Harbinger

Kitty's Outlaw ATC

(Optional!) Chapter 4

by Lilyjack

Dear Reader, this is the (hopefully) smokin' hot, "optional" portion of the story, although there is a wagonload of emotional growth, mutual understanding, and character development achieved during this scene. I reckon you might wanna mosey on back to the ranch if steam's not your thing. I don't wish to scar any reader's sensitive retinal tissue, so consider yourself forewarned. And I can't afford a lawsuit because fanfic writers work for free…well except for kind reader notes, but those won't fly for payment on a bodily injury settlement. 😉 I hope you enjoy the final chapter. ~lj

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"Just so happens you are too late. I'm not quitting for you or anybody else. I've had it too rough to give up everything now that I've a chance to live decently and to be somebody. Funny, you offer me help for the first time in my life I don't need it...I'm safe here. People know me."

Kitty Russell to her father Wayne Russell
"Daddy-O," 1957

My heart feels like it's about to pound right outta my chest. There's a handsome, sun-kissed face inches from mine, so awful close that I've nearly stopped breathin'. Matt Dillon's about to kiss me, but this time, it's with honest-to-goodness, heartfelt intent. Not because I've tried my darndest to seduce him with my scantily clad, alluring female figure, or because he's gotten caught up in the angry heat of the moment, so to speak… He's about to kiss me again because he plain ol' wants to. And that's the best kinda kiss of all. We're on the verge of this tender, sincere kiss after a long, frank, and pretty darn fiery discussion about our checkered pasts, our uncertain present, and our decided lack of concern for what the future holds, so long as he and I can be together right now. We reckon the here and now is likely all we can count on in this wild, violent town of Dodge we call home.

With the soothing sounds of the prairie and the nearby river surrounding us - birds chirping, water gurgling, wind sighing through the tall grass - Matt reaches out a hand to touch my hair. All I can think is what a mess it is, with pins fallin' out and heavy curls haphazardly escaping, tumblin' down on one shoulder. But he gazes at it, his eyes dreamy and soft, and says, "Your hair is beautiful, Kitty…" He strokes a curl and tucks it behind my ear. "I always wanted to tell ya', but…" He stops, his expression regretful.

"I think I understand now, Cowboy," I murmur. I raise a brow at him and wryly quip, "I don't agree with your old boss's views on lawmen and their women…" A corner of my mouth curves up at him, "…but I'm beginnin' to understand a little."

He's leanin' closer, smiling, and I notice a scrape on his jaw that I reckon he got shavin'. I can smell a hint of bay rum aftershave lingering on his collar when I remember to breathe. His tongue touches his lower lip and his eyes graze over my face, my hair. His voice is throaty and full, "The sun sets it on fire…" Abruptly halting, he declares, "Say, we need to get you outta this sun."

"What?" I ask absently, wonderin' why he's suddenly standing up. He was just about to kiss me…

"You're gonna blister, honey."

He's right. My fair skin's not fit for lollygagging in the sun. I'll be burnt to a crisp. I sigh and groan as I stir because I've sat still too long in one position. But before I realize what's happening, two strong arms scoop me up, makin' my insides turn a somersault. I let out a little squeal of surprise at first, but then sink blissfully into the broad chest cradling me, my bare legs and feet danglin' over his arm.

I don't know what to say. I just ruminate to myself what a thoughtful man Matt Dillon is to worry about me gettin' burned by the sun when most men wouldn't give it a second thought. They would be a lot more concerned with kissin' me and more. A warm feeling washes over me. I contentedly wind my arms around Matt's sun-heated neck as he carries me to the deep shade of the tree down closer to the water.

He comes to a halt, surveying our surroundings, and, quick as a wink, I impulsively kiss his sandpapery cheek. He looks pleased, but light-heartedly asks, "What's that for?"

Could Matt ever understand what it means to a girl like me to have a good man care about her? "Because…" I hedge.

"Because why? Do I wanna know?" His eyes are twinkling at me now. He has such a beautiful smile. He just makes me wanna melt into a messy puddle when he looks that way. The best part is, he doesn't even realize how handsome he is. Matt Dillon doesn't have a lick of conceit in him. That's mighty refreshing.

He's still lookin' at me, actually expecting an answer. I gaze at him seriously now, my arms draped around his neck like they belong there. He's effortlessly holding me, like I don't weigh any more than a feather. I admit, "Cause nobody's ever been so nice, so thoughtful to me. You're a true gentleman, Matt Dillon." I see the skeptical look on his face and before he can protest, I lob his own words back at him, "You're either born a gentleman or you aren't. That kinda thing comes from inside. I think you're a mighty fine gentleman, Marshal Dillon."

Shootin' me a wry look, he doesn't argue, but gently lowers my feet to the ground. My hands familiarly settle on his chest as I tilt my head back to look up at him. The breeze is still blowin' softly, and I brush wayward tendrils outta my eyes.

Finally, he quietly declares, "You're the finest lady I've ever known, Kitty Russell."

The brawny hand wrapped steadfastly around my heart squeezes pretty hard now, and tears spring to my eyes, tears that I quickly swallow down. I don't recall the last time I felt so much like cryin'. Biting my lip, I say thickly, "I think it's high time you gave me that kiss, Cowboy."

"I think so, too, honey." His dark curls are wind tossed, and I reach up and thread my itching fingers through. They're soft as a baby's hair, shiny and fine. They feel even better than I imagined they would.

Standin' right there under that old cottonwood growin' down by the river, Matt reaches his long arms around me, places his big hands in the sweet spot in the small of my back and pulls me against him. The only thing between me and him is soft, white cotton. No corset, no dress, no petticoats. Just me nestled against him. I slip my arms around his neck as he dips his head low. As always, I marvel how this man is nearly tall as a tree. I tiptoe on my bare feet to reach him while he whispers, "I was a fool for thinkin' I could ever resist you, Kitty Russell." My heart sings.

My fingers thread through the hair at the back of his neck. Does he know how long I've wanted to do this? "I'm glad you finally saw the light, Cowboy. Now kiss me before I start cryin' again. You've got me turned so upside down, I don't know what I…"

He ceases further discussion on my part by touchin' his lips to mine, so soft and gentle it's as if I'm a delicate bit of sugar candy, and he's just takin' a little taste. I've never been with a man so tender in all my life. I believe I'm sufferin' a mite of Chester's swimmy-headedness is the ridiculous thought that comes to mind.

But then Matt makes a deep humming noise against my mouth that turns into a low growl, pushin' all reflections on our endearing mutual friend smack outta my head. Matt musta' enjoyed that little taste a' me because he begins to sample me in earnest, and I'm eager to get a taste of him, too. We come together and our lips hungrily part, our tongues slowly caress. We kiss and kiss again, me clutching at his shoulders, entwining my arms around his neck within his all-encompassing embrace. Big hands slide up and down my spine, finally settlin' low on my back. Fingers splay possessively across my waist and over the lush swell of my bottom. It makes my center ache with need.

Tugging at fistfuls of his shirt, I wrench the buttons, the placket of his union suit, until my hands encounter the damp heat radiating from his naked chest, his nipples taut and hard. I revel in his moan of pleasure at my caresses.

Our lips part with a sweet suckling sound and a bereft groan from us both. Breathing raggedly, I rest my forehead against Matt's hard chest, feel the pounding of his heart. My own legs are weak. This man has unsettled me exquisitely.

"Sit down," I bid him, tugging at his shoulders. He lowers himself to a sitting position, one knee bent, and pulls me down to join him. I kneel in front of him, and even now my head is scarcely higher than his. "You left your hat behind over there," I remind him, using my vantage point to again rake my fingers through that irresistible hair, reveling in its silky feel over the sensitive skin between my fingers. I see his shoulders give a little shiver, and I know that he likes it, too.

"I reckon I don't have much need of it right now," he quips, his eyes lingering on my lips. I can feel that they're swollen from Matt's heated kisses, and I know he wants to kiss me again. So I willingly oblige him, dipping my head down to meet his upturned face, his feelings shining right out through those starry blue eyes of his. We kiss slowly at first, languidly in the shade of the gnarled old tree, the afternoon rays of the sun slanting, warm and golden, toward us in our dim hideaway.

We explore salty-sweet jawlines, passion-furrowed brows, and bared throats with lips and tongues and gentle teeth. Finally, our kissing becomes urgent, feverish. We enjoy each other's eager mouths, the scent of the other's skin, the gasping, sighing sounds of newborn intimacy. We break apart for a moment, breathless, each of us looking intently at the other, a little bit surprised. Perhaps I have unsettled Matt, too. I sit back and contemplate his expression.

I don't think I've ever kissed a man this much before. The men I've known have always been in too much of an all-fired hurry to get into my drawers to take the time to love me like this, and Matt Dillon's slow, tender loving is a revelation to me. I suddenly wonder where he's been all my life. I wish with all my heart I met him sooner. Met him before my life took a turn for the worse. Before it took me down roads I dearly wish I hadn't travelled.

I notice his eyes trailing down my throat to my heaving bosom. I can feel my own body responding to his gaze, my nipples tightening. Cradling his hand in mine, I guide it to my breast. He mutely molds his hand to my soft, yielding flesh, his thumb languishing over the tight bud that's formed. I fit perfectly into his hand. As he holds me, heat rushes between my legs. I'm taken aback at what his simple touch can do to me.

My voice sounds strange to my own ears as I boldly assert, "I know you like how I look, Matt Dillon. Don't think I never noticed the way you always look at me."

Eyes squinting at me, he bites his lower lip, squeezing my ripe breast again, kneading it. I can't help but gasp quietly as I watch him. With his free hand, he traces an index finger over my cheek, down my throat and across my shoulder to the capped sleeve of my chemise sewn with delicate lace trim. He drags it down my arm. His voice is low, visceral, "When we stand together at the bar, with you lookin' so beautiful, I always wonder what you look like under all those fancy dresses you wear."

"You do?" I purr. His hand on me is driving me to distraction.

"Course, I do." He gazes at my chemise, barely covering what's underneath. "That's another thing that keeps me awake a lotta nights."

I say with bravado, "Is that why you're forever nappin' on the boardwalk in front a' your office, Cowboy? Because you're losin' sleep over me?"

"Maybe…" His finger traces across my collar bone to land on the loose ribbon over my breastbone, the ribbon I teased him with earlier. He touches a dainty shell button right below it and amends his earlier statement with a small, sheepish grin, "Probably…"

My breasts ache to be free of this confining cotton, to be touched by this man's hands. I want him to look at me. To want me. "See for yourself," I suggest lightly, although my voice betrays me by trembling. Rising to my knees again, I raise my arms in the air, offering myself to him.

Eyes widening, he reaches for the hem of my chemise, carefully pullin' it up over my head and off my arms, my tousled hair fallin' into my face. Wrists crossed, I bend my elbows and drop my hands behind my head to offer him an unhindered view of my bare breasts with pebbled pink flesh, rigid nipples jutting forward. My heart beats wildly as he drops the garment to the ground, his heated gaze burning a trail over my naked skin. I shiver at his intense scrutiny, and emboldened by his fervor, I admit, "You keep me up nights, too, Matt. When I think about you..." I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows audibly, then continue, "…with your hands all over me."

His brow is furrowed, his eyes narrowed. His tongue darts out to touch his bottom lip for an instant, and I feel a telltale tightening between my legs. "Well, don't'cha have anything to say?" I breathe.

I thought he would've grabbed ahold of me by now. When I'm wearin' certain dresses that accentuate my feminine attributes, Matt always looks at me like I'm a piece a' cherry pie, and he's ready to put ice cream on top a' me and dig in. I hafta admit, I like that. It makes my belly burn down real low and hot.

But here I am, stripped naked to the waist, and he's just sittin' there. I'm thinkin' I should maybe put my dress on and go back home, when finally his hands reach to encircle my waist, and he leans in for a tender kiss. He softly, softly touches his lips to mine, breathing in my breath, savoring my taste.

Then he pulls back, his hands still wrapped firmly around me, and says, "You're somethin' else, you know that?" His eyes trail and linger over my body, soakin' up exactly how I look underneath my fancy dresses.

I feel my cheeks start to burn almost as much as my secret throbbing center. I push my hair outta my eyes and arch my back, invitin' him to come nearer. He does. My eyes drift shut, and I cry out rapturously as he strokes my naked skin ardently, reverently, as he worships me with his hands and lips and tongue. I think I might know now how a piece a' cherry pie feels. He touches me, tastes me, everywhere, just like in my daydreams. Well, not quite everywhere just yet…

"Matt," I gasp at last. I reach for his belt, tuggin' at the buckle. He takes the hint and removes his belt and holster with practiced swiftness, abandoning it on the ground. My trembling fingers fumble at the buttons of his fly, and I'm titillated to feel that he is already aroused. He gasps when I slip my hands inside his pants and free his erection, his silken skin hot to the touch. My hand wrapped firmly around him, we kiss deeply, desperately.

I reach for my waist to tug at the tie of my pantaloons. With a grunt of frustration, I rise to my feet and work at the stubbornly knotted fabric. At last, it loosens, and I look down at Matt with triumph, a sultry, satisfied smile on my face. I step closer and realize he is fully enjoyin' the view from below. I demurely cup my breasts in my hands, hidin' them from his gaze, tantalizing him.

A small, crooked smile on his own face, Matt reaches to touch the delicate fabric still obstructing his view of the rest of my body. I feel the pantaloons slippin' down past my waist. I daintily arch a brow at him. Wordlessly, he tugs again, sliding them inexorably over the swell of my bottom, down my thighs and over my calves. They drop in a white puddle at my feet. I bite my lip as I look down at the man who just stripped me completely naked.

He seems mighty pleased at what he has uncovered. His fire and ice gaze once again scorches across my bare body. I swear I can feel its path, lingering over intimate places that I usually hide with beautiful gowns, expensive corsets, and delicate underthings. Today, I hide nothin' from Matt Dillon. I slip my hands from my breasts and stand before him.

Then he half-rises to one knee, reaches for my hand, and kisses my palm as if I were made of delicate crystal. My mouth drops open at the sheer tenderness of the gesture, and those mutinous tears again constrict my throat so I can't utter a syllable. My man of few words simply says, "C'mere, honey. Let me look at ya'," as he settles back onto the ground and urges me to walk closer.

I take a small, unsure step forward, and he wraps his huge hands around my ankles, slidin' them up to cup my calves, rubbing, stroking a path with his rough palms. It tickles, and I absently wonder why on earth he won't wear gloves when he's out ridin'. Those thoughts fly right outta my head when he slips his hands higher on my legs, stroking, caressing. I thread my fingers through his hair as he kisses first one thigh, then another. I don't quite know what to think. No one has devoted such attention to me before. My whole body is thrumming with desire.

He looks up at me, his soulful eyes questioning, then nudges my feet a little wider apart. I inhale sharply as, his thumbs parting my auburn curls, his mouth touches me. My head drops languidly back at his sensuous kisses, at his erotic attentions. I feel light-headed, and the only thing I manage to choke out is his name in a strangled whisper, over and over.

From the midst of my hazy rapture, I hear my own name called, and I see hands reachin' up for me. Matt supports me as I lower myself to sit facing him. I rest my head on his chest for a moment until I regain my senses. I look down and am gratified to see his obvious arousal. It's an exhilarating sensation to think I could do this to him, could have this effect on a man who is so strong, so honorable, so good. If he's a good man and he is drawn to me, doesn't that make me a little bit good, too?

I wanna make him happy because he makes me happy. He groans rapturously as I take him in my hand. I hold and stroke Matt's throbbing need and murmur in his ear, this time aloud, "Where've you been all my life?"

Between heated cries, he bites out, "I was just wonderin'…the same thing…Kitty Russell."

"You ready, Cowboy?" I murmur, as I wrap my legs around him. He grasps my waist, supports me while I hover over him. Our eyes lock as we join together, moans of pleasure fall from our lips, heated cries of fulfillment a long time in coming. My body is at once familiar with his, at home. I move in a primal rhythm over him and watch his face, a mask of passionate abandon. The river, the prairie, the sounds of the birds and insects surrounding us all fade to nothingness as I gaze at him. My chest feels full and tight, and I'm surprised by hot tears that suddenly roll down my cheeks.

Matt looks alarmed, kisses a salty teardrop from my cheek. "You okay, Kitty?"

I am throbbing with desire and love and happiness so intense, so big. I've never felt the like before. I murmur brokenly, "I just wish you'd been the one to get me outta Pan's place all those years ago, Matt Dillon. I wish you'd been my first."

"I know, honey…" he whispers. "I wish I had been, too."

The earnest expression on his face shatters me completely, and my body responds, shuddering, pulsating, splintering into a million pieces. I don't think I'll ever be the same after this. Another man may have been my first, but I know I want Matt Dillon to be my last.

end

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