by Wyatt, Dani
Tears traverse down my cheeks as I swallow, swallow, swallow. Massaging the head of his cock and desperately trying to draw hot breaths from around the girth that fills my mouth. He enjoys my struggle, but always knows how far to push me, how to keep me safe.
Just when I think I can’t take another second, Lock withdraws, pulling out of my mouth as I gasp for air. Spit drenches my chin and drips down my chest and neck. Tears stream from the corners of my eyes as he moves his hands to the sides of my face and smiles down at me.
“God, you are so pretty when you suck my cock, baby. So beautiful.” He releases my head to grip himself, bringing the tip to paint a drop of cum onto my lips.
He’s filthy and perverted and I love every second. This part of us is just for us and it fulfills us both in it’s own way.
“Thank you, my King.” I reply, swiping the back of my hand over my mouth and the other across my wet cheeks.
I shudder as Lock kicks his pants and boxers from his ankles, leaving him naked. He’s only grown sexier over the years and I want him probably more now than I did even when we were first together, and I think he feels the same.
“Bring that tight pussy over here and finish me off.” Lock backs up, taking a seat in a huge armchair that sits next to the fireplace. “I want to feel you cum on my cock, Little Wolf. Then I’m going to give you what you want. What you need. Time we got another baby inside you, princess.”
My approaching climax is already threatening as I step forward and Lock grabs my hand, jerking me forward toward him.
“Yes, my King. Your princess wants that.”
Lock reaches up and grips the opening of my dress with both hands, tearing it open. A second tug and it’s ripped from my body as he grips my hips and centers me on his lap.
“Open your legs wide and get my cock inside you.”
I don’t hesitate as I reach down to grip the hard length and press the tip to my entrance, taking him inside me in one long, swift motion.
Lock’s head falls back as he groans, his hands taking my hips and pressing me down until it feels as though it’s pushing right into my uterus.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Teah.” He grits out and I love when he looks so painfully pleasured by me.
“Yes? You like how that feels? Do you like when I do this?” I shift and press down, moving up and down and back and forth in a circular motion.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight. It’s hard to even move inside you.”
I contract my inner muscles over and over until I feel Lock shudder under me. I’m to the point of torture, holding myself back, and when his hands come up to my tits and his fingers pinch my nipples hard, I’m gone.
I grind up and down, pressing my open slit down on his body and leaning forward as he brings his mouth to my breast and sucks deep. Then it’s teeth and I’m exploding on a moan.
Lock is done. I feel the hot release spray inside me and we clutch and hold one another through our orgasms. His mouth is on my neck and he whispers every curse word every known—and some he’s made up—into my ear.
We pant as we come down, moving sweet and slow against each other as his hands move to push my hair behind my ears, and I sit up to look down at his smile.
“You are such a good girl.”
I bring my hands to cup his cheeks. The scruff of his beard scratches at my palms.
“I know, it’s true.” I play back on a giggle.
“Now.” He licks his lips and runs his fingertips down my arms, making me shiver. “We have to pick up the kids in an hour. You want a shower?”
“Sure.” I nod. “Beverly said she and Gruber would take them to Chuck E. Cheez, then back to the house, so they’ll be well fed and sugared up. And hopefully tired.”
“Sounds good. My flight isn’t until ten tonight. So, I’ll take bath and bedtime tonight.”
Lock is still writing music, as he wants, when he wants. He’s got a meeting in Nashville tonight with a record producer and a top country star who want to collaborate on a few songs. He’s given up acting completely, it just takes too much time away from the family and the lifestyle is simply not what he wants for us.
Beverly took the reins on the businesses for a few years and did an amazing job. When it got harder for her and Gruber to manage, with her being so busy, she decided to step down. We ended up selling all the businesses. They are set up for life as far as finances go, and as much as I give away, our own bottom line keeps growing as well thanks to the sales of the businesses and some good investments.
“You are the best dad, you know that?” I lean down and kiss him, tasting the sweat of his hard work today still on his lips.
“I do my best. Oh, there’s a letter on the counter from your mom and dad too. I brought in the mail.”
“Oh, great.”
We’ve managed to find a nice balance with my parents. They still live their life, their way and I don’t begrudge them their beliefs. They still have no cell phone, no TV, but we write letters back and forth every week and they come to visit here at least twice a year.
They are fun as grandparents. Teaching the kids all about nature and some of the more pleasant parts of my upbringing. We drew the line at giving them weapons training like I received but they love their grandparents and it’s heart warming to see the circle complete.
“Okay, my princess.” Lock stands, keeping me secured against his still hard cock.
“You ever going to turn that thing off?” I giggle.
“No can do, baby. I’m sixteen again whenever I’m with you.”
As he takes us down the back hallway toward our bedroom I wrap my arms around him, remembering the first time he carried me down the trail from the cabin.
A few steps more and a vision overtakes me and Lock stops dead in his tracks.
“Baby.”
“Yes?” I ask, already knowing what he’s about to say.
“You see it?”
We still have our visions now and then and it’s become less spooky and more fun. I hold tight and speak into his ear.
“Yep.”
“Babies number five and six, Little Wolf.”
I nod, barely able to believe it. “I’m going to have twins.”
OUR TURN
By
Dani Wyatt
OUR TURN
By
Dani Wyatt
1
GEO
I NEVER THOUGHT THIS would happen.
I’ve got a kid.
A fucking twenty-year-old daughter who I knew nothing about, and now there’s a nurse on the other end of the phone expecting me to just get over it because apparently, she might need me.
What. The. Fuck.
“You’ve got a daughter, Mr. Klement. I know this is a shock for you, but she is a patient here at Detroit Receiving Hospital. She may need a transfusion, and she has a very rare blood type. Do you know your blood type, Mr. Klement?”
Jesus. Not just a kid, a daughter.
“No,” I answer, scratching my head as I sit in my black Suburban, the engine idling while I wait for a client to emerge from the strip club across the street. I know some people have darkened windows to look cool, but for me, they serve a purpose. When business is overdue, like now, the element of surprise works in my favor. “I don’t know my blood type.”
“Sir, are you sure? You don’t know your own blood type?” The nurse sounds suspicious.
“I don’t like the sight of blood,” I reply. “Never had it tested.”
I don’t like the sight of my own blood I should have said. I quite enjoy the sight of other people’s blood. At least the ones that owe me money. Or, by my own personal moral code deserve to shed some.
I’ve never been to the hospital for myself although there was plenty of time I should have. I’ve learned to stitch myself up when necessary. Crunched my broken nose back into place a couple of times. Taped up some broken fingers a couple of times.
I’ve never been that sick besides the occ
asional cold or bad oysters. I’ve never even had blood taken for tests, so no, I don’t know my blood type, and up until right now, I didn’t think much about it.
The nurse sighs into the phone before continuing, “Well, Mr. Klement, would you be able to come down to the hospital this evening and have a sample taken? It’s quite urgent. If your daughter needs surgery, she will need back up blood, and we are low. Family is best.”
I palm my mouth with my hand, still processing the last sixty seconds. I’d asked the name of her mother, and when the nurse gave it to me, I barely remembered her. She hung out at this bar I used to frequent. We shared some drinks now and then, but I don’t recall anything outside of that sort of connection. I sure as shit don’t remember sleeping with her.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean it’s out of the realm of possibility, I guess.
See, twenty years ago I was a drinker, not just a Friday night tall-neck or around with the guys, we’re talking pro level intoxication. There are whole years I barely remember. I gave that up a decade ago, but I had more than my share of blackouts back then. Even so, man-whoring was never my thing, even intoxicated, so I’m surprised, but anything is possible.
So, fuck me, I’m a Dad.
I shake my head, the feelings swirling around me, unfamiliar and distasteful. I don’t have family — no connections or roots. I’m a rock, and I like it that way.
People I barely know take from me, and I take back with twenty-five to forty percent on top. Or, if that doesn’t work, I take a few broken fingers and fifty percent. Sometimes more. Making friends isn’t part of my game, let alone having a family.
“Sir?” The nurse sounds annoyed, and I heave out a sigh that steams the side window as I look out. “If you want to do a DNA test, we can recommend services. However, right now, the blood test is a critical path.”
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll come.”
Besides hurting people as part of my business, I’m a decent guy by my own standards, and that means I’m not going to turn my back on this girl even if I never heard of her until today.
Refusing wouldn’t fit with my inner moral compass as flexible as it may be. Any fucker who would hurt kids or animals is a degenerate scumbag. Same goes for the elderly and vulnerable.
As hard as I am, I’m still soft in some places. I help my neighbor, Mrs. Morrison, get to the senior center, the grocery, and her doctor’s appointments every week, and if anyone hurt a hair on her head, I’d fucking obliterate them.
I met her one winter maybe five or six years ago. I was driving down the street, and there was about eight inches of snow covering everything from a storm the night before. As I approached her house, I saw something in the street in front of her mailbox.
As I slowed, I looked to see the something moving. It was Mrs. Morrison. Back then she could still walk, albeit with a cane. She’d gone down to the mailbox to get her mail, slipped off the curb and fell into the slush on the street.
I stopped, picked her up, gave her a stern talking to about being out walking in the snow like that. Looked up to see her porch and walk weren’t shoveled, so I got her into the house. Made her some tea as she fussed and told me there was absolutely nothing wrong with her.
After that, I shoveled her walk and spent the afternoon with her listening to her tell me crazy ass stories about being a spy during the war and that I was her long-lost son.
Her mind is a trip and has gotten more creative over the years. Her body has given in in a lot of ways as well, but she makes me smile and doesn’t take any shit from me, which I have to admit deep down I love. She’s as close as I get to family or friends.
But having kids of my own? Fuck no. No way. This is not me.
I’ve never been much of a lady’s man, to begin with, and as the years have gone on, I’ve been more of a monk than a player, even though I’ve been offered a whole lot of pussy in exchange for loan repayments.
That shit offends my sensibilities as well. I’ve had guys offer their wives, girlfriends and even their daughters as repayment to save their sorry asses.
Do you know what happens to them? I’m not going to recount those Hallmark moments. Let’s just say, they lost their own ability to enjoy the more intimate moments in life.
The nurse rattles off where I should go and what time and I scribble it in the notepad I keep in my shirt pocket, then hang up and try to process what’s happening while somehow keeping my head in the game.
It wouldn’t do for me to make a mistake right now, not with the court appearance coming up as well. A short stint inside I can cope with. Last time I was sent down, it actually increased my bottom line, because there are a lot of people in jail that need a short-term injection of cash, either when they get out or to take care of business on the outside while they’re away.
Thanks to a few connections I have at my bank, I’m still able to move money around while I’m inside with a few phone calls and some well-developed code words. It seems bank tellers don’t get paid very much and there are a few I’ve developed relationships with over the years in exchange for compensation of their own.
Right now, the simple assault I’m up for, and a few priors are likely to land me with a six-month sentence. I’ll be out on probation in three. Depending on the judge, I might get lucky and get off with community service.
Dare to fucking dream.
But if the prosecutor can demonstrate a pattern of behavior? Yeah, I might end up with a year, and that long inside means my business suffers. And that’s unacceptable.
My head is still spinning from the phone call, but I’m working when I spot the scumbag that owes me twenty-three G’s sliding out the back door of the strip club and into the alley, and my instincts take over.
He thinks he’s slipped under my radar but see that’s the trick. With some of these fuckers, you come after them right away the first time they’re late, give them another deadline. Then, when they don’t show, you just hang back.
Let them think I’m soft. Giving them some wiggle room.
Fuck wiggle room. I’m stalking them like a cheetah on an antelope. Slow. Methodical.
Let them sniff the air. Look around. See nothing. Feel safe. Go back to chomping the grass.
Then.
BAM.
I’ve got them by the jugular, and there’s no room for escape.
I take one more minute to clear my head as the idea of being a father sinks in. Then I flex my neck listening to the bones crack and pop, shove the nine-millimeter into the back of my pants, pull my olive army jacket on and make sure my six-inch switchblade is slipped into the correct pocket. Then, just for good measure, I slide my stainless-steel knuckles over the fingers of my right hand.
The outline of the figure slinks down the alley as I get out of the truck and go to take care of my business, wondering how the fuck they even got my phone number.
I shake my head, unsure about so many things at the moment, but knowing I have to push it aside. There is business to take care of.
NICCI
I REACH OVER TO SQUEEZE Beth’s hand as the doctor comes back through the curtain, frowning over the top of his glasses.
I may be sick. I may have to have surgery.
But the illness it’s what’s at the forefront of my mind.
It’s my father. The man I’ve never met. The man who doesn’t know I exist.
Until today.
I’ve been lying in this bed in the emergency room of the hospital for hours now, and I can’t tell from the doctor’s expression what’s coming. I doubled over early this morning with pain in my side, thinking it was my appendix, but apparently, I failed anatomy 101 because it’s my liver.
“We’re waiting for the results. Just to be clear here, there are two possibilities I’m leaning toward for your pain. One is there are fat deposits on your liver, and you will need to adjust your diet. This doesn’t sound like much, but they can be acutely and suddenly painful with no prior symptoms.” He gives me a raised eyebrow and a nod
. “The other, given the growth on the back of your liver that showed up in the MRI, is obviously more serious. I’m hoping the growth has nothing to do with it, but we are sending that to the radiologist to analyze, along with your blood tests. Now, as I explained, if that growth needs to be removed, it’s not an easy surgery. The liver is very vascular, like a giant blood sponge, and making sure there is enough AB negative on hand will be critical. Then, of course, if the growth is a tumor and not just a cyst, then we will determine if it is malignant.” His voice lowers, and I see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows.
Malignant.
He looks like a dad. Like Mr. Brady but more serious and with gray hair. I bet he has kids. I bet he’s a good father.
Is my father a good father? Does he have other kids?
Beth puts her other hand on top of mine. “We are going to hope for the best like you said, but prepare for the worst. You got in touch with her dad, right?”
I press my cold fingers to my forehead and try to hold back the whimper caught in my throat.
“My father,” I correct trying not to sound too pissy.
Dad sounds too familiar like he’s been around. Been in my life.
The doctor nods at us both, and I feel the curtained walls closing in — the noises from the emergency room filter through the fabric. Beeps and alarms on monitors going off, people moaning and talking about bodily functions I’d rather remain ignorant about drift all around through the curtains.
He puts his hands down in the front pockets of his white lab coat. “Are you comfortable for now? Your pain is tolerable?”
I nod, trying to remember to breathe, thinking the man I’ve been following around for six months is going to be here in a matter of hours and I have to decide if I want to meet him or not.
The doctor makes his retreat, and Beth touches my face. “Are you okay? You’re ghostly white all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just the idea that he’s going to be here in the same building as me.”
“I know. Jesus fuck-n-a.” Beth gives me a soft smile. Her potty mouth is such a contrast to her otherwise controlled and professional manner, but I find it funny because I never swear and I’m the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. “Remember, you don’t have to meet him.”