Knox (BBW Bear Shifter Moonshiner Romance) (120 Proof Honey)

by Becca Fanning

  He pulled one ankle across my body and now both were on his left shoulder. This pressed my thighs together against my clit, building delicious pressure with each forceful penetration.

  I grabbed a pillow and buried my face into it as I came, white lightning shooting through me as this alpha male took me without emotion. I felt my tunnel get even slicker, and he began to slip in and out even faster. My poor clit, well abused in the shower, was now positively on fire from all the hammering.

  Michael growled and pulled my ankles off his shoulders, pulling my legs down and around him.

  I wrapped them around his hips, locking my ankles together behind him and trapping him inside me. He was balls deep inside me and I could feel his purple crown bumping against my cervix. It was a soul drenching pain, one I never knew I needed and didn’t think I could live without anymore.

  His hands went behind him and unlock my ankles so that he could continue fucking me with wild abandon. I grabbed his neck and pulled him down to me, my mouth attacking his. His cock in my pussy and his tongue in my mouth, I was in heaven. To be filled with a man like this, driven by pure passion. Just thinking about it was rocketing me towards another orgasm. But I had something else in mind first.

  Knowing that we were both beyond words, I pushed against him, interrupting his pounding. With him staggered back, I took the moment to flip over onto my hands and knees. My pussy was red and puffy, sore from the wonderful abuse this stud was giving me. A stream of my juices were leaking down my slit onto the comforter below.

  Michael didn’t waste a second, his animal brain assuming the dominant male position behind me. His hands grabbed my hips, his cock plunged past my wet eager lips as he rammed home. Taking me like every alpha male beast takes his bitch was too much for me. I lowered my head, further lowering myself in subservience to my dominant partner. I savored the sounds he made, the way his fingernails dug into my skin without care. The way his balls swung forward and smacked against my protesting clit. The feel of his sweat as it ran down his ripped body and formed a little pool in the small of my back.

  Bending forward down against me, he now just rammed his pelvis into me, trying to get as deep as he could. His head was next to mine, and I could see his face pull back in a grimace as he pulled back his head and howled.

  I felt him ram home one last time, then he exploded inside me, filling my womb with his hot sticky seed. His cock pulsed and pulsed, a seemingly unending amount of cum being sent into me. Filled to the brim, his balls continued to contract, wanting to fill his bitch with as much seed as he could, to impregnate this willing female as every male creature does.

  He collapsed off me, falling to the side to lay next to me. I turned my head to look over at him and saw his golden eyes shift to dark blue. He breathed deeply, his hand coming up to stroke my face.

  I caught his hand and kissed it. “I don’t know what just happened, but it was incredible. I’ve never felt like that before,” I said.

  “Neither have I,” he said, leaning in to softly kiss me on the lips.

  “You should get some rest now,” I said, getting up to leave.

  His hand grabbed my wrist and he pulled me back down to lie next to him.

  “Stay,” he said.

  Under A Victorian Moon

  by

  Becca Fanning

  “Time for the little piggy to go market,” Winchester said, grinning like a devil with a secret.

  “You’re a low man,” I shot back, slamming the carriage door to block out the world.

  Of course, it wasn’t a secret at all. I, Claire Lawry, was being sent off to the estate of the Duke of Perth, whose cruel son would be my betrothed. My father’s assent to the marriage didn’t carry a drop of compassion or affection. His mind was fixated on the Lawry Cargo Company, the family business that would ensure a legacy in this, England’s Golden Age.

  My marriage to Goeffrey of Perth would give my father certain considerations in taxes and levies. He gleefully explained all this to me as tears poured down my face at the dinner table. My pitiless brother Michael pondered aloud if it might be the first meal where I didn’t ask for seconds.

  I grit my teeth in anger at the memory. The lacquered black interior of the carriage was hard and dark, a protective cage for the family’s most precious cargo. And that’s what I’d become: my worth was measured by the highest bidder for my womanhood. It wasn’t fair, but I knew others didn’t even have food to eat.

  I saw my father come out of our estate’s front gate.

  The aspiration of every merchant was to rise higher than their station, no matter the cost. My father was no different. Widower and absentee father, he poured his life into ledgers and weights. He would spend hours talking about a shipment of precious spices from the dark jungles of India. But if I wanted to engage him in a discussion of music, poetry, or anything else, he couldn’t be bothered to contain his boredom.

  I unlatched my window, ready to receive my father’s blessings for my wedding. He wouldn’t be attending the actual wedding, of course. Instead he would be arguing for lowered taxes at the registrar’s office. If he attended the wedding, that would be days worth of profit lost to taxes, and that would be out of the question. I’d heard all this as I looked down onto my plate of untouched beef slice and potatoes. No more tears came: I was all out.

  Instead of coming to the carriage window, my father went to the front of the carriage.

  “Get her there safely, Winchester,” my father said.

  “Aye sir, ain’t no worries there. She be handed over, grace of our Lord willing,” Winchester replied, head bobbing in deference.

  “And the other package as well,” my father said, an even tone in his voice.

  “Of course, sir! Any brigand e’en pokes ‘is head up, he better be ready to meet ole Lainey here,” Winchester said as he patted the wide bore carriage gun in his lap. It wouldn’t do much at range, but the pepper of lead shot it threw at close range would stop a whole gang of bandits.

  “It’s just…it’s a lot of money. But try not to forget I have more. More than enough to hire Pinkertons to track down someone foolish enough to betray me,” my father said quietly. He never got loud when he was emotional: he got quiet.

  “Now, now Mr. Lawry! I do be insulted ye think of me this way! I’m a good Christian man, doin’ the best he can for his lord and liege! I been here almost two years now,” Winchester said. “Ye can trust Winchester, I always says!”

  “Yes,” my father said, not satisfied but not seeing any other option. Time was of the essence, and that meant working quickly to get the marriage solidified. The sooner I was being rutted by that cruel boy’s cruel prick, the better. “Deliver my daughter, deliver the dowry, obtain the contract and hurry back with it. Brook no delay!” my father said, turning away and walking back into the estate.

  “Aye! Be away!” Winchester said, snapping the reigns.

  I don’t know why I started crying again, but I did. Every girl dreams about her wedding, about the day when she weds her true love. I’d learned to look at it like a mosaic, one big idea broken up into smaller pieces. I wouldn’t have a perfect wedding, I knew that growing up. Big girls like me didn’t get perfect weddings. The Prince Charmings wanted the delicate feet that could fit into the tiny glass slipper.

  But I would have a perfect dress. I would compose myself as a lady of my status and breeding. I would enjoy a sumptuous meal and dance as much as I could. And my father would give his blessing, his special spoken words he shares with his daughter to tell her how beautiful she is on her day and how wonderful her life is going to be. Even if it were a lie, I would take it and hold onto it for dear life.

  But I didn’t get it. My father gave me less attention than he would a crate of white linen. The carriage pulled away, down our tree lined lane and then down a road that would cut through the countryside. The sun was high in the sky, the leaves in the trees turning brown, signaling the impending winter.

  I knew the rid
e would last for hours, and it would be a day that took all my strength, so I closed my eyes and tried to drift off. Some sleep beforehand would soften the emotional blows of my father, and better prepare me for the bastard Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey of Perth was well known in the county. The last of his siblings, the runt. They said the devil had touched him at birth, giving him a cruel streak to match a Tartar’s. No animal too small to defend itself was safe from his attention. I knew some boys were born evil but were put on a straight path by their father’s belt. Geoffrey was spared this justice, and that mercy spoiled his soul. Now nineteen years old, to match my own age, he was traded off in a business deal.

  I sighed, but that turned into a yawn. My head felt so heavy, I leaned it against the wall of the carriage and dozed off.

  I awoke mid-air as the carriage stopped suddenly. Thrown forward, I felt onto the seat opposite me like a sack of wet noodles. I looked out the window and saw that the sun was soon to set. I could see we were stopped in a wooded area. Nothing but trees surrounded the carriage, save a stack of three large stones on the side of the road. A conspicuous marker.

  “Is everything all right, Winchester?” I called out through the open window.

  “Aye, tis fine. Now sit down an’ shut up,” the man rudely replied.

  “You cannot talk to me like that. I will be telling my father about this rude treatment as soon as we reach our destination,” I said. This man had no right to treat me in such a way. My father hired him two years ago, and that only meant that he worked for cheap.

  “Aye, ye will, ye will,” he said, stepping down from the carriage. He opened the carriage door and got down on one knee, prostrating himself. Finally, a proper apology.

  “I’m glad you’ve come to your-“ I began.

  The large open hand that slapped me across the face made me see stars. Tears blinded me, half my face on fire. I bent over, my stomach wanting to retch.

  “Shut yer fat piggy mouth, ye dunce,” Winchester growled, his missing teeth bared in warning.

  My cries died in my throat. I had never been this scared in my life. He had to have known that such a slap would cost him his hand if not his life. Even if my father and husband cared not for me, this was an attack on their names. That’s when I knew he wouldn’t let me live to tell anyone. My screams resumed.

  “I said,” he said climbing up into the carriage,”to shut! Yer piggy! Mouth!” he said, each word punctuated with a fist to my stomach.

  I knew I couldn’t push him off me, so instead I grabbed his foot and pulled towards me. He lost his balance, and bent down sideways to catch himself. My foot shot out, connecting with his jaw with a wonderful crack. I saw his eyes go wide.

  “That’s right, bastard. This piggy won’t be easy prey!” I spat. My victory was shortlived.

  “RRRRUU BRRRRTCH!” he screamed through his broken jaw. His hands grabbed my dress and hauled me out of the carriage.

  My head smacked against something hard and I tried to crawl away through the dizziness. I heard other voices. “Please help me!” I cried.

  “Nrr brrrch! Nrr rrrru drrrr,” Winchester said, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling my head back.

  I saw a glint of filthy steel to my right and knew that I was going to die on this deserted forest road. The steel lowered below my chin and I tried to say the Lord’s Prayer as fast as I could.

  “Put the blade down, Wally,” a stern voice said from the woods. A group of men emerged from beside the road. I could see that they were bandits. Their hard faces, much like Winchester’s, wore years of hard life and penal service. A dozen men in all stood before us, some with brands on their faces marking them as thieves and degenerates.

  “Shrrr brrrk mrrr jrrrr!” Winchester screamed, pressing the blade against my throat.

  I felt every tick and notch on the blade, it’s pitted rusty surface ensuring that my departure from this world would be more a matter of sawing than slicing. I couldn’t remember if I’d finished the prayer, but I resigned to just ask Saint Peter for forgiveness in a short while anyway.

  “Yeah, you do look a mess, Wally. She got you good,” he chuckled. He spoke over his shoulder to his henchmen, “Get the dowry.” Like locusts, the men darted forward and scrambled all over the carriage. One of them retrieved a small wooden chest from under the driver’s seat and lifted it over his head.

  The men all cheered, their prize in hand.

  The leader stepped closer, and I could see him clearly now. He wore a brown jacket and top hat, like a sullied urbanite. He gave me a small practiced bow and doffed his hat.

  “Milady, my name is Lanky Jack, and these be my Merry Men! It looks like you gave ole’ Wally here a right good mule kick!” He grinned over at Winchester, a gold tooth shining in the declining sunlight. “Now what kind of leader would I be if I didn’t seek some recompense for my man’s troubles?”

  I swallowed hard. “My…my father will pay you handsomely for my return! Silver! Gold! Whatever you ask!” I squawked, pleading for my life.

  “Ehh, now milady…we both know you’re not Daddy’s favorite. He might pay for your release, but more likely he’ll spend that money on putting nooses around our necks. I’m right, ain’t I?” he said.

  He was right. He was damned right. My father’s priority would be to right the wrong, not secure my life. I wanted to deny this. I wanted to lie. I wanted to live, but I was shamed into silence. My father wouldn’t save his daughter on her wedding night.

  But I didn’t cry. I looked up at that smug face and locked onto his eyes.

  “Aye, I thought so,” Lanky Jack said, “but do not despair. Before we send ye off to meet yer maker, we’re all going to have a splendid night. Ye see, my men been out in the woods a long while. And, well, ye might not be a prize to your Daddy, but you look fine to us,” he said, his grin coming closer.

  Winchester let go of my hair, and I felt the blade leave my throat. Without a second thought, I reared back and hurled the largest ball of spittle and blood I could summon. I watched it splatter all over Lanky Jack’s face. He wasn’t grinning anymore.

  “Damn you to hell!” I screamed.

  A sharp blow to the back of my head and I had a sensation of floating forward before I lost consciousness.

  I was back in my father’s estate. I was standing in front of the full length mirror in the parlour. I was smoothing the wedding dress over my body. It was perfect. The small pearls at the fringe were round and as white as driven snow.

  My mother stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was proud of me. I had a strange sensation, like she shouldn’t be there. Why shouldn’t she be here?

  Cold water splattered along the front of my dress. I looked up to see a massive crack in the ceiling of our mansion, water pouring down. I looked back down into the mirror and my mother was gone. My dress had turned black. I brought my hands up to my face and screamed silently, watering pouring down from the ceiling.

  I gurgled and spat up water. I was not back in my family’s estate. I was not wearing a dress. The freezing cold air bit me all over, my soaking wet undergarments clinging to me. A campfire roared nearby.

  “She’s up,” the man who stood over me said. A small pail hung from his hand.

  “Well, bring ‘er over!” a voice from closer to the fire said.

  Dazed, I felt hands lift me from under my armpits and drag me over to the fire. Dark, dirty faces leered at me from the darkness. The way my unmentionables clung to my body, my full breasts were visible to all under the stars. I wrapped my arms around myself and curled up, both from modesty and to warm myself up.