<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 2nd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Night<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The road to Vigilance Ranch<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Margeurite, Closed<br/><hr/><strong>”I - “</strong>”  He wasn't sure.  She'd been gentle with him, told him so, but there was a part of him that always wondered.  He could remember looks of reproach, the way she clothed herself  after the times, in the beginning, when they tried to be as man and wife.  As though his touch had humiliated her.  He'd felt like a beast, a monster, and any physical passion had waned quickly as her conditioned worsened.  The notion that the exertion had deteriorated her condition had made it a quiet relief to simply spend the evenings holding her rather than seeking pleasure.<strong>” - I hope so.”</strong><br/><br/>The sharpness in her eyes made him look up, surprise making him meet her eyes.  The ire in her eyes, in every word made him blanch.    Then her finger was across his lips, and he winced as he called her self a whore, then repeated the word.  It had never been his intention – just to form a ruse, but his intentions mattered little when the ten minutes had ended with his cock buried in her.<br/><br/><strong>”You can.”</strong>he said softly.  He'd hung men for it.  It hadn't made him popular with the miners, stringing up one of their own when the man had gone berserk, cutting a girl and taking her.  He didn't argue with her, didn't know how to respond to the fierce anger in his eyes.  Even is she'd been a willing participant, he'd treated her like a whore, and it still made a part of him ache.  He'd given more respect to the doxies in Casino Morongo, treating the whores like ladies – and when his mettle had been tested, he treated a lady more in need of his aid than any of them like a whore.<br/><br/>But instead of arguing any further, he put a hand over hers, turned it, and brushed his whiskered lips against her knuckles, a kiss he'd afforded to a woman of station.  A lady.  For him it was a moment of deference, respect, an unspoken oath.  It was utterly sincere, the deference he owed her.  Words failed him, and he hoped instead that at some point in the future, he might make amends with his actions instead.