<br/><hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Nathan Hunter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 1, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Camp Gǒu<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Margeurite, Closed<br/><hr/>He wrinkled his nose as she mentioned that she could have walked away.  It would have been easy to suggest she simply lie, but Nathan had a higher regard for the truth, even if the caress of her words and the nearness of her body made it well nigh impossible to focus.  Emotional duress would be hard enough to prove.  There was some answer that was eluding him, some twist of the law that he knew was just out of reach.  It was impossible to think with her smell, with the intimate flicker of the light, the warmth of her body pressing so near.  His mind was rattling over legal clauses, remembering state provisions.  The majority of his experience was with criminal law, and business contracts were outside his purview.  He licked his lips, eyes still squinched close, his mouth dry.  The tips of his carefully trimmed moustache quivered while he tried to force his mind to work.<br/><br/><em>"Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude,..</em><br/><br/>He groaned and his hips responded in kind as she ground against him.  He could all but imagine the feel of her parting around him, of being buried in her wetness, and legal provisions seemed to swim in his mind, coming in waves and then dancing out of reach of his normally agile mind.  He was picturing far more than just this woman fucking him – his mind swam with the notion of wrapping an arm around her, holding her tight while they drifted to bed, of kissing her deeply, passionately.  The eroticism of seeing her press down upon him, of feeling her smooth skin sliding over the dark hair of his chest, the fiery trails of sensation left by her nipples grinding against his chest, the veiled promise of her heat and the dampness of moisture, the friction of cloth against his girth.  He was a well-endowed man – not a match for Rooster's length, to be sure, but his equal in girth, and all he could think of was tearing open those pants and yanking down his own and plunging into her.<em>THINK, NATE!</em><br/><br/><em>...except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted...</em><br/><br/>Then she was pushing herself up, just enough that the dizzying vision of her face, the supine curve of her torso, the full breasts that teased now instead of grinding against him.  There was something deliciously wanton in her eyes, a need that called to him, and he grit his teeth, tasting copper from the earlier bite of his own cheek.  It was a ploy, a stage-play, and he would not violate this woman in return for her rescue.<br/><br/><em>...shall exist within the United States...</em><br/><br/>He blinked at the name, the recognition of it clear in his eyes.<em>Good god,</em>he chided himself.  He was dry-humping a married woman and enjoying himself.  Self-loathing swept through him, and he slid fingers into her hair,  He'd met her husband at the court, looking so woebegone, his eyes red from late nights drowning his sorrows.  He remembered something about a claim, but little else, the bereft man trying to make something of his wreckage of his life in Gomorra, and he was ready to fill the inside of his own trousers with seed at the coaxing of her body.  He bit his lip, forcing pain and clarity once more.<br/><br/><em>...or any place subject to their jurisdiction." </em><br/><br/>The answer hit him like a brick to the face, an his eyes widened.  He slid fingers into her hair, pulling her close, leaning as if to kiss her.  He stopped just short, letting out an entirely unfeigned groan – though it didn't signal his release.  It was merely the effort of moving while he was still tense with arousal.  His whiskered mouth hung fractions of an inch from hers, his breath on her lips.<br/><br/>“Nathan Hunt,” he whispered to her.  “My name is Nathan Hunt.  Did you commit a crime?  When you signed your contract – had you committed a crime?”  His words were whispered, tense, and while he strained to move, to rub himself harder against her, the tense lean gave every indication he was busy loosing himself inside of.  But dark eyes were keen with intensity, burning into hers, his breath playing over her lips.  He could return to the other questions in a moment.  In truth, he was so close to the edge it was a wonder he could even think at all.