by Bijou Hunter
“I’m having your babies, and we’re falling in love. Nothing else matters,” I murmur, desperate for him to smile.
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re giving up anything to be with me.”
“Whatever I give up,” I whisper while cupping his face, “I more than make up for with what you offer me. Do you really think a chandelier is more important than an amazing man? Don’t be a fool. Know your worth.”
A tiny smile tugs at his lips. “I’m just a simple country biker with a big dick and amazing pussy-pounding skills. Can you blame me for feeling insecure?”
Straddling him, I realize my bump makes a make-out session tricky. “This was sexier in my head.”
Poet caresses my stomach with both of his hands. They slide under my shirt, teasing sensitive skin. I lean back just enough for those frisky fingers to find my breasts hiding under my thin, pale blue bra.
“Hayes will no doubt send Chipper if I stay here longer than twenty-five minutes,” I whisper against his lips. “We’ve already used up around ten. Can you imagine the quickie fun we could have with the fifteen minutes left?”
“If I show you my bed, what will you show me?” Poet asks as his fingers pluck at my hard nipples.
I moan quietly and grip his shirt. “I need you to fuck me. I can’t think of anything sexy to say to make that happen. Just bend me over and give my pussy a good pounding. I need an orgasm to tide me over.”
We stand up, and Poet’s lips return to mine before lowering to my throat. With my back to his chest, he carefully maneuvers me down a narrow hallway to his bedroom. Halfway through the door, my shirt comes off and lands on the bed. A moan leaves my lips when he shoves up my bra to allow full access to my breasts.
“Poet, I need you inside me,” I groan while my pussy throbs aggressively.
“Patience,” he murmurs before reaching around me to grab his pillows. “Here’s a little padding for the babies.”
I smile back at him as he leans me forward and I rest my belly on the two pillows. Poet bends down to remove my sandals, and then my shorts and panties end up on the floor. My pussy clenches anxiously when his hot breath teases it.
“You’re dripping wet,” he murmurs.
“I’m more interested in the present state of your dick.”
My ass wiggles excitedly when I hear his belt buckle coming undo. How soon until I feel the head of his fat cock at the entrance to my demanding pussy?
“I’m crazy for you,” he says as his lips and teeth work their way up my back. “I can’t imagine never meeting you at The Shot Glass. Not knowing this body,” he continues, and I moan at the feel of his fingers finding my nipples. “Not knowing your smile or your musical laughter. You’re more than I deserve, but I’ll never give you up. Do you understand?”
There’s a threat to his final words, but I can only think of the head of his cock teasing my pussy. If he doesn’t fuck me soon, I think I might honest to goodness beg.
“Do you?” he asks and fills me in a smooth, dominating thrust.
“Yes,” I groan, already close to coming. “Fuck me hard, but not too hard. I don’t want the babies bouncing out of my mouth.”
Poet’s deep voice lets out a glorious laugh, even while his hips work feverishly to give me what I demand. I clench my pussy, sucking on his cock until the pressure is too much and I groan, “roadwhore” into the pillow. The orgasm hits me so strong and flawlessly that my legs are ready to give out. Still bouncing forward with every thrust, I make noises my dogs would likely view as life-threatening.
While Poet and I make everything so fucking difficult—my house or his, his family vs. mine—our bodies naturally gel. Soon, our brains will catch up. Then our current problems will fade away, leaving our life together as effortless as our fucking.
POET
Cricket gives me a snarky frown when we leave the trailer and hear the sound of Hank Williams playing at the main house. I know instantly that Peepaw Zeb has arrived with his moonshine. Though expecting to find the old man causing trouble, I hope his moonshine will act as a soothing tonic for all the egos. Cricket squeezes my hand and grooves to “On the Bayou.”
“Oh, that smells good,” she murmurs, sounding as aroused as when I’m inside her. “Someone’s grilling meat.”
“My dad and Grandpa Jared are known for their slow-cooking pork.”
Cricket’s stomach responds with a growl loud enough for three. Rubbing her bump, she shrugs. “I’m a fan of pork, but Cap is likely face-first in a pile of it. The boy is fucking crazy about the other white meat.”
The mood on the back deck is exceptionally more chill than when we left. Hayes sits with his feet up and a drink in his hand. On his lap is a plateful of meat. Next to him, Cap sits in nearly the same position, though I suspect his cup isn’t filled with booze.
“Is this the girl?” Peepaw Zeb asks, shuffling barefoot toward us. “Oh, she’s a good-looking one.”
“I am good-looking,” Cricket says and smiles. “Thank you.”
“Good baby-making hips too.”
Cricket frowns. “We already made the babies. To keep me around, I should really have other qualities.”
“You look like you’ve got good teeth.”
“I do. Thank you for noticing.”
“Can’t tell how great your tits are when your stomach’s so big.”
“Trust me when I say they’re awesome.”
“They really are,” I add before slapping away Zeb’s curious hand from her stomach. “She’s mean, Peepaw. You’re too old to survive a bitch slap.”
“Might be a good way to die,” he says, shuffling to where Meemaw Coretta sits. The old woman is too deaf and blind to give a shit about what’s happening around her.
Cricket ignores my great grandparents yelling at each other and focuses on Hayes. “That old man was talking about my cans,” she says and kicks his chair. “How come you didn’t even growl?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles.
Chipper laughs too loudly nearby. “Moonshine, Cricket! It makes the world so wonderfully satisfying. Come here and drink with me.”
“No. Where’s Candy?”
“I don’t know.”
Cricket looks to Hayes who shrugs. My dad and the uncles laugh at the giant man’s current state of chill.
“Inside,” Cap finally answers when Cricket asks again.
While I don’t want her to leave my side yet, I strongly suspect I would not be welcomed in the chick domain in the house. I wrap my arms around Cricket who is eyeing her brother. She leans into my embrace, but she’s really interested in his moonshine.
“Let me taste,” she finally says and reaches for his cup.
“Is that smart?” Uncle Donovan asks.
Cricket responds with a casual, “Fuck off.”
Chipper hands her the cup, and she takes a sip. A moment passes before she shrugs. “I’ve had better.”
“Bullshit,” Chipper says, swiping back his booze. “You’re jealous. I know that look. I’ve seen it all my life whenever you check out my hair.”
Cricket bursts into laughter and hides her face against my chest. Chipper doesn’t laugh because he is very serious about his hair.
“Tilapia!” Peepaw Zeb yells out. “Name your fish baby after that quality meal.”
Cricket cocks an eyebrow before glancing up at me. “Is it worth pushing back against him?”
“He’s a hundred and twenty-nine years old. Your words could literally kill him.”
“And you’re saying that would be bad for interfamily relations?”
“Killing Christine’s father would very much put a damper on our situation.”
“Fine, then he can yell out fish names all he wants, and I won’t even care. I’m too calm a person to start trouble with your family.”
“There are no words to express how happy I am that you’re here.”
Cricket gives me a devious smile. “I don’t need words after the delicious pounding I just
took.”
“What?” Chipper asks. “Share that with the group or stop talking about it.”
Cricket reaches over and gives her brother’s hair a gentle pull. “I’m going inside to put my feet up and enjoy air-conditioned first-world luxury.”
“You’re sad that you can’t have moonshine, aren’t you?” Chipper says, smirking up at her. “Your jealousy makes my heart beat faster.”
“Eat a turd, fart lover.”
Cricket turns to me and smiles. “Want to go inside with me?”
“I don’t think I’m welcome in there.”
“No, you’re not, but I wanted to ask so you’d feel included.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders and try to snuggle her against me, but our babies take up a lot of space and side hugs are easier. Cricket finally pushes me off her and frowns down at her belly. I suspect the babies kick because she suddenly grins and rubs her stomach. Leaving me to enjoy the indoors, Cricket peeks back twice before leaving me with drunk men talking about the best meat they’ve had in their lives.
CRICKET
The mood inside the house is downright catty compared to the inebriated chill happening outside. Candy isn’t great with women, and her only two female friends know how to endure quite a lot of bullshit. Aunt Honey was formerly married to a violent asshole, so Candy’s strong personality doesn’t faze her. Ruby Fletcher grew up in a trailer park filled with wild, alcohol-loving women. My mom is the norm for her.
These Tumbling Rock women might not be tough enough to deal with my mom’s snark.
However, after a minute inside the house, I realize they aren’t ganging up on Candy. Instead, the women have broken into two factions. On one side, Candy and Aunt Poppy passionately argue that Aunt Justice will be the worst grandmother. On the other side, Aunt Journey and Justice argue the opposite point with Candy being the absolute shittiest grandmother.
“Technically,” I announce after kicking off my sandals so I can rest on the couch with my feet up, “wouldn’t Poet’s birth mom, Becca Bitch, in fact, be the absolute shittiest fucking grandmother?”
“Wait, aren’t you his birth mom?” Candy asks Justice.
“I’d be like ten when I had him. So, are you accusing me of being a baby slut or are you saying I look old enough to have a twenty-five-year-old son?”
“Hmm... let me think,” Candy says before sitting on the couch and resting my feet on her lap. “The baby slut one would make me very sad. Court seems like a nice man, and I’d hate to think of him taking sexual advantage of a child. Huh, what other option does that leave me?”
“I aged fantastically. People tell me all the time how fricking fantastic I look for a mother of three.”
“Your body only cooked one of them,” Aunt Poppy says and sits on the chair arm. “Lazy. I had all mine the old-fashioned way.”
“Me too,” Candy says.
My mom and Poppy high-five each other while Journey consoles Justice on losing whatever point they were trying to make.
“Anyone know a boy name that starts with an ‘M’ that doesn’t suck?”
They yell out normal names like Michael, Matthew, Maxwell, and Mason. Then they yell out not-so-normal names like Moses, Marvin, Moe, and Mutt.
Sighing, I close my eyes. “Those names are boring. Well, maybe not Mutt.”
“You are not naming my grandson, Mutt,” Candy warns me. “There’s weird, and then there’s cruel.”
“Oh, yeah, because of butt,” I say, snorting. “That’d be funny.”
Aunt Journey sits on a stool by the kitchen counter. “For a few years, it would be. Eventually, though, it’d stop being funny and your kid would still be stuck with the name.”
“Fine, no Mutt, but I need a name that’ll go with Minnow if Baby B is a girl.”
“You’re naming your baby after a fish?” Aunt Journey scoffs.
“No, I’m naming her after a boat.”
“Oh, I get it,” Aunt Poppy says. “Poet does love that dumb show.”
“And I love him, so, I want to name the girl Minnow. What to name the boy, though?”
“I know!” Justice cries. “How about everyone gets out their phones and looks for names for the next five minutes. We’ll each list what we came up with and then vote. Make this thing a game.”
Everyone pulls out their phones and prepares for the five-minute search-athon.
“Wait,” I say before we start. “Can I get a drink first?”
Three minutes later with our glasses full, we return to our phones and Justice counts us down.
“Go!”
And the search for my unborn son’s “M” name begins!
POET
Moonshine affects people in many different ways. The drink makes Hayes freakishly mellow while my dad now thinks everything is fricking hilarious. For Chipper, the moonshine makes him very fond of animals, especially Jimmy.
“This dog just gets me, you know?” he says to me while rubbing his face against Jimmy’s. “He sees into my soul.”
Working at the grill, I mutter, “As long as your affection for him is platonic, have at it.”
“He has an old soul,” Chipper babbles, still snuggling the dog who is maybe thinking of ditching me for his new love. “I bet he knows how the universe came to be.”
“Are you high?” Uncle Emmett asks.
“No, are you?” Chipper says and shares an annoyed look with Jimmy.
The dog licks Chipper’s face, sending the grown man into silly giggles. I laugh despite my irritation at the sloshed men around me. Oh, and Meemaw Coretta isn’t helping by yelling that she hears a chopper and we might be under attack.
Soon, the back door opens, and the women head outside. When Cricket focuses on me, I love how she smiles when her gaze meets mine.
“What about Murphy?” she asks once at my side. “It was Christine’s suggestion, and the name means ‘sea warrior’ which is super perfect to go with his sister’s fish name.”
“Murphy, huh? Let the name sit awhile with Minnow,” I say, kissing her head. “Are you okay?”
“Painfully fat, but good otherwise. Have you enjoyed the moonshine?”
“No. I figured if you couldn’t drink it, I shouldn’t either.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet. Notice how my brother’s sympathetic pregnancy doesn’t extend to drinking habits.”
Chipper notices Cricket looking at him and waves at her with Jimmy’s paw.
“I think your brother loves my dog.”
“That’s weird. He’s a cat person.”
“Moonshine is a helluva thing.”
Cricket laughs at her brother before cooing over how he plays on all fours with Jimmy. Even entertained by his antics, she remains close to me while I serve pulled pork sandwiches to Candy and the Earlham women who now sit with their corresponding men.
Peepaw shuffles behind me, refilling everyone’s cups. When I return to the grill, he continues to follow me.
“What?” I ask, wary of him spiking my drink since he said earlier I was a giant pussy for not getting drunk off my ass just because my fat wife couldn’t.
“I don’t see a ring on your girl’s finger, Felix,” he says, pointing at Cricket who instinctively smacks away his hand. “Does that mean you’re living in sin or did her fingers get too fat to wear the ring?”
“I feel as if I’ve answered this question already.”
“You can feel however you want, boy, but no one has to give a shit.”
“My fingers aren’t too fat,” Cricket says. “They’re the only part of my body that hasn’t gained weight, so I want credit for that.”
“I got huge when I was pregnant,” Justice announces. “Not as fat as Journey, but who could?”
My older aunt doesn’t take the insult from her younger sister well, and a chase ensues. I hear Justice screaming from the detached garage and assume she lost badly.
“What Cricket and I do isn’t your problem, old timer.”
“Living in sin wil
l have you burning in hell.” Peepaw Zeb warns me from his spot next to his ex-wife who he still bangs and occasionally lives with. I consider pointing out this hypocrisy, but Zeb is nearly a million years old—according to Justice anyway. No reason to get him riled up. If his kicker gave out from me making a stink over such a minor issue, I’d never hear the end of it.
“That’s my problem. You worry about your soul.”
“I’m kosher, boy.”
“I don’t think that means what you think it means.”
“Few words do,” Grandpa Jared mutters, giving my dad a smile.
Cricket walks to me and wraps an arm around my waist, so we’re side-by-side. “Marriage is a bougee concept. Living in sin sounds vastly cooler. Let’s do that.”
“What’s bougee?” Poppy asks.
Cricket scowls at my aunt. “What’s a queef?”
“You have internet access.”
“So do you, blondie. Look bougee the fuck up.”
“Yeah!” Chipper yells from his spot on the lawn with Jimmy. “Everyone get their phones and learn something new for the day!”
I adjust my stance so Cricket and I are away from the growing insanity of people yelling out words they don’t know.
“What is a neckbeard?” Uncle Emmett asks. “And why do people keep calling me that?”
“What’s a Hells Angels red wing?” Aunt Poppy demands.
Cricket shudders at the last question. “She will not like the answer.”
“Let’s take a short walk,” I say, wanting her to myself.
“How short?”
“If you get tired, I’ll carry you.”
“I’m too fat.”
“Fine, then I’ll drag you by the hair like you’re my cave bitch. Now come along before we’re sucked into their conversation.”
Laughing, Cricket walks with me away from the deck. “For Halloween, we should dress like ‘The Flintstones.’”
“And the babies can be Bamm-Bamm and Pebbles.”
“Aww, you watched the show too.”
Ignoring her cooing, I ask, “Do you really not want to get married?”