Hammer: A Dark Romance

by Loki Renard

  The position spreads my legs around his waist, presses my crotch up against his back. It’s not long before the steady grinding of two bodies pressed together in motion starts doing something for me, desire sparking low in my belly.

  I have always wanted to fuck Jake. The moment I first saw him, the most torrid images flashed through my mind. And now that I have had sex with him, they’re all the more powerful for having been real. I know what it’s like to have his cock burning inside me. I know what it’s like to be stretched by him, for his hardness to make my wet softness yield. I find myself riding my hips forward, pressing against him with every step.

  “You alright back there?”

  “Uh huh.” I’m a little breathless, but not because I’m tired. Because I’m insane. Only a crazy person would start getting horny in the middle of nowhere on the brink of death.

  He reaches back around and palms my ass. “Getting frisky back there, girl?”

  “Would it be bad if I was?”

  He lets out a low, rough chuckle in response and slides me down from his back. A second later, my back is against a tree, my legs are hitched up around his waist from the front this time, and he is grinding against me, the hard line of his cock rampant against my clothed cunt.

  Maybe I’m not the crazy one. Maybe we’re both crazy. Or maybe we’re both animals out here in the wilds. I’ve never been this close to nature before, either in the world outside or within myself. There’s something about Jake that changes me, brings out parts of my body and mind that have been repressed for years.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” I moan as his lips find my neck. “There isn’t time.”

  “Oh, there’s time,” he growls. “This might be the last chance I have with you on my own.”

  I don’t know what that means, and I don’t ask because his big hand has snaked up the inside of my clothing and is cupping my breast, his hips grinding against me. There’s a vital passion between us that not even fear and hunger and exhaustion can deny. It’s some base, ancient survival instinct that is driving us now, I think. I can imagine men and women having mated liked this for hundreds of thousands of years, not knowing if their survival was guaranteed, but trying to throw life forward again anyway.

  Suffice it to say, we don’t use a condom. Safety isn’t high on either one of our priority lists, and I don’t want a bit of plastic between us. Not now. I used to have ‘safe’ sex with Rodney, and look how that turned out.

  I kiss him with all the lustful desperation charging through my body. He pulls my leggings down over my ass and he bares my pussy. It’s awkward, but the second he frees his cock, I don’t care that the fabric is pressing into me at weird angles. I just want him inside me.

  The hot head of his cock against my cunt is the only warm thing in this cold landscape, I feel my lower muscles clenching in anticipation as he lines himself up and pushes in with one long, yearning stroke that spreads my walls wide.

  “Oh, fuck yes,” I moan, letting my head fall back against the tree. With him inside me, I am transported away from this misery. My body finds new energy, is heated and lit with desire that makes the frost forming on the ground seem like a distant concern.

  His teeth are on my neck, his fingers curling into the soft flesh of my ass as he holds me up, using the tree to brace me for the ravaging we both need. I love that I didn’t have to ask him to fuck me. He just knew what I wanted, and he wanted the same thing.

  I spread my legs as wide as I can and I let him fuck me. I beg for every rough stroke. We don’t have time for this to be a long romantic drawn-out affair, but we have time to fuck and to come and that’s what we’re going to do. I scream my orgasm to the gathering dusk as I feel him unleashing himself inside me, hard thrusts filling me with his creamy, potent seed. We are both panting, mouths open, wrapped around each other, joined at the crotch and for a few brief seconds we float together, but then the world becomes cold and hard and it is time to get moving.

  “That was fucking hot,” he says, giving me another one of those sexy, bristly kisses. “But we have to go. It’s only another mile or so.”

  Another mile sounds like forever, but I don’t want Jake to think I’m weak. Or at least, any weaker than he already thinks I am. I do my best to follow after him, but it’s not long before he pulls me up onto his back again and carries me up the steep slopes, not complaining for a single second about the extra weight he has to bear because I can’t.

  There’s a brief moment where the sky seems to get much lighter, a flare of fire over the mountains and pines, but then it is gone and from there the light fades quickly, every step marking another foot of our ascent into darkness.

  “Here. Hold this,” he says, fishing a flashlight out of his bag.

  * * *

  Jake

  We should not have stopped for sex.

  I couldn’t fucking help myself when I felt her grinding against the back of my pack. I’ve never been as jealous of an inanimate object before as I was of that canvas when I felt her wriggling back and forth. It was worth it to be inside her again, to feel her tightness and her heat. She has no idea what she does to me, how what she considers to be her weakness makes my lust charge and my protective instincts go into overdrive.

  Now I just have to get us to shelter in one piece. Easier said than done. The guys I’m looking for don’t have phones, don’t have internet, won’t even know I’m out here looking for them. Now that it’s dark, I’m working from memory to try to get to where they last were. It’s very possible they’ve moved on. They might not even be in the same state anymore.

  I really hope I haven’t taken Jazz all the way out here just to die of exposure, but if we don’t hit camp in the next half hour, we’re going to have to spend the rest of the night out, and that could get rough.

  Just when I’m starting to think I’ve fucked up badly, the steel barrel of a gun butts up against my temple.

  “Hold it right there,” a voice growls in the dark.

  I stop dead and sigh with relief. Thank god.

  “Put your fucking hands up.”

  “I can’t. I’m holding on to someone.”

  “You’d best put them down then, or I’m going to blow you both to...”

  “Enough!” I growl. This would be cute if I’d come alone, but Jazz isn’t going to find this funny. “It’s me. Jake.”

  “Holy fuck, it is not, you lying sack of shit.”

  “Jake? Are we okay?” Jazz is clinging to me tighter than ever, her arms and legs wrapped around me with a baby monkey level death grip.

  “I’ve got a girl with me, Tristan, so maybe we don’t do the part where you shoot me?”

  There’s a short laugh in the distance and then the night is lit up like the Fourth of July with a powerful spotlight.

  * * *

  Jazz

  I don’t know what kind of greeting I expected. It definitely wasn’t this one, that’s for sure. I couldn’t see what was going on down below, but I felt Jake stiffen and I heard his voice do that growling thing it does when he really means business. Suddenly, being perched up on his back didn’t seem like such a safe spot, but I didn’t dare get down, and now I’m being blinded by light so strong I can’t see anything at all.

  “Jake? What’s happening?”

  “It’s okay,” he says, patting my leg. I can’t see him, but I can feel him and he is as strong and sturdy as ever.

  “Quit fucking around,” he growls to the unseen men around us. I know they’re there. I heard one speak before the light came and obliterated the world. “I brought a guest with me.”

  “This look like a hotel to you, cowboy?”

  The voice beyond the light drawls the question and I squint my eyes, trying to see. I’m wondering if we’re not welcome here, and what we’ll do if we have to leave. It’s getting very, very cold and I’m not sure I can stand another night.

  “I will break your fucking neck if you don’t get that goddamn light out of my eyes,” Jake s
narls. He sounds really serious, and for a second, I’m scared that there’s going to be an actual fight. If there is, he’s going to be at a serious disadvantage with me on his back. I start to wriggle to try to get down, but he clamps my legs in place around his waist and keeps me there.

  The light dips down and after a couple of seconds I’m able to see that there are three men standing so close to us they could reach out and, well, I guess stab us, given one of them has a very large knife. Another one of them has an axe, and still another has a very large gun. We are surrounded by big, bearded men, and I can’t tell if they’re friendly or not.

  I’m leaning toward not, when the big guy with the axe drops it and comes running forward, his arm outstretched to give Jake a huge bear hug. That’s the point at which Jake lets me slide down to the ground so I can dart out of the way of all the spontaneous male bonding and grunting emerging from the pack of massive male muscle.

  “Hammer!”

  “Hell, yeah! It’s Hammer time!”

  I stand back and watch it all happen. I’m used to hearing stuff like this; working in bars you see every dude clique behavior there is, and military guys have it down to an art.

  When the mass of male bodies clears, I’m left looking at Jake and three huge woodsmen. They’re wearing dirty jeans and flannel shirts in an array of colors. They range in height and complexion, but they all have epic beards, tattooed forearms and chests—at least, I’m pretty sure they’re tattooed from the hairy skin that peeks out between bits of flannel—and they have the same look in their eyes Jake does. It’s hard to explain what it is, but I see it in Jake’s too. Even when they’re at rest, there’s an intensity to them.

  “This is Remington, Rock, and Tristan,” Jake says. “Guys, this is Jazz.”

  “Hi,” I say, giving a short little wave.

  They nod at me.

  “We need to lay low for a while,” Jake says, no other explanation given, and apparently no more needed.

  “Stay here as long as you want,” one of them says. I’m not sure which one of them the name applies to. I’m not really in any frame of mind to be learning names right now. I’m exhausted and cold, and the remote cabin that comes into view as we follow them up a short path, looks promising in terms of maybe having a fireplace.

  They invite us inside the cabin. It’s not a big place. There’s two sets of bunk beds stacked at one end, the fire at the other, a kitchen on one side, and a roughhewn table in the middle. There’s a couple of closet-type things and some cupboards for storage, but other than that, there’s nothing in the way of furnishings or luxuries. It’s a very simple, very male space.

  “Top bunk is empty over Tristan,” one of the ones who isn’t Tristan says. Rock, maybe? I think Remington is the blond one and Rock is the darker one. Tristan, I think, might be the younger one whose beard isn’t as unruly as the others. Rock’s is so thick and black it looks like a small, sleek animal is trying to choke him. I’m not a fan of beards. They’re the hair equivalent of always wearing sunglasses inside. It’s hard to tell what any of these men really look like. I know they’re Jake’s friends, and that’s about it. I guess that means there’s three more men in the world I just have to put my trust in.

  “You take top bunk,” Jake says to me. “I’ll take the floor. There’s no way we’re both going to fit up there.”

  With five of us in the cabin, there’s not much room to move. There’s also no other room. No bathroom. I have no idea how they wash, or how they toilet, and I don’t want to find out how.

  Jake boosts me up to the top bunk, which I appreciate because then I can look down at the cabin and the men in it and stop feeling so damn small among them. They sit around the table and break out what looks like home-brewed liquor.

  I can tell they’re genuinely happy to see Jake. They start talking immediately, launching into one of those easy flows of conversation that comes when true friends are reunited. I wish I had some friends like that.

  After a few minutes, they forget I’m there completely. Everyone but Jake. He sits so he has one eye on me, one eye on the door. Occasionally his gaze flickers over to me and he tilts his head in a quiet, questioning way to check to see if I’m alright. I give him a little smile to let him know I am.

  Their conversation largely consists of reminiscing about times, places, people gone by. I lie back on the bed, a quiet creature who doesn’t fit among them, only half listening to the conversation as I try to process the events of the day. Yesterday morning, I was waking up from a one-night stand. Now, the world thinks I am dead, my lover is wanted for my murder, and I am high in the mountains in the company of men who probably don’t acknowledge the rule of law, much less follow it.

  On the positive side of things, I am warm. I have shelter. I never thought I’d value either of those things as much as I do right now. This experience has been terrifying and brutal and I’m not sure I’ll survive it, but I might have more of an appreciation for what it means to actually live now than I did before. It’s the simple things that matter. Warmth. Food. Shelter. Friends. Someone to carry you when you can’t walk another step. Someone to fight off evil when it comes to your door.

  I’m so fucking lucky to be alive I can barely believe it. It’s strange to feel so full of gratitude and simultaneously be absolutely inundated with fear. My life wasn’t exactly great before this, but it was at least predictable. Now I have no idea what’s going to happen to me, or how I’m going to get out of this.

  Chapter Six

  Jazz

  I must have fallen asleep to the drone of male voices. Suddenly I’m awake and the light coming through the windows is blindingly bright, with a fresh quality that makes me feel hopeful. My apartment was never bright. I usually kept the blinds closed because Rodney used to spy on me, and when I did open them, the sun in town always seemed to have a grimy gray quality to it, which makes no sense because it is the same sun there as it is here. The view is very different here. There’s nothing but roughhewn wood and trees and wild lands stretching, well, not into forever, but it kind of feels like it.

  The cabin is empty. I don’t know what time it is. I don’t know where the men have gone. I don’t know where Jake is either, and so instead of getting up, I lie there in that bed, which now feels scratchy against my skin, and I look out the window at the glory of the world beyond and I wonder why the hell I ever spent my life sleeping away mornings like these only to emerge into the dark each night and sling drinks to people who saw me as an alcohol dispenser with a pair of tits.

  I’m still lying there when the door opens. One of the bearded dudes comes tramping in. Is it Rock? I think it’s Rock. Dark hair, ninety percent beard, eyes hidden under a perpetual scowl. He looks up and sees me there and doesn’t exactly smile, but maybe his brows rise a little in what might pass for a friendly greeting in these parts.

  “Hi,” I say, breaking the awkwardness with a word. “Where’s Jake?”

  “Jake... oh, you mean Hammer. He’s gone out hunting.”

  He just left me here, with this man I don’t even know. I feel a rush of anxiety, followed by one of anger. I’m not even going to ask why they call him Hammer. The hammer in his apartment makes sense now though. It’s exactly the sort of thing guys like these would consider funny.

  “You hungry?”

  “No,” I lie. “Uhm, where’s the bathroom?”

  “There’s a shovel out back.”

  “Okay... but where’s the bathroom?”

  His beard moves in some kind of contortion that might indicate a smirk. “The whole world is our bathroom.”

  “Gross.”

  “Just make sure you bury where you’ve gone, and mark it with a stick.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t want to dig the same hole twice. Gets messy.”

  “Oh, Jesus, gross!”

  He lets out a short laugh. “City girl, huh?”

  “Plumbing girl,” I say. “Running water girl. Are you guys on a hunting trip
or something?” I venture the question.

  “Life’s one big hunting trip out here,” he says.

  “So the world is your toilet and your hunting grounds.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Still gross,” I mutter to myself. I’m going to have to answer nature’s call though, there’s no avoiding it forever. I slip down from the bed and find myself on the floor, still in my shoes. I must have crashed hard last night. Super hard.

  “Stay within screaming distance,” he says as I go out to look for the toilet shovel. “Big cats don’t come around much anymore, but there’s bears sometimes.”

  “Fuck my life,” I mutter under my breath. Of all the indignities I’ve been exposed to thus far, this might be the worst. I’ve peed in the woods before, but number two, that’s a whole other ball game.

  I find the shovel out back and head into the woods. It is quiet out here. The sun isn’t quite so bright and some of its warmth is lost the deeper I go into the trees. I’m not sure how far I’m supposed to go from the cabin, but I want to be far enough that nobody gets an eyeful of a function that should not be shared among friends, let alone a guy I don’t know at all.

  As I walk, I spot little mounds with sticks on them marking spots that have been used before. These guys can’t have been here that long. I count maybe forty or so, so between three guys that’s probably ten to fifteen days’ worth... god, this is like the worst detective case ever.

  I keep walking past all their little spots, figuring there will be a trail of, well, not quite breadcrumbs to follow back, then I start digging with the shovel. I’ve never done this before. How deep is the hole supposed to be?

  The ground is kind of hard and frankly, the state of my stomach isn’t conducive to manual labor. I grit my teeth and curse and then even when the hole is made there’s still getting down to it and... the experience culminates in animal relief, but not relaxation. Life out here is hard, I think to myself as I cover the hole and hunt around for a stick to poke out of the top of it.