A Hard Bargain (Sneak Peek) (Patreon)

Here's a preview of a smutty little story I'm cooking up!

Muse:

Vernon sat behind the counter on a quiet late afternoon, one boot propped on a lower shelf, a thin pipe clamped between his lips. Smoke curled past his balding head and drifted toward the high window as he lounged about. He read through an old ledger, its pages stained and its corners soft from years of handling. He turned one page without really reading it. 

He had the shop for nearly thirty years. The sign out front was faded, the lettering worn down to the point that most people just called his shop “the old place,” but the stock inside was another matter. Through methods unknown, he sourced what others couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Dried herbs from distant lands that still held their potency. Rare salts and ground dragon bone that mages sought. The occasional locked case of things that weren’t strictly legal to sell. But he had his connections. Customers came from farther out than they liked to admit, grumbled about his prices, and still left with what they needed. He lived above the shop in two narrow rooms that smelled of pipe smoke and old wood. Most nights he ate alone at the small table by the window and went to bed early. 

His free hand dropped to his lap. He adjusted himself through the worn fabric of his trousers; the familiar strain there sat heavy and neglected. It had been weeks since he’d had a proper good fuck. The town brothel didn’t hit the same anymore. The girls knew his face and his coin, but none of them held his interest anymore. Too practiced. Too quick to finish and move on. Lately, he hadn’t bothered making the walk at all. He desired the chase of an authentic woman. It only made the sex better knowing he had to work for it, and not pay for it. He let out a long exhale through his nose and turned another page. 

The bell above the door gave a short, dull ring. 

He looked up.

The woman who stepped inside was tall enough that the top of her staff nearly brushed the frame. Lavender hair fell past her shoulders in soft waves, bangs resting just above a pair of round glasses. Freckles scattered across her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Her clear blue eyes scanned the shelves as she moved deeper inside. She wore a fitted mage’s robe in muted gray-green, loosely belted at the waist so the front hung open. Beneath it, a simple underdress sat low across her chest, the neckline dipping far enough to show the full swell of her breasts and the shadowed line between them. The robe’s hem stopped high on her thighs as she walked, and the smooth skin of her legs caught the light from the window. A thin gold band circled one upper thigh, just visible when the fabric shifted. 

Vernon’s pipe nearly fell from his mouth. His gaze dropped straight to the open front of the robe, then lower, tracking the length of her legs as she crossed the shop floor. He set the book down without a glance. His tongue dragged hungrily across his lower lip, slow and deliberate, before he finally spoke. 

“Well, well, afternoon, milady,” he greeted lowly, eyes fighting to stay from dropping to her cleavage. “Looking for something specific, or just browsing?”

She stopped a few steps from the counter, staff resting lightly against her shoulder. She met his eyes over the rim of her glasses, one brow lifting slightly at how he was obviously looking at her. 

“Something quite specific,” she answered. “If you have it.”

Vernon leaned back in his chair, one hand still resting near his lap. He didn’t bother hiding the look he gave her cleavage again before he answered. “Depends on what it is,” he replied smoothly. “And what you’re willing to pay for it.”

She stayed put for a moment, one hand on her staff, the other loose at her side. Her eyes moved over the shelves behind him, then back to his wrinkly old face. The doubt sat plain as day, the kind that came from walking into too many shops that claimed to have what they didn’t.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask,” Vernon said. He took the pipe from his mouth and set it in the dish, the smoke thinning between them. “Might as well say it.”

She let out a long sigh and nodded once. “Very well… A keystone. The kind used for binding work. Not the common grade.”

Vernon leaned back a little in the chair. His eyes narrowed as he thought, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. He didn’t answer right away. She watched him for another second, then shifted her weight as if she were already turning toward the door. 

“I figured you wouldn’t have one,” she finally said. “Most places don’t. Sorry to bother you.”

He gestured toward the counter with two fingers. “Come around. Easier to show you from this side. Heh, can a man at least try to find what you’re looking for? I’m sure you came a long way.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a look. Shaking her head, she followed, staff tapping once against the floorboards as she stepped past the end of the counter. Vernon dropped to one knee beside a row of old chests with a low groan and started pulling drawers. Wood scraped. Glass clinked. He set a few jars aside without looking. 

While he searched, she turned toward the nearest shelf. Her fingers hovered over a row of sealed vials, then stopped on a small locked case higher up. The contents inside caught the light differently. Her eyes widened behind her glasses. She leaned in, studying the labels without touching anything. 

Vernon glanced up, sneaking a peek at her legs before catching the look. He kept digging, one hand sifting through wrapped bundles. “So, does a pretty lady have a name?”

She didn’t answer at once. She stayed focused on the case for another moment before straightening and looking at him. “Mira.”

“Ah, Mira,” he repeated.

He nodded, still half turned toward the open drawer. “The name’s Vernon. Been here longer than most people who walked through that door.” He pulled a cloth-wrapped piece free and set it on the counter between them. “Is this what you are after, or close enough?”

Mira reached for the cloth-wrapped piece and lifted it. The weight settled in her palm. It felt right. She turned it once, then again, the light catching the faint etchings along its edge. Her brows lifted. This was exactly what she needed. Not a close match. The real thing.

She glanced back at the locked case on the shelf, the one that had caught her eye a moment ago, then down at the keystone again. Vernon watched her face. Gods, she’s pretty, he thought. The corner of his mouth pulled into a small smirk as he stayed crouched by the open chest, one forearm resting on his knee. 

“How do you even get a hold of something like this?” she asked, inspecting the keystone closely. “These things aren’t the easiest to come by.”

He shrugged once. “Got a few pals still tied to the guild. They kick things my way when they don’t want to deal with the paperwork. Heh, and let’s say a few people in high places owe me a thing or two. So I have my ways.”

He pushed himself up and brushed his hands on his trousers. Mira placed the keystone back onto the counter between them. He cleared his throat and named the price without looking away from her. “Fifteen gold stags seems fair enough for that.”

Mira’s brow arched, and she crossed her arms under her chest. “That seems a little much, no?”

“Is it?” Vernon replied, though he knew how badly she wanted this.

“For what it is, yes.” She rested one hand on the edge of the counter. “I can go lower. Half that, and I’ll take it today.”

His gaze slowly dropped again to the open front of her robe, and the low line of the underdress beneath it. The swell of her breasts shifted when she leaned in. He didn’t bother lifting his eyes right away. His tongue dragged across his lower lip before he answered. 

“Half leaves me short,” he countered. “You want the full piece or not?”

Mira kept her hand firmly on the counter. “Ten,” she offered sternly. “That’s fair for what it is. I’ll take it now, and we both walk away clean.”

Vernon shook his head. “Eh, these are hard to come by. The guild doesn’t hand these out just to anyone, dear, and the ones that do slip through get bought up fast. You won’t find another in town. Not at any price. Save yourself the walk.”

She opened her mouth again, ready for another number. He cut her off before she could finish.

“No.”

“Ten and thirty silver stags?”

“Nope.”

“What if I trade you a vial of wyvern’s venom? This is worth a lot.”

“Don’t need it.”

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the wood. Vernon watched her shoulders shift slightly, her eyes flicking to the door, then back to the keystone still between them. Desperate. Not panicking yet, but close enough that she was already calculating how far she could stretch what she had. 

“How much coin you got on you right now?” he asked bluntly. 

Mira narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s a bit rude to ask.”

“And?”

She exhaled through her nose. “Ten gold stags and some silvers and coppers is all I have. That’s it. Ideally, I don’t want to be completely broke while on the road.”

Vernon stayed quiet for a moment. The shop was still. He could hear the faint click of the old clock on the wall and the soft shift of her robe when she adjusted her stance. His cock had already started to thicken against the inside of his trousers, a slow, heavy swell that made the fabric pull. This was the part he liked. The push. The way she kept standing there instead of walking out. 

He let his eyes drop again, tracing the open line of her underdress and the soft weight of her breasts above it. When he looked back up, the corner of his mouth pulled into a devious smile.

“Well, ten and whatever you have still won’t cover it, unfortunately,” he said. “But I can still cut you a deal… Depends on what else you’re willing to put on the table.”

Mira’s head tilted to the side, brows arching curiously. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not only interested in coin today.” His voice stayed low. He shifted his weight, just enough to make the growing tightness in his trousers harder to ignore. “If you stay a little longer, and we talk about what you can offer instead. You might just walk out with the keystone and something extra to go with it.”

He rested both hands on the counter and leaned in, close enough for her to see the intent gleaming in his beady old eyes. “Your call, Mira.”