by Anthology
“Kitten, I will huff and puff, and then make you blow my brains out.”
Still nothing.
Son of a bitch.
I walk back downstairs and grab the album out of the garbage. No way in hell is that thing going out in the trash. For starters, it’s mine. And that night … That fucking night was about her, me, and a commitment that is deeper than love.
Bekah and I had never really talked about a wedding, but the couple times it was brought up, she mentioned not wanting her parents in the same room. They hate one another, and I couldn’t very well invite my family and leave hers out. Therefore, the topic was always discarded.
Then, it hit me one night in Italy after far too many drinks that I wasn’t waiting for everyone to have a change of heart and come together in perfect harmony. It wasn’t about them. It’s about us.
We were at a fellow Dom, Antonio’s, party when I saw Rafe, who had performed a beautiful ceremony for another couple we had spent time with a few months prior, and my wheels started turning. I knew we would return to the Shore, soon and didn’t want to wait until we did.
A week later, right before another one of Antonio’s party, she walked out of the bathroom wearing a dress that was almost too revealing to leave the house in, she was beaming.
Her dress was very short, nearly sheer, deep red, and stunning. It took a lot for her to finally look at herself through my eyes. I had never stopped telling her, training her with words and touch, to see and feel how beautiful she is, and it was clear that night that she had finally seen it. She never looked more beautiful.
I hold up the photo album and look at it.
She and I are standing before a Saint Andrew’s cross, her in that fucking dress, her arms wrapped in silk ribbon behind her back, and me holding a collar that had been locked in my car’s console for this moment time to come.
I rub my thumb across the picture over my wife, remembering the words she said to me that day.
“I humbly accept this collar as a symbol of your ownership of me. I promise to value your truth, rest in your strength, and grow stronger in your care. I pledge my life, servitude, and obedience. I am yours, and being yours means I know I will be looked after, treated, and tended to with the utmost care. In return, I offer the gift of myself to you … forever.”
I look at my face in another picture, seeing love, pride, and responsibility.
My words to her …
“I give you this collar as a symbol of ownership. I pledge to keep you safe, care for your every need, love you, and provide the discipline that you require. Wear it with pride and know that there is no other I would want to call me Master. Forever Steel, Bekah.”
I take a deep breath as I close the album, one which will be in the safe, not the fucking trash, because it’s more precious to me than gold. Then I grab the ring of keys to our many rooms, walk up the stairs, and unlock the door to our bedroom.
Sitting on the end of our bed, wrapped in the comforter, she turns so her back is to me. “I need privacy.”
Hormones.
After grabbing a suit and tie from my closet, I walk over to her, kissing the top of her head. “And I promised to tend to your utmost care. I’m gonna drive into work. I’ll send the car.”
I don’t wait for her to respond. I just walk out the door.
4
INFURIATINGLY PUR-FECT
Bekah
He drives me crazy. Insanely crazy. He’s so … so … infuriatingly … perfect.
Yes, he’s perfect.
He makes me laugh harder than anyone ever has. He is protective and so … alpha. A real alpha.
What’s a real alpha?
Someone who is strong, secure, knows what he wants and goes after it. He doesn’t have to be showy, and doesn’t have to be the center of attention, although they often are.
When I first met Zandor, I was immediately attracted to him. He is sexy as sin and fun to fantasize about. His carefree attitude, humor, and the nonstop witty and sexual banter with everyone made working at Forever Steel seem like it would be a fun and a relaxing atmosphere.
It wasn’t for me.
He trained me hard, harder than anyone else. He pushed me to do things before I felt ready. He made it more than clear he had every intention of getting what he wanted, and I was sure as soon as he did, he would leave.
He didn’t.
Therefore, I pushed him away.
I wanted him, yet I wasn’t ready.
When I finally let down my guard, though, and allowed myself to see me the way he did, I became beautiful for the very first time. He made me love my curves, and all the other things I felt was wrong with me physically. He gave me no reason to feel insecure. In fact, he made me love them.
We have both learned a lot from one another.
If this was six months ago, before we found out I was pregnant, he would be standing over me, pushing me to talk, make up, or fuck our way through this … disagreement.
I hate fighting. Hate it. With him, though, I know a fight, which is seldom, doesn’t mean I will find him drunk at a bar, or find out he cheated on me.
He is my hope, my light, my passionate and demanding lover, my protector, my everything.
I’m so much stronger now, than before, because of him and with him.
It’s not a weakness, he told me once. It’s how it’s supposed to be. He felt men were supposed to protect the things they love, and protecting emotionally was just as important than physically.
He’s right.
After my shower and once my hair is dry, I walk over to my closet, pulling out a dress that doesn’t accentuate the curves Zandor adores, and pull it over my head. Looser clothing makes me look less pregnant. I would prefer it for at least another month.
Then, after applying minimal makeup, I walk downstairs and find my breakfast on the kitchen island with a note from Zandor.
Take your time coming in today.
Nothing major going on.
Love you, kitten.
Yours,
Z.
When I walk into Steel Inc., Momma Joe is standing just inside the main entrance, coat slung over her arm and smiling.
“Good morning, Rebekah.” She hugs me and kisses each of my cheeks.
“Good morning, Momma Joe. Are you leaving?”
She nods. “I have some shopping to do. A new gallery opened, and we’re investing in it. They are going to be texting me some of the props they need.”
“They asked you to do that?” I’m shocked that the owner of a startup company would ask for an investor’s help.
“I love to shop, and being artistic is something I miss. Aside from cooking, I feel like I may lose my creativity, so this is a pet project.” She looks down at her phone at a message and sighs.
“I love it here at Steel and working with Zandor, but I miss working at the shop, too.”
“You do?” she asks, shocked.
I nod. “I do.”
“I actually would love your help. I went looking for you on my way out; spoke to Zandor. He said I should ask you to come with me.”
“Oh,” I say, slightly shocked. It’s not like Zandor to not check in with me first.
She smiles. “I just asked. If you’d rather not—”
“No, of course. He mentioned there wasn’t much going on, so sure.”
“Good.” She smiles. “Your sisters-in-law are meeting me in a few hours for a nice pampering session.”
“Pampering?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t ask me to join in that. Zandor and I enjoy our couple’s massages together almost monthly, and it’s been some time. My first trimester was rough.
“I told Zandor he’d have to deal with it. He pouted a bit, but I’m immune.” She laughs as she opens the door. “Let’s go.”
Guess I’m getting pampered, too.
In the vehicle, Joe sends texts back and forth with the artist, laughing and shaking her head.
“Well, we’ll have an interesting day. I hope you’re not too tired, R
ebekah.”
5
I GOT YOUR BITCH
Zandor
Sitting at my desk in front of my computer, my brothers surround me.
“You’re such a bitch.” Xavier laughs.
A couple years ago that would have started a fight. Not anymore.
I shrug. “So be it.”
“I mean, really, if Momma Joe had any chance of having a girl, it would have been you.” He laughs again.
“Because I’m more interested in the art of pleasure that builds a mind-blowing orgasm that comes from her soul than just hearing my woman call out my name as she comes?”
“Drama queen.” Cyrus, the oldest of us four, chuckles.
“Be nice, man,” Jase says, sticking up for me.
“Thank you, Ja—”
“I’m just happy he’s not snuggling with Momma’s bras and fucking vacuum cleaners anymore.” Jase busts up laughing, and so do the other two clowns.
“You see that door?” I point. “Unless you’re going to help me, then use it.”
“Bitch baby,” Xavier says under his breath.
“Just remember who helped you through your first lay so you didn’t blow it too soon and ruin our reputations,” I point out.
“Ours?” He chuckles.
“You’re Steel; couldn’t have you tarnishing our name,” I tell him seriously.
To that, my older brothers nod.
They know it.
“Can you three fucking focus for five minutes?” I ask. “We have shit to do and only a few hours to do it.”
“Still don’t know how it’s our fault you got married at a fuck shop,” Jase comments, sitting down.
“It wasn’t a fuck shop,” I tell him for the hundredth time.
“You got married on the beach, Jase,” Cyrus reminds him. “And I got married at a house.”
“And again, I’m the fucking legend.” Xavier chuckles.
I roll my eyes then ask, “We got the church that Dad’s funeral was held at?”
Jase nods. “We do.”
“Momma doesn’t know, right?” I ask.
The church meant something to me. I wanted it to be there and I knew Momma would understand.
“No, which may bite you in the ass,” Cyrus warns.
“I’m her favorite; she won’t be mad,” I remind him. “And the girls will be staying with her and Momma tonight?”
They nod.
I smile. “Perfect.”
6
DRESS SHOPPING
Bekah
“I like it,” I tell Joe as she holds up a white wedding dress to be used for the gallery display.
She taps her lips. “Something’s off, though.”
Grabbing another off the rack, I ask, “How about this one?”
She looks at the dress, then me, then back at the dress. “Do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Pick your favorites, ones you would actually wear, ones that make you feel sexy.”
For the love of God, the way she says sexy … it’s like he would.
“What?” she asks curiously.
“Nothing,” I tell her, holding back my laugh.
Looking through racks of dresses, I find more than three that appeal to me, and she finds four she asks me to try on.
“May I make a suggestion?” the boutique’s stylist, a woman in her thirties with a short blonde bob, asks.
“Of course,” both Joe and I answer.
“The ones you’re picking—the trumpets, mermaid, and ball gown styles—are very form fitting and …” She pauses and considers her words. “The style you’re wearing now is looser.”
Joe smiles. “My daughter-in-law is six months pregnant.”
“Then I would consider—”
“I’m not getting married.” I roll my eyes. Didn’t Joe just call me her daughter-in-law? “We’re doing this for—”
“I think it would be exciting to try on some dresses,” Joe says to me. Then she turns back to the stylist. “Will you pick a couple?”
She does.
In the dressing room, I am looking at myself in a white bra and panty set, thankful the style is a little more reserved compared to what I normally wear. Then it dawns on me that it’s probably a good thing Zandor left before I dressed today or he would have had me in black or red.
I try on several dresses as Joe takes pictures to send to the artist, and I play along, smiling the entire time. At first the smiles are for the camera, but then because I’m actually having fun.
Standing in front of the mirror, looking at myself, I step into yet another dress the stylist has picked out. It’s off white with a deep burgundy spray of flowers on the bodice, flowing down the dress from an empire waist to the flowing loose bottom.
“You need help zipping, Rebekah?” Joe asks, opening the door.
I nod and whisper, “Yeah,” as I continue to look at myself.
I hear a clap and look up at the stylist.
“That’s the one.”
“How do you know?” Joe asks, looking at my refection in the mirror.
“She looks like she feels beautiful,” she says in a sweet singing tone. “And she does.”
I swear I hear a sniffle, so I look back at Joe, who quickly looks away.
“Okay pictures.” She turns and walks out.
I follow her, assuming the position on the circular podium in the center of the shop and smile while she takes pictures.
Once we are done and while I dress, Joe says she’s going to text the photos and let the gallery make the final decision.
When I come out, she is waiting at the door. “Ready?”
I look at her inquisitively. “They didn’t pick one?”
“Yes, but they’ll stop in and grab it.” She swings the door open. “Now let’s go.”
7
TITS
Zandor
“My wife is a fucking knockout,” I groan, adjusting my cock.
“Seriously, do you have no shame?” Xavier shakes his head.
“No, none,” I answer honestly, turning the computer and showing my brothers the last picture Momma Joe sent of my kitten in white.
“Very virgin-ness.” Cyrus nods.
“Her tits are huge,” Jase comments, doing a double take.
“Yeah, they fucking are.” I chuckle, picturing them in my mind. “Nipples have grown a couple shades darker since I planted my seed—”
Xavier stands up, almost throwing the chair back in his haste. “Okay, bro, just shut the hell up.”
Cyrus sighs tiredly. “That’s not gonna happen.”
I smile smugly, meeting them all in the eye when I tell them, “I can’t help that you all didn’t quite complete the evolutionary process.”
“Meaning?” X hisses.
“Meaning I’m more a man to talk about appreciating … beauty.”
“You’re talking about your old lady’s nipples.”
“Delectable little things they are.” I look closer at the picture hoping to see some nip. “And she’s not old.”
“Z, you aren’t right.” Jase laughs.
I shrug. “Let me ask all of you a question.”
“Shoot, but go easy,” Cyrus warns.
“When your wives gave birth, how did you not get hard?” I know damn well at least two of them are going to blast off into orbit.
Jase starts telling me, “You are one sick—”
“She had a C-section,” Xavier growls, cutting Jase off.
“I’m simply hoping to find a way not to want to lick it clean.”
“Z, shut your fucking mouth.” Cyrus shakes his head.
I smile inwardly. I got three out of three. A fucking hat trick.
“You’ll be lucky to be upright,” Cyrus warns, chuckling.
“Just hope you don’t go through the same shit we did, man.” Xavier runs his hand through his hair.
Xavier and Cyrus’s wives had horrible deliveries. Very rough on them, hell on all of us.
<
br /> I text Momma Joe back the dress I like best.
-This one. Thanks, Momma.
“And … send.” I stand up, rubbing my hands together. “Now, let’s go clean out my playroom and make room for my son.”
“An hour? That’s all it took to move everything out of our playroom?” I mumble.
Cyrus clamps his paw on my shoulder. “Lighten up, buttercup. You may not be able to slip it in whenever you want, but the littles are pretty damn amazing.”
“Littles?”
“Little Steels,” Jase explains, lifting a box.
“Steel 3.0.” X smirks as he moves to the end of the bench. “Grab the end of this … whatever the hell it is.”
I sigh. “Spanking bench.”
Cyrus laughs. “God gave you two knees, bro. You don’t need a fucking bench.”
“No shit,” I grumble. “But fuck, it’s hot.”
8
SPA DAY
Bekah
When we walk into the spa at the Marriott, Carly, Tara, Taelyn, and little Bell are waiting.
“Hi, Aunt Bekah,” Bell beams.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” I whisper when she hugs me.
“Momma Carly got me out for some girl time without Kiki,” she whispers proudly. “Don’t tell Dad. He’ll flip.”
“It’s our secret then,” I whisper back as we all walk down the hall toward our first stop.
“On the menu for today”—Joe says as we all start to change into our uber-soft, lush spa robes—“waxing and facials, a nice body scrub, manicures, pedicures, and then a massage. Sounds heavenly, doesn’t it, Bell?”
“Not the waxing part,” Bell says, looking borderline terrified. “I’ve seen Momma Carly get her eyebrows done, and she almost cries.”
Momma Joe laughs. “Well then, we’ll start you right out with the facial.”
Relief flashes over Carly’s face, and I giggle, knowing she probably doesn’t want Bella to know that some of us may wax a little more than our eyebrows.