His To Break

by Dani Wyatt

  “They want me to go back to Texas, complete my research. They’ve as good as offered me a fellowship.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “But I can’t be away from you.”

  “You won’t have to be.” I smile. Everything is falling into place. “I wanted to go to Texas anyway. There’s a surgeon there who thinks he can help my mom, get her walking again. After that, we’ll just have to see where we are. But I will never let you get away from me again. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to.”

  She leans forward and kisses my neck, sinking her teeth in playfully. Okay, if this is what she wants, right here and right now, then let’s do it.

  I take her by the hair in an instant, gripping hard, tight. Nothing soft right now. She’s awoken the beast. He’s alive and willing now; taking, not asking.

  I shift my seat back and down, giving us just enough room as Everly’s eyes widen at the change in me.

  I pull her mouth to mine, my tongue darting between her lips, pushing hers out of the way as my other hand grabs the top of her shirt and I tug hard, popping the top three buttons, then moving my hand downward for another jerk to open it freely.

  I break our kiss, taking her magnificent tits out of her bra and squeezing them, burying my face in that beautiful crease, breathing her in.

  After a long, low inhale, I turn my head. Taking one nipple deep into my mouth, then between my teeth, I grin and relax as she yelps and grinds her open legs down onto my painful hard-on.

  I grunt into her flesh, moving to the other side and reaching down under her skirt until I feel the soft flesh of her uncovered smooth pussy.

  I release her from my mouth, tugging back on her hair.

  “No panties? You were running from me with no fucking panties on?” I growl.

  She tries to swallow and gasp, her eyes wide, darting, but I pull her head farther back, and her hands fly out to the sides, flailing for something to grab on to, but there’s nothing. I’ve got her tight, and I’m not releasing her. Her palms settle on my upper arms as my heart speeds in my chest. Thinking of her showing herself, even by accident, to anyone but me has me ready to tear flesh.

  “I was so mad,” she bleats, her answer strained from the angle of her neck. “I threw on the clothes, and I completely forgot about panties. By the time I was out the door, I realized, but it was too late. The cab was there.”

  “From now on, every fucking day, it will be me who decides what covers or doesn’t cover this cunt. You understand?”

  I lick a line from the base of her neck to just under her ear as my fingers rub in a slow circle around her clit. The wetness gathers there immediately, and it sends me into a frenzy.

  “Yes,” she chokes out.

  “Scoot your ass so I can get my fingers in there. Then it’s going to be my cock. You’re going to ride me hard until we both come, angel. It’s your job to take care of me, and in turn, I will take care of you, one hundredfold.”

  She shifts her hips on a moan, and I slide my middle two fingers lower then curve them upward into her already drenched opening.

  “God,” I seethe into her ear. “You being wet for me will never fucking get old. It’s my kryptonite.”

  She tries to laugh, but I cut it off, fingering her quickly until she’s on the edge. Her hands pinch and try to grip my upper arms as I lick and bite her neck, her hair still in my death grip.

  Her body is immobilized, caught where I connect with her. I own her, driving her need as her orgasm builds then topples over into a shaking scream.

  As she comes down, I bring both my hands to my jeans.

  “Lift that ass. I need to be inside you, and I need my cock out before you break the poor fuck.”

  I jerk and tug until my length springs free. Then I shift my body roughly, managing to grab my knife out of the scabbard on my hip, bringing it quickly up and holding the waist of her skirt out from her skin.

  “Wait! I like this skirt...”

  “I’ll buy you new clothes,” I grunt as I cut off the offending fabric tossing it to the floor of the car, discarded, unnecessary.

  “Now reach down here and put my cock inside you like a good girl. Take care of me, angel. I need you. I love you. But you will do as I say.”

  Her hands are on me in a blink, guiding my thick, painful erection up into her dripping heat.

  As she lowers herself onto my cock, we let out a collective moan, freezing as she gobbles up every inch and then stills herself with me inside her, reaching to the limit, her grin knowing how it tortures me.

  “Open yourself up. I want that clit against me. Pull your lips apart and lean into me.”

  Slowly, torturously, she does as I say, enjoying her moment in control, and I feel her body gush wetness around my shaft at my words.

  Her eyes are half-lidded but lit with a fire from behind.

  “Fuck me,” she mutters as though she’s just awakened from a beautiful dream, and I don’t hesitate to obey.

  My hands return to those lush hips, pushing and pulling, slipping my cock in and out and grinding her clit into my lower abs.

  “Look at me,” I order.

  Her eyelashes blink, then she’s locked on to me. Such a beautiful sight, I nearly explode inside her at the connection.

  “You gonna come?”

  She whimpers, and I feel her effort to hold this moment, to make it stretch into an eternity. I let her have that, taking control with my hands on her hips, moving her faster and faster. Harder and harder. Grinding against me until I’m barely holding on.

  Her hips open wider, giving me more of her, and she lowers her face. Her breath is warm, coming fast as I kiss her hard. Taking her mouth the way my cock takes her body. My tongue going deep and full, our passion explodes, and she shudders before screaming into my mouth.

  My own primal roar carries into our kiss. Her cunt grabs on to the base of my exploding dick, milking me for the longest orgasm I can ever remember.

  I fill her with shots of semen, and I feel in my soul somehow, I’ve taken what I truly want. All of her. My seed finds a home in her womb, and the bond we have is set.

  We clutch at each other while the spasms and euphoria break over us. When we finally come down, our lips are still together. Our breath moves between us, binding us, flavoring the air with our sex. Our arms entangled still, the combination of our release soaking our flesh along with the seat below.

  Epilogue – James

  Two years later

  Home sweet home.

  Port Hope hasn’t changed a bit in the two years we’ve been away. Even though I haven’t set foot here in so long, everything appears to have gone on as normal. The cabin is a little bigger—I had the builders extend it in preparation for when we got back—and some of the trees look like they could use a good surgeon... I’ll look into that tomorrow... But the town itself looked exactly the same as I left it when we drove through.

  “James Morelock, I thought I wasn’t ever going to see you again.”

  Bill Hendy greets me as I climb out of the cab. I wave to him, but I scoot around to the other side to hold the door for my wife. Everly is seven months pregnant now with our first child, and she’s finding it difficult to get up or down from a seated position. It took us a while longer than we’d both hoped for her to get pregnant because of some medical issues. But with good doctors and time, her belly is full of me now, and I’m the proudest man in the world.

  “I think that nurse was wrong,” she says. “This is twins. I’m sure of it.”

  “I think you’ll be pleased with the way the work’s been done on the cabin, James. I kept an eye on it while the builders were in. Everything’s ready for you, and I had the cleaner leave fresh flowers in all the rooms.”

  “Thanks, Bill,” I say, grinning. His standards are as exacting as mine. “Come on, Mom.” I take her arm, and she groans as she gets up onto her feet.

  The surgeon did an excellent job. I mean, my mom is still a bit wobbly
on her feet, and we’ve been told she’ll be on crutches for the next six months, along with a warning that she may never be fully mobile again. But this is such an improvement from the way things used to be. After my dad died on the heels of what happened, it knocked her sideways. She didn’t really know what to do. Drinking and drugs followed, and they shot her nerves, made her not want to walk. Eventually, her leg muscles atrophied, and despite getting her clean, I wasn’t able to fix her up the way I wanted to. Well, now she’s walking on her own. It’s a small miracle, and I’m thankful every day that I’ve been able to do this for her.

  “Well, let’s get inside,” Everly says, taking my mom’s arm from me. “Junior is saying he’s hungry again.”

  Everly and my mom get along like they’ve known each other all their lives. I have to admit, I feel a little jealous sometimes, the way it seems like they would be friends with or without me, but I’m happy too. They’re the two most important people in my life, and they wouldn’t be apart for anything.

  As for Everly’s work, the university couldn’t have been happier with the research she did on Port Hope’s shark population. Seems that the things she uncovered have caused ripples which have got her noticed in some pretty important circles. In fact, that’s why we’re back. The university is opening up a small department right here in town, a research facility to study the hammerheads, and they’ve asked Everly to head up the team—after her maternity leave, of course.

  ***

  “Can we talk business?”

  Hendy has cornered me in the kitchen of the cabin while I prepare a meal. It won’t be much right now, but my wife has a healthy appetite these days.

  “Sure, Bill, what’s up?”

  “The sawmill.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on things, like you asked me to.” He holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, everything is running perfectly. Production is up, sales are holding steady, and the quality we’re putting out goes from strength to strength. Old Greg Pollack still runs it like a machine, and he’s happier these days with the financial side of things left to someone else.”

  “But?”

  “You asked me to let you know when he started talking about retirement.”

  “Okay. So tell me about Lance.”

  Hendy nods, a slight smile playing on his lips. “He’s really cleaned up his act. Gets in early, does a good job. He was recommended for promotion by his supervisor, and I approved it. He now has his own section, and the work coming out of it is top-notch. He’s a hard worker, James. I know the two of you are never going to be friends, but he deserves a chance if you’re willing to give it to him.”

  “Good,” I say. Nothing will ever bring my sister back, and making Lance Pollack suffer for what happened isn’t going to change anything. There’s no reason why two lives have to be ruined over what happened that night. “Start the ball rolling. Let Greg know that as soon as he wants to, he can retire with a full pension, and that his son will be taking over where he leaves off.”

  “And I can tell Lance the good news?”

  I catch a hint of a gleam in Hendy’s eye, and it takes me by surprise. Then I start to laugh. “Bill Hendy, are you serious? You and Lance Pollack?”

  “He’s a nice guy, James.”

  I slap him on the shoulder. “I’m pleased. Really, I am. You deserve someone.”

  “How long is that food going to be?” Everly has appeared in the doorway. “I’m starving!”

  I grin, pull her in close, and kiss her cheek. “I love you,” I say, stroking her belly. “Both of you.”

  FORGING FOREVER

  P R O L O G U E

  LELA

  “I’ll come back around in about five minutes.” My father’s deep, booming voice is little more than an overlay to the sounds of merriment coming from every direction under the July sun. “Five, Lela.” He holds up his open hand, splaying five fingers high over the surrounding fairgoers. “I want to see the parade start, have a drink with the regulars and we don’t have much time. The rig is waiting, and time is money. I’ll grab you when I come back around.”

  My gruff, roughneck father turns into a fifty-six-year-old kid in front of my eyes at every Renaissance festival we attend. And in all our years on the road together, there have been more than I can count in more states than I remember. He’s at his best here, the happiest I ever see him, completely carefree. Here is where it’s not only acceptable but encouraged for grown adults to act as though they are on a day pass from some medieval mental hospital.

  Dad and I have an affinity with these nomadic people, and these fairs have been one of the few constants in my gypsy life. One of the few traditions we’ve managed to adopt, however unorthodox it may be.

  “Sounds good,” I shout back, pointing in the direction I want to go, but Dad is already striding off into the crowd. “I’m going to see the knife guy.” He’s already too far away to hear me, so I lower my voice, leaving the last words to mumble to myself. “He’s new this year,” I finish, shaking my head and looking over at the crowd that’s forming around a pillar of smoke rising from the metal forge that sits centered on the wet grass behind a makeshift rope fence.

  I take one more glance backward at the fairgoers, jester’s hats swirling around and away, as my hardworking, rugged father does a little sway and skip. He’s so light here it makes me smile, his balding head burning under the summer sun as it pokes in and out of the drifting clouds.

  Like rock stars on tour, some days I forget what state we’re in. I take a deep breath and ponder that for a moment then remember the state line sign I saw from the passenger seat of Dad’s latest Ford F-250.

  Ohio.

  We are in Ohio.

  It’s cool here for the time of year, though, cooler than the last Renaissance fair we attended. My thin T-shirt and khaki shorts aren’t quite enough to take the edge off, and I shiver and hunch a little in the breeze. Squinting one eye, I step forward and look around at the maple and oak trees swaying in the wind.

  This will be our last road adventure for a while. I’m checking out of our Airstream lifestyle to see what it’s like to live among more average humans. Ones who actually put down roots.

  Above the crowd noise from behind the rope barrier, a loud clanking echoes toward the sky. I note the crowd that’s gathered there. I watch as people are starting to rubberneck—straining to see something near the plume of smoke, alternating up and down on their tiptoes. For a moment, I join in, pushing upward and clenching my calf muscles to steady myself. But even the two or so inches of height I achieve does nothing to improve my view.

  Giving up on the tiptoes, I go flat-footed again and step between people dressed in corsets and codpieces in the direction of the noise and smoke. I look over to the edge of the crowd and see the sign that reads, “Medieval Sword Forging Demonstration—Noon, 2:00, 4:00.” The arrow points toward the clanking sound, and even more than a moment ago, I want a better view of the action.

  Muttering a few “excuse me’s” and shouldering my way forward, I breathe in. The air is a blend of incense, smoked turkey, and warm beer, and it’s at once fondly familiar and simultaneously causes a bit of a knot in my gut.

  A minute later I’m off to the very edge of the crowd, wiggling through the last few bodies on my trek to stake a claim on a small patch of soggy grass, eager to get my first glimpse of the forging action.

  And what action it is.

  The goosebumps on my arms nose dive downward until they erupt on the backs of my legs. Tingling erupts in my body’s most tender places, and my eyes are instantly riveted.

  In all my years of Ren fairs, this sight before me is by far the greatest of wonders I’ve seen on the road. And I’ve seen plenty. In fact, there aren’t many wonders in this country I’ve missed. Dad and I have crisscrossed from one end to the other, up and down and side to side.

  When I turned eight, my mom decided homemaking wasn’t her thing. Being the kind of woman who
didn’t care much for gender stereotypes, she went out for a pack of cigarettes and a pint of vodka, and I haven’t seen her since. Dad took over without missing a beat, and that next week we hit the road and never looked back.

  But nothing, not Mount Rushmore, not the Grand Canyon, not even the graveyard for departed Ben & Jerry’s flavors has ever inspired me like the view in front of me right now.

  The scent of burning hardwood and a hint of sweat hit me like a freight train, knocking the breath from my lungs. My jaw drops, and there is this invisible cord that begins to wrap around me, starting at my ankles before tightening my knees together. It spins around my hips and continues up over the tightness in my chest until it’s got me around the throat.

  Clank-clank.

  Clank-clank.

  Clank-clank. The raising and lowering of the hammer make repetitive sounds as it strikes the glowing orange steel as the forger turns it over and back methodically on the anvil.

  Anvil.

  I have to say this is the first time I’ve really taken note of an anvil in real life. I’m sure I’ve seen one before, but as far as I was concerned, before now, they were just something for the Road Runner to drop on Wile E. Coyote’s head.

  Right now, I’m stunned at just how fucking sexy an anvil can be.

  As a matter of fact, an anvil is the sexiest inanimate object I’ve ever seen. And it’s being pounded upon by the sexiest man I know I’ve ever seen.

  I’m frozen in mid-gawk when his hammer slams down with such force it sends a shiver racing from the base of my neck down to my heels. The onlookers surround me stand frozen in suspense waiting for the rhythmic bounce of the mallet. Anticipation tightens inside me, urging the forger to draw the hammer high and take the next thwack at the heated metal.

  Instead, his hand lifts the hammer off the anvil slowly. Unlike the powerful motion he used a moment before, he lowers the hammer to his side. Hanging it down next to the soot-stained suede chaps that cover his dark canvas trousers, he straightens his back, and I hear a collective sigh from the unsteady crowd.