Single Dad Boss: A Small Town Romance

by Kara Hart

  We follow the priest out to the center of the church. He lights the candles around the altar and says a prayer. I never imagined I would get married, but since I am, this is the setting I want to do it in. Virginia seems to be in the same boat as me.

  “It’s beautiful,” she says. The silence in the church is as deafening as it is humbling.

  “I love you so much,” I whisper, my voice echoing throughout the long passageway.

  The priest reads the ceremony by heart. His smile is big the whole time. “Because you come to me,” he says. “Your love will flourish forever.”

  I do.

  I do.

  We kiss and it’s as if all the candles in the room grow for the minute our lips meet. “You are married!” he exclaims. “Be free!”

  I pick her up in my arms. She’s got the same pair of jean shorts on as she did on the cargo boat. “Some wedding dress, huh?” she laughs.

  “You don’t need a wedding dress. You’re beautiful in any outfit, darling,” I say. “But once things settle down, we’re going to have a huge ceremony. We’ll invite all our new friends. Everyone that we meet in this country. It’ll be incredible.”

  That night, we stay close to one another. We cuddle up in our small room. The bed is practically made of one wooden plank, with a hardened army-style mattress plopped on top. It’s not comfy whatsoever, but we have each other. We laugh and turn on the television. We have no clue what’s being said, but it feels strangely liberating being without a language.

  As we fall asleep, I can’t help but bask in the warmth of my happiness. “My wife,” I smile and kiss the back of her head. She smells so damn good, even without showering for the past day and a half. She’ll always be a breath of fresh air to me. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m here with you.”

  “Marshall?” she asks me, suddenly.

  “Yes, baby?” I kiss her again.

  “Let’s have a baby,” she says.

  I don’t even need time to react. “I was hoping you’d say that.” I used to frown a lot. I used to get angry. Now, it’s like a smile has been glued to my face forever. “A baby now?” one might ask me. I’d respond to them with, “What better time?”

  We make love. Her legs intertwine with mine as we kiss. The flickering lights of this cheap motel keep bouncing on and off. The television is blaring. Outside, someone can be heard laughing and telling stories. There’s life all around us.

  Her sweet pussy lifts up in front of me, as she rests her arms and knees on the bed. “Take me,” she says.

  I place my hands on the small of her back. I run my fingers down her spine. I’m forced to kiss every curve of her body before kissing those lips. I drop my body underneath her. My hands grope her huge tits. I suck on each nipple lightly and I come back down to her sweetness. She’s wet, of course, and I’m aching for her. My cock is practically bursting out of my boxers.

  I lick her like it’s the first time. I enjoy her. She’s a taste of heaven, an angel fallen to this earth for me. The Morningstar of my dreams. We’ve had a hard time together, but that’s what makes us so fucking close. That’s what has kept us glued together. When I’m away from her, I dream of her body, her voice, and her mind.

  My tongue slides across every crevice, slowing dipping into her hole. I suck her like a ripe fruit, making sure to savor every last drop. I worship her pussy like it’s God’s gift to the abysmal world. I’m on my knees, praying it’ll always be there for me, like this. She’s open and waiting for me.

  Her legs move apart more as my tongue and lips close around her clit. I’m sucking, sucking, sucking on her and she’s getting closer to releasing for me. I can see her face in the motel mirror, staring at our reflection. Her cheeks have turned a rosy hue. Her back has arched considerably. Her knees are trembling from a sudden rising pressure.

  I insert two fingers inside her and curl them against her spot. I groan loudly as my tongue starts sliding back and forth against her clit. I move faster. And faster. Faster than ever. She begins to moan with me. “Marshall!” she screams. She’s about to cum. I keep my mouth on her, intent on giving her the best damn orgasm she’s ever had. This is our wedding night. She deserves something special from me.

  Finally, the front of her body falls against the hard bed. She starts shaking uncontrollably. Her face contorts with absolute pleasure. I insert a third finger inside her and start moving quickly, mouth still fixated on her clit. When it’s over, she’s pulsating slowly. Her breathing has released and, like a fever, she’s broke on through with a light sweat.

  I waste no time when she says, “Give me a baby.” There’s nothing hotter to me now than keeping her by my side and giving her something so pure. I want to be the husband she dreamed about when she was a little girl. I want to be the father she and I never had. I want to protect them both, this being that I’m about to create.

  I slide myself in slowly as she lay on her back, gazing wondrously into my eyes. She’s perfect, like apple pie on a hot, summer day. I dig in, pounding her relentlessly. When she reaches down and starts rubbing my balls, I can’t fucking contain myself. She smiles, knowing she’s driving me crazy. She whispers, “Cum, baby.”

  Her smooth voice hits a spot inside my brain that lets out a beastly emotion. I moan loudly, looking at every part of her body. My left hand cups around her tit, feeling the heavy, smooth skin. My right hand moves over her soft stomach. I feel her skin and soak up every bit of her.

  I’m going to cum. I can’t hold out any longer. I gaze into those hazel eyes and feel the pressure inside me burst. It starts between my legs, but moves up my spine. My mind opens up and I can see it all in front of me. The first night we met, the person I used to be, and everything else in between that led up to this moment. My cum comes bursting from me, shooting inside her like a loaded gun.

  “Give it to me,” she whispers as if there’s even an option now.

  I shudder lightly and kiss her stomach once more. I press my body down and kiss her sweet pussy. I rise back up and kiss her lips. Our tongues meet one more time before we’re too tired to stay awake. I give her a taste of herself and she gives a last moan of pleasure.

  “A baby,” I smile. “I can’t believe we’re going to have a baby.”

  “Marybell,” she says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Her name should be Marybell,” she says. She already knows it’s a girl and I trust that she’s right.

  I wipe the sweat off my forehead and run my hands through her hair. “Marybell,” I smile. “That’s the prettiest name I’ve ever heard.”

  “She’s going to be so loved,” she says.

  I hold her close. Our naked bodies are warm amongst the cold walls of the motel. “She’s going to a fucking princess,” I laugh. “I’m going to give her everything in the world. I want to be the best daddy known to man.”

  “You will be,” she says. “And I know everything will work out for us. We’re too damn smart for it not to.”

  That’s debatable on my end. But I let her have her say. Because right now, I’m on top of the fucking world.

  Epilogue: Marshall

  Years pass, but you always feel just about the same age. Sometimes, when you look back on things, they feel as if they just happened. Other times, it feels like a lifetime ago. I can’t believe I was a cop. In Texas, no less. I still have all the admiration in the world for the force. But now, things are different for me. It’s not like I followed any of their rules, anyway. I was bound to get out sooner or later.

  Now, I’m the owner of my own produce company. We do business all the way into Arizona. I had to jump through a few hoops to get those jobs, but it can be done. Anything can be done with a little finesse and a little money. Luckily, we’ve managed to hit the gold mine out here, with a little help from our friends.

  “Marybell, come on!” I yell. “I want to show you something.”

  Today is Easter and it marks the 3rd year we’ve been a three-person family tog
ether. Like I said, I’m not a religious man, but I do think things hold a certain significance if you want them to. For us, this holiday is a good way of celebrating the birth of our family, for Marybell was born on April 2nd.

  “Daddy!” She runs toward me. I pick her up in my arms and smile, even if she’s heavier than ever now. I’m just an old dad now, but I feel younger than ever. A kid can do that to you. “Look at that.” She points at a dried-up saguaro cactus on the side of the trail.

  We’re always exploring the area together. Soon enough, we’ll be exploring the world, as a family. Once we get our passports approved, we’re taking a boat over to Europe. We’ve already saved enough money to do it.

  “What is that?” I set her down near the cactus and examine it. All the sharp pricks have fallen off and now it looks like a hollow shell.

  “An elephant trunk,” she says, proudly identifying it in her own way.

  “An elephant trunk!” I laugh. “Well, I’ll be.”

  Slowly, Vi walks up and kneels down with us. “Where are the other elephants?” she asks Marybell.

  “Well, they must be close by,” I say.

  “They’re at home, silly!” Marybell says, touching a part of the yellowing cactus. The world is so strange out here and she loves exploring. Soon, however, we’re moving to the city. We found a private school there that’s hailed as one of the best in the country. Parent shit. PTA meetings. Homework. Truth is, I’m actually excited.

  Virginia

  It’s not the life a lot of people envision for themselves. We’ve had to jump through a million hoops just to find normality. However, when I think back on my childhood, I would have killed to be in Marybell’s shoes. Truthfully, she has it made compared to both of us.

  Our life is dedicated to our love and she is the perfect gift out of the shit storm we ran from. But it’s not like we have it perfect. We have the white-picket fence, the pool, the nicest house we could ask for, and a flourishing business, sure. But we’re still on the fringe of everything.

  So when the lights seem dim and the cold worry from the world seems to burst in our doors, we bask in our warmth and huddle together. We tell stories and try to give Marybell as much as we can. We go out to restaurants, we take plenty of beach vacations in the west, and we start to build memories together.

  When Marybell finally goes to sleep, we invest in ourselves. I can’t help but dive into the past, to think of all that we’ve escaped and done, all the wrongs I committed. My memory always drops into the fateful night we bumped into each other at the bar back home. I was so scared. So nervous about what he’d do to me. I didn’t know he’d become the center of my life. I didn’t understand how deep this would all get.

  We’re getting older, but we grow closer every day. We build an empire with our love. We hold it down and cement it for future generations to wonder back on. This is the Marshall family, we say. Here’s our story. Look at all we’ve accomplished.

  “Remember the candles?” he asks me, before bed. We’re close tonight, lost in the same dream together. His strong arms wrap around my cold body. He heats me up by sliding his hands over my ribs to my stomach.

  “The candles?” I ask him.

  “At our wedding,” he says. He kisses my cheek. I feel his cock rising against my pussy as he says the words. Some things never change.

  “How could I forget?” I smile. I reach around and feel his shaft grow in my palm.

  “Let’s do it again,” he says. “Let’s replay it all over.”

  “I wish,” I say. “It’s been so…”

  “Crazy,” he finishes my sentence. “So fucking wonderful. So fucking crazy.”

  “It’s only going to get crazier. Once Marybell is all grown up, she’s going to start teaching us,” I laugh.

  “I think we should have another one,” he says. “Let’s just keep going with this. Why the hell not?”

  His hand is around my ass now. His fingers are moving toward my lips. He spreads me open and I moan quietly. “Come on,” he says. “You want this dick?”

  Pompous bastard. And yes, I want that fucking dick, dammit. Another kid? Oh jeeze. I hate to say it, but it does actually sound kind of perfect. Just… not yet.

  “Give me a year, you horn dog,” I say.

  “You don’t want this?” he holds his cock proudly. He looks better than ever. As my tits drop lower, his body gets more chiseled. And yet, he loves me more than he did back when we first met.

  “Give me that thing,” I say. He keeps his fingers against my lips, spreading me open. When he enters me, my mouth drops and my toes curl.

  We still got it, that’s for sure. And the world is at our fingertips. Sure, we’re fugitives. But that’s just one small piece of the story.

  We’re the fucking Marshalls. Get used to it.

  Prologue: Jackson Leeman

  You want to know what my idea of a good time is? A bottle of Jameson, a girl on my lap, and one hell of a winning touchdown pass. I can’t say it any clearer: I don’t give a fuck. You want to know why?

  Because I’m the world’s leading man. I’m their darling fucking boy. They scouted me in college and brought me all the way to the pros. Now, I’m the best there is. If you get me the ball, I’ll show you how it’s done. I’ll nail it in. Deep.

  But now they’re trying to tell me I need to step up my game. All my agents are saying I need to chill out a little bit. “Start a family,” they tell me. “Invest in your character.”

  Fuck that.

  I’m not a guy who likes to be told what to do. I follow my gut. That’s what led me to fame and fortune. That’s what led me to win so many Championship games and got me into the pros. So, yeah. I’m not about to settle down anytime soon.

  Tonight, all it took was one catch. I ran the ball into the end zone and slammed it in hard.

  After the game, I come out of that locker room, soaking wet and ready to party, but the coach has to ruin my fun. “Meet your new PR agent,” he says. And I’m scrambling to figure out how the hell this even happened.

  I’m going to fuck this up. There’s no way I can give her everything she needs. I’m just not that kind of guy. But, if she wants, I’ll give her everything she’s ever yearned for. I’ll give her what she wants. I’ll leave her gasping for air, begging me for more.

  64

  Fiona Breckinridge

  “You’re what?” I nearly scream into the phone, face turning red, feeling my heart race. “You’re transferring me over? Why? What did I do?”

  I’ve been working for the same team for the past five years. This is not the news I want to hear right now. “I just bought a house,” I protest, but the bosses don’t seem to give two craps about how I feel.

  “Listen,” the head of the PR management firm, Joseph Larkins says to me. “We’re very happy with your work with the company. That’s not the issue.”

  “Then what’s the issue, Joseph? Money? Pay me a little less. I don’t care. Do whatever it takes,” I say. “I don’t want to have to start all this over again with a new roster. Not this year at least. Throw me a fucking bone here.”

  He takes a long pause and I can just feel what he’s going to tell me next. “I’m sorry, Fiona. It’s not in the cards right now. Maybe next year.”

  Click.

  I get an email not too long after, describing the details of my new job. I’ll be moving from sunny Los Angeles, to dreary Portland, Oregon. I’ll be managing a team with a brand new player, predicted to be the best in the league, for the Black Wings. This is a team that is notorious for being awful on the field. Great.

  I reply back with a simple message. “So, who’s the new player? This better be good.”

  I’ve been in the business for a long time. Joseph knows this and so do my colleagues. I don’t fuck around when it comes to my job. If they’re going to put me on the worst team in the league, they better have a good reason. This, no doubt, will make me look bad.

  I get another reply. This time it’s w
ith a few links to some positive articles, some pictures, and a name. Jackson Leeman. My heart drops to the center of the Earth.

  Jackson Leeman. The boy I went to prom with in high school. The boy who said he was going spend the rest of his life with me.

  My jaw drops and my stomach sinks. This is going to be the worst year of my life. I already know it.

  “Oh God,” I press my head against the warm keys of my laptop, scrunching in an awkward position. It’s the only thing I can think to do to kill the anguish inside. I click the links and scroll through the articles.

  I scan certain phrases and hope to God he’s good. “Wild At Heart… Loose cannon… Party animal almost loses scholarship…” The articles paint a vivid picture. He’s a basket case and apparently he’s gotten much worse since I knew him back in high school. Well, this is the pros. He better be worth the time.

  Luckily, his stats are great. There are only a few losses in his ragged history, in fact. But we have history and this is not something I want to deal with right now.

  Click, click, click. He’s rough and he’s covered in tattoos. This isn’t a problem in modern day sports. Sometimes it even makes for a better story. Still, it makes the job that much harder. You have to come up with ways to assure the audience he’s a good guy. Well, I can attest. Jackson Leeman is not a good guy. He’s a certifiable jerk and I don’t care how good he looks. It doesn’t excuse how he treats the world around him.

  The pictures are worse. He’s either flipping off a police officer or mooning a crowd of fans. Sometimes he’s pouring a bottle of whiskey over his face at a party, or he’s punching out an angry staffer. He’s been arrested at least three times, put on probation once, and he’s settled multiple disputes out of court. He’s a PR nightmare.

  A few emails later and they’re trying to sweeten me on the idea. “You’re the only one suitable for this job. He’s a damn good player, but a complete liability. That’s why we chose you to do it. Don’t let us down. We’ll have a private jet come pick you up in the morning. Be ready, 5 AM sharp.”