefloor that maybe fit four couples, not that anyone could ever recall seeing that many people dancing at once in the bar.

The stools lining the bar were surprisingly comfortable for being so god damned old. There had to be some wicked deal with the devil afoot to give the cushions this eternal youth.

This was the Waggoneer's Way, old, worn, and unchanged, exactly how they liked it.

-=-

It was late on a Thursday night when a beam of perfect moonlight stepped inside the bar and looked around at the half dozen or so souls drowning their weary livers in foul liquor.

She was definitely not a local as her flawless pale skin was untouched by the rough abuse life this side of town inflicted upon its residents. Between the toxic soil, the fumes belched out by local factories, and the raw heat from the refinery, the place left its mark.

But not on her.

Her outfit also advertised her to be a visitor from elsewhere. Nowhere was there a smear of dirt, grease, nicotine, or burnt threads from getting too close to the steel ovens.

Her white cowboy hat had to be brand new as the headgear almost glowed in the bar's dim lighting. It sported a pretty badge of feathers and jewels on the front of its crown.

The woman's ice blue, off the shoulder crop top had puffy sleeves and displayed a large expanse of smooth skin above the swell of her perfect breasts and left her flat stomach bare. Another distraction was the sparkling but subtle jewelry dangling from her exposed belly button.

She walked to the bar and set her tight jean encased exquisite ass on the stool, raising a well-groomed brow in surprise at its comfort. Her red cowboy boots settled on the bar's brass rail as she leaned her elbows on the surface of the bar.

The woman removed her pristine, white cowboy hat and placed it on the bar top. She ran one long-fingered hand through her thick, platinum blonde hair and shook her head to let it settle down her back.

When her hands settled once more on the surface of the bar, the light caught her reflective silver nails. They added the bling factor to her already eye-catching outfit.

The gruff bartender approached cautiously but never lost the scowl frozen on his face. Different was dangerous, so different wasn't welcome.

"May I have a glass of white wine, please?" the woman pre-emptively asked, her voice soft, smooth, and strong. This was the voice of a woman who was used to getting what she wanted.

"Wine?" the man began to bristle, but suddenly stopped when the big man two stools over, nodded once. Glancing nervously at the silent patron, the bartender moved off to the side and soon returned with a clean wine glass with white wine in it.

"Five bucks," the bartender grumbled.

The woman glanced at the only other customer seated at the bar, but he made no offer to pay for her drink, so she peeled off a bill from a wad in her pocket and handed it to the bartender. He took it and left.

She lifted the glass to her lips to take a sip. Her pale blue eyes widened slightly as the wine was surprisingly good. That was completely unexpected.

She looked around the bar and saw a few eyes glance her way in interest, but no one made an effort to visit.

That might have been due to her only companion at the bar. Her attention returned to him. He sat two stools to her right, nursing a tumbler of whiskey while he stared at himself in the mirror behind the bar.

In profile, she saw he was handsome. Maybe a little too attractive to fit in with this crowd. His jet black hair was a little wild and looked like it needed a trim or at least a proper brushing. She thought maybe he'd been running his fingers through it roughly.

His high cheekbones, strong jaw with a dark six o'clock shadow, intriguing lips, and dark eyes made her want to see more.

He sat there, almost perfectly still, like a replica of a man cast in the steel from the local refinery. His body appeared to be healthy and muscular, but his black, blue, and gold plaid shirt hid much of his torso.

His distressed jeans, on the other hand, were as tight as hers, but that was mainly due to the size of his powerful-looking leg muscles. He wore worn black steel-toe work boots on his big feet. A black cowboy hat rested on the bar on his right side.

Glancing once more around the bar, she decided he was the one.

When she concentrated on him, she saw the fingers of his right hand were slowly twirling a wedding band he wore on his left hand. He was married?

Her eyes rose from his fingers to his face, and she was surprised once again. As he looked down at his whiskey, she caught a glance from him. She sucked in a quiet breath as the pain in his eyes sent a shiver through her.

"Hey, are you okay?" she blurted softly.

Brown eyes so dark they might have been black, focused on her for a moment. She swore she could feel his gaze on her skin. He looked back into his tumbler, nodding. He threw back the amber liquid, then tapped the rim for another shot. She watched his hands and saw scars, burns, and calluses. His were hands that had seen a lot of heavy manual work and pain.

She watched the bartender pour another drink for his customer, but not once did he look up from the surface of the bar. Soon, he was back in the corner, pretending to be invisible. Obviously, he wasn't someone to tell your troubles to. She looked back at the big man. It seemed inconceivable that anyone could hurt him, but the pain in his eyes was there for all to see. She glanced at the bartender. For those brave enough to look, that is.

Picking up her hat and drink, she moved to the stool next to the man. He took another look at her but otherwise made no objection.

"I believe the best way to deal with something troubling you is to talk it out to a sympathetic ear. I'm willing to listen," she offered.

He glanced at her again. "What if I don't want to talk?"

She watched his face and knew he needed this. He might do something dangerous to himself or worse, others, if he didn't get closure.

"I'll start. A simple introduction. I'm Belle," she said, turning her stool to face him and held out her beautifully manicured, smooth skinned hand.

He looked like he wanted to protest but found himself unable, or at least unwilling, to be rude. He looked cautiously at the mirror finish of her shiny nails then gently enveloped the offered hand in his big fist. "Cole."

She smiled at him. "You seem sad, Cole."

"There's no law against that," he grumbled and turned back to his tumbler.

She watched him for a bit then leaned just a little bit closer. She saw his eyes glance at her. So, she still had some of his attention. "Are you enjoying being sad?"

His face turned to her, a look of confusion blended with anger plain on his features. "What kind of question is that?"

"You don't seem to be doing anything about being sad, so I thought you might be enjoying it," she suggested.

His mouth worked then she saw his jaw clench in suppressed rage. Finally, a shudder went through his body. Belle noticed the bartender was no longer at his post. Looking to the tables, she saw some of the other patrons had left quickly as well.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The quiet words were spoken slowly, each one sounding like it was being ripped from his guts. He was shaking with reaction by the time he finished.

"No... I've never had the privilege. It's one of my dearest hopes and dreams," Belle said honestly.

He made a choking sound then closed his eyes to take some deep breaths. He finally nodded and looked at her.

"Being in love... is being more than you ever could be, alone."

Belle saw Cole's absolute conviction. "When did you know it was love?"

His eyes got a little glassy. "Eight... eight years ago." He spun the ring.

"You've lived here that long? With these people?" she clarified.

"Yes, I met her in town," he said, then shut his eyes as pain crossed his brow.

Belle didn't want to go in that direction yet. "What do you do?"

The question caught him by surprise, but a little tension seemed to bleed away. "I work in the refinery."

"Do you like the job? Is it fulfilling work?" she asked.

He calmed a little more. "It's not particularly hard but it's dangerous as fuck. You need to be meticulous and careful. I'm good at it."

"Who was she?"

Cole sucked in a sharp breath as the sudden change in direction shook him.

He looked at his ring. "Lorraine. My wife."

"Did she work at the refinery too?" Belle asked and heard Cole sign with a release of tension.

"No, she worked at a bank in town."

Belle reached out to take his left hand in hers and ran her thumb over the ring on his finger. Cole seemed to be having trouble breathing as she held his hand. "You were married for eight years—"

"SEVEN!" Cole gasped out.

Belle held his eyes with hers and nodded. It was time. "What happened?"

His voice failed him at first. He couldn't look away from Belle's lovely pale blue eyes, so full of compassion. His chest hurt. He didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to stop this woman from peeling him open like this... but he also didn't want to stop.

Her hand held his on the bar top. He stared at it as she gently squeezed his big paw.

"She cheated. She slept with her boss— had been sleeping with him for a year. Sometimes in our bed. They ran off together last week. She left a note," Cole choked out.

"What are you going to do besides drink?" Belle asked quietly.

Cole growled at her. Great violence suddenly exploded in his mind, desperate to get out and shred, crush, and destroy... everything. It might have gotten loose, but Cole's control over his body was absolute. The monstrous, insatiable savagery never made it beyond his eyes.

Belle watched the terrifying madness and rage struggling to escape, and her pale skin took on a sickly tone.

Cole felt his sanity returning as Belle's hand tightened on his. Then he saw the tension in her eyes, and he felt ill.

"What will I do?" he said quietly as he pulled his hand from under Belle's and reached for his whiskey. Tossing it back, the sadness appeared in his eyes once more. "I can do nothing, or I risk losing everything."

He saw Belle trying to think of something to say, and he sighed. "The pain in my heart eats at me, but it also reminds me... I once experienced love. I will not lose that for anyone."

They were quiet for a moment, and Belle sipped her wine to wash the sour taste of fear from her mouth. She heard the music change and reached for Cole's hand once more.

He looked at her cautiously.

"Please," she asked softly.

He let her pull him from his stool and guide him to the dance floor. Once there, she turned to face him. He was only a few inches taller than her, so she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her wrists crossed behind his head, then tucked her face against his neck as she leaned her body against his. She felt his arms slowly wrap around her back, and they began to slowly sway to the music.

Cole held the beautiful woman in his arms and felt his senses becoming overwhelmed. The delicate scent of her shampoo teased his nose as did the warm honey scent of her body.

Belle felt so soft yet substantial in his arms. He realized he hadn't held anyone like this for a long time. Lorraine had been pulling away from him for months without him realizing the cause. Only now, with a woman pressing herself to him so intimately, did he recognize how long he'd been without.

They held each other, moving slowly to the music and remained that way through the next three songs.

Belle felt Cole's muscles trembling, and she held him a little tighter. He responded by finally relaxing his hands on her back, which had remained clenched. She sighed at the feeling of those powerful fingers gripping her back muscles. He smelled of fire and iron with a warm, masculine spice beneath.

When her lips caressed his neck, Cole gasped, and his hands moved on her back. She slowly kissed her way up his neck to his ear, where she gently bit his earlobe.

"You feel wonderful in my arms, Cole. I won't break. You can hold me tighter," she whispered breathily.

Cole's hands responded by kneading her muscles, one hand moving up to between her shoulder blades, the other dropping to her bare skin just above her ass.

She cooed in his ear as she loved the feeling of his hands on her body. Her breasts were squeezed against his hard muscles, and that sent tingles through her. When his hand moved closer to her ass, she sucked in a sharp breath and pressed her lips to his neck firmly, feeling the steady beat of his pulse.

Something else was pulsing against her, and that felt even better. As they moved slowly around the dance floor, swaying to the music, their touching began to generate a delicious heat.

Cole's heart was pounding as his mind tortured him with images of Lorraine in bed with another man while he was in the arms of Belle.

Sensing his building unease, Belle pulled back to look in his eyes. "Hey, cowboy, what's wrong?"

"I-I can't. It's been a long time. She—" he began.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh." Belle cupped his face between her soft hands and felt him tremble. "You're here, and so am I. What happened before doesn't matter, and it holds no sway over what we do tonight. I want to be with you as I think you look really fine. I think you've been unhappy for too long. Let me touch you for a while."

His mouth dipped down to touch hers, delicate as snow landing on a flower. He pulled back and saw she was still in his arms, pressed against his body, not a figment of his imagination. She pulled his face down to hers, and he surrendered to her need.

The kiss was tender, her lips were exquisitely soft and caressed his mouth with a promise of heat.

Cole struggled against the urge to take her here on the dance floor. His need for a physical connection to another being was so intense it was almost blinding. His hand slid lower to cup her ass as the other slipped below her top to feel the skin between her shoulder blades.

Belle moaned with need as lightning shot through her nerves from his grip on her ass. He was so fucking strong! Her need for him flared, and she slipped her tongue into his mouth as her hands slipped up into his hair to try and control their kiss. It was no use, his hunger for her was carrying her away into bliss.

A chair fell over, its occupant landing on the floor with a heavy thump, jarring Cole from the kiss. His eyes focused on Belle's face before his, tilted back and flushed with desire, eyes half-lidded, and her dark red lips still parted from their kiss. The pink tip of her tongue darted out to touch her plump lower lip, and he felt the need to chase it with his own tongue.

He glanced over to see the embarrassed drunk getting back to his feet.

He looked to Belle once more. "We-we should find a better place to continue this. Do you want... to continue—"

"Your place," she quietly blurted as she stepped back from him.

He gave her a brief nod, and they went back to the bar to pick up their hats. The bartender was back and gave them a brief smile and nod, which seemed so out of character, they paused before nodding in response and made their way to the door.

Stepping outside, Cole took a deep breath of night air, the pong of the factories reduced at night.

"Your car?" he asked.

"I got a lift here. We can take yours?"

He nodded and gestured towards the black 1975 Ford F150. He opened the driver's door and lifted her onto the bench seat. She slid along until he had room to get in.

He started the truck and got them out of the parking lot, down the lane, and out onto the main road.

Belle put her hat on the seat next to her, then lifted his right hand from the wheel and tucked herself in against his side. She slid her left hand over his right leg and gave it a squeeze. She looked up at him and saw the heat flare in his eyes.

It was a fifteen-minute drive to the small single-story home off the county road north of town. Belle could only see part of it from the beams of his headlights until a motion detector caught the truck and lights came on to light up the covered front porch running the width of the home. It looked warm and welcoming, with two rocking chairs waiting for occupants at one end with a swing at the other.

Cole parked the truck and slipped out his door, holding an arm out to assist her from the truck. She took his hand in hers and slid to the end of the bench, her hat in her other hand. Once he could, he took a grip on her hips to lift her from the truck. He brought her to his chest and kissed her once more.

Belle wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as she kissed him deeper. She was only partially aware of him carrying her to the porch, climbing up the stairs, and walking to the door. When he dropped his keys, she had to end the kiss as she chuckled at his frustrated moan.

Cole set her on her feet once more then he picked up the keys to unlock the door. He pushed the door open and reached in to flip the light switch before leaning back to gesture for her to enter. With a smile, she stepped inside and smiled as she saw it was an open concept cottage. Centered on the opposite wall were double doors she assumed led to an extension out the back for the bedroom. To the right of those was another door she saw was for a bathroom. The kitchen filled the right wall of the cottage, then the dining area before her with the living room with a fireplace to her left. All was visible from the front door, except for what was behind the double doors.

She saw Cole sitting on a bench by the front door, removing his boots. She smiled at him and spun a nearby chair from the dining room table and sat on it, facing Cole. Once he'd removed his second boot, she lifted one of her red cowboy boots for him to remove for her. He smiled at her cheeky grin and gripped her leg and the boot. He slipped it off with a little tug. He placed it next to his work boots and looked up to see she'd lifted her other foot. He pulled that boot off as well, then stood.