10. Oz
10
OZ
I barely sleep, willing away the hours until the B team gets here and I get to go home to my Etta. Yesterday was as fucking perfect as it could be when I couldn’t be with her. When I’d called her after she’d had dinner with the Barnetts and she’d confessed she’d planned to run from me, I almost lost my shit and went home. But she didn’t run, she stayed. She chose to stay at my house, in my bed. She chose to stay.
Talking to her yesterday, video chatting while she was in the tub, watching her come while I dirty talked about fucking her ass—it’s something I never even knew I wanted from a woman. But with Etta, I want to be a part of every single aspect of her life. I want to feed her, bathe her, talk to her while she eats, while she works, while she falls asleep. I want to know what she’s doing every moment of every day, and I want her to want to tell me.
The level of control I crave with her is obscene, but the more I demand of her, the more she gives, like she craves it too. I love my job. I relish the way I get to immerse myself in saving lives and the adrenaline that comes with each emergency that happens. But just thinking about spending the rest of my life with Etta gives me the same sense of excitement.
I haven’t mentioned the courthouse wedding I’ve arranged for us yet. I doubt she’ll be as enthusiastic as I am, but that’s okay. I’m confident I can convince her that this is happening, and if I can’t, then I’m more than happy to fuck her into a stupor, then throw her over my shoulder and drop her in front of the judge.
By the end of the day, she’s going to be Mrs. Etta Malik, and the baby I hope is already growing in her belly is just going to make everything even more perfect. When my alarm goes off at five a.m., I jump out of bed and head for the shower, just as everyone else is starting to stir.
Once I’m clean and dressed, I pack my stuff into my duffel, then head to the kitchen and start to prepare breakfast. The other team starts at seven a.m., but we always eat together early before we leave for our four days off.
This morning, I make eggs, sausage links, and toast, placing the serving dishes on the table just as my team starts to emerge.
“You’re eager this morning, bro,” Danny says, slipping into a seat and helping himself to food.
“I’m looking forward to getting home,” I admit.
“Has that got anything to do with a certain cotton-candy-colored-haired stepsister you’ve got holed up at your place?”
“She’s not my stepsister,” I growl.
“ Oh,” Danny says with a smirk, arching his brows at me. “I didn’t know it was like that.”
“Like what?” I snap.
“Clearly, she’s something to you,” Danny states.
“She’s fucking everything,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at the guy who I normally consider my brother.
“Chill,” he says, holding his hands up. “I wasn’t thinking about making a move. I just didn’t realize hate had turned to…” He trails off, waiting for me to fill in the gaps.
“She’s mine.”
Nodding, a smirk tips his lips. “Should have seen this coming. I take it this is a Barnett-type situation.”
“If you mean, have I claimed her, and will I fucking kill you if you look at what’s mine, then yes, that’s exactly the situation,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Chill, bro. I’m not looking,” Danny assures me. “You know me. I’m not looking to be tied down. I like my women wet and willing to leave once we’re done.”
“Yeah, well, I liked variety, until Etta. Now no one else exists,” I admit, shocking myself with how honest I’m being. “I always assumed the Barnett stuff was all bullshit, but bro, now…if it’s not true, then I have no fucking clue what’s happening to me, but I don’t want it to stop.”
When the rest of the table fills with my teammates, I heap food onto my plate and start to eat, ready to get home to my future wife. I watch the clock tick down to seven a.m., and once the whole B team is here, I grab my stuff, wave goodbye, and barge out of the door and across the lot to where my truck is parked.
Sliding behind the wheel, I pull out onto the road a moment later, fighting the urge to put my foot down so I can get home to her quicker.
When I arrive home, the house is quiet and peaceful. Opening the door, I kick off my boots, pull off my T-shirt and start to unfasten my pants as I climb the stairs, not wanting to have to wait a moment longer than I have to to be inside of her.
Shucking out of my socks and boxers, I’m naked as I pad silently into the bedroom, finding her tiny body curled up under the comforter in the middle of my bed. At the sight of her, I suck in a sharp breath, my lungs fully inflating for the first time since I left here on Monday lunchtime.
I’d planned to throw back the covers and climb over her deliciously naked body, but now that I’m here, looking at her, I don’t want to startle her awake, even if my dick is rock-hard and dripping precum from the tip.
Instead, I lift the edge of the comforter and slip into the bed behind her. Spooning my body around hers, I lift her leg and run my fingers through her folds. She’s wet, and I’m unable to resist the temptation of her perfect fucking cunt as I position the head of my cock at her entrance and push inside.
The feeling of the heat of her body swaddling my cock is like coming home, and I exhale a ragged, blissful moan as I fill her with my dick until her ass is in my lap, her leg resting on top of my thigh.
My body urges me to start fucking her, but I don’t want to miss a moment of her reaction, so instead I wrap my arm across her chest and hold her to me, so fucking grateful that she’s here, that she’s mine. Needing her awake, I slide one hand up her body until my palm is spread around her throat, then I push the other between her thighs, parting her folds until I find her clit with my fingers. “Good morning, Little One.”
Slowly rubbing, I feel the moment her body starts to react to the pleasure I’m giving it, and a soft huff of air puffs from between her parted lips. Her ass tries to move, but she’s so full of my cock, she can’t, and a whine burbles from her.
No longer content with her peaceful slumber, I roll her clit between my finger and thumb, softly pinching the tiny bundle of nerves until her breaths become ragged and her hips start to roll, her body instinctively reacting to my cock.
“Oz,” she pants.
“Wake up, I want you awake while I fuck my baby into you.”
Her hips roll again, then she freezes.
“Is your dick in me?” she gasps.
“I couldn’t wait another minute. Were you dreaming about me, because your cunt was soaked, ready and waiting for me to fill,” I drawl against her ear, working her clit more insistently as I slowly start to buck into her from behind.
“Oh my god,” she moans, long and low when I pluck at her clit, tugging upward until her whole body arches like I’m pulling her on a string.
“Oh, you like that. You just gushed around my cock. Do you like a little pain, Etta? I can make it hurt if you want me to.”
“No, I don’t like…” She trails off as I grip her throat, restricting her air just enough to stop her denying her pleasure.
“You’ll always be my good girl, but I don’t mind if sometimes you want to be bad. I’ll toy with you, I’ll hurt you, pinch your clit and your nipples until you’re so wet we can hear it when I fuck you.”
A fresh surge of arousal coats my cock, and I chuckle against her neck, pressing a kiss to her fluttering pulse, then biting hard enough that she gasps. Slowly grinding into her, she pushes her ass back into my cock, meeting me move for move, arousal dripping from her and coating her thighs and mine.
“Oh god,” she pants, her hands gripping my arms, not trying to push me away, just clinging to me.
“I want to hear you come on my cock, Etta. I want to hear you scream my name before I flood your greedy cunt with my cum. Once you’re full, you’re going to stay on my cock, plugged by my dick, until my baby takes root in your womb.”
A shudder runs through her, and I smile against her neck, burying my nose into her skin and inhaling her warm, sleepy scent as I pump into her, needing to feel her come around my cock and milk the cum from my balls.
“Fuck, oh, fuck,” she rasps, trying to push my hand from between her legs as she comes on a stifled gasp, her muscles clenching tightly.
“That’s it. Squeeze my dick, Jesus, you feel so fucking perfect.” Incapable of waiting until she’s finished coming, I roll her to her stomach, part her legs wide, and slam into her, thrusting deep once, twice, before my balls pull up and I grunt, cum bursting from my dick and coating her channel.
Holding my weight off her, I press a kiss to her nape. “I missed you so fucking much,” I pant into her neck.
“I need to pee.” She giggles, slightly hysterically.
“No, not letting you go,” I growl, nipping at her neck.
“Oz, you woke me up, fucking me, I need to pee.”
“No,” I whine.
“Oz, unless you want me to pee on you, you need to let me up so I can use the bathroom.”
“Golden showers aren’t my kink.”
“What the hell is a golden shower?” she shrieks.
“It’s where…” Trailing off, I swallow down the words. “Never mind. Go pee, but once you’re done, I want you back on my cock.”
Sliding my dick out of her, I lift off her just enough for her to clamber out of bed and hurry into the bathroom. In her rush, she barely shuts the door, and I snicker to myself as she grumbles quietly.
Once I hear the toilet flush and the faucet turn on, I shuffle up the bed and position myself with my shoulder resting on the pillows. “Come here, Little One, sit that wet cunt back down on my dick.” Gripping my cock that’s still mostly hard at the base, I beckon her forward.
“Oz,” she whispers.
Crooking my finger, I point down at my dick, and she huffs a little, swaying uncertainly in the doorway.
“Etta, be my good girl and come sit on my cock,” I order, allowing some of my annoyance at her hesitation to filter through into my tone.
Shuffling across the room, her steps are slow, and her expression is solemn. Instead of waiting for her to come to me, I jump off the bed and stalk toward her, scooping her off her feet and supporting her weight with an arm beneath her butt. “What’s going on?”
“Oz, we need to start being careful. What are we going to do if you do actually get me pregnant?”
“I want you pregnant,” I say bluntly.
“No, you don’t!” she gasps, her eyes wide, even though her voice is still tiny. “I know talking about it while we’re…” Her voice trails off like she can’t quite figure out what word to use.
“Fucking.” I fill the gap in with a smirk.
Sighing, she lifts her hands up and drapes them over my shoulders. “Guys get to walk away, but I won’t. I’ll be alone with a baby. I know it’s hot, you talking about”—her voice lowers to a whisper—“breeding me. But we need to start being responsible enough to make sure it doesn’t actually happen. I’ll speak to my doctor about starting the pill or something, but you need to use condoms in the meantime, and I need to go and get a Plan B.”
“No,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
“Oz.”
“Etta,” I say, echoing her own exasperated tone with my own.
“This is my life,” she pleads.
“You don’t want my baby?” I ask, my voice low and rough, unable to hide the hurt in my voice.
“It’s not…it’s…this is crazy.”
“Answer my question, Etta. Tell me you don’t want my baby. Tell me you haven’t been imagining what a little baby girl or boy that was half you and half me would look like.”
“It’s crazy,” she protests, but she’s not telling me that she doesn’t want my kids.
Lifting her higher in the air, I encourage her to wrap her legs around my waist, then lower her wet cunt down onto my waiting cock.
“Oz,” she moans.
Walking her across the room until her back is pressed against the wall, I grip her face, forcing her to look at me while I unload all of my truth on her. “Your cunt was made for me, Etta. It was made to be stretched by my cock, filled with my cum, and then to give birth to my babies. You were made for me. We might have had a messed-up start, but now that we’ve found our way back into each other’s lives, I won’t ever let you go. There’s no walking away for me, Little One. Not for either of us. I want you pregnant, I want you bred with my baby, I want to claim every inch of you inside and out, and I want you to feel the same way about me. You didn’t run, Etta. You had chance to try to leave me, but you didn’t. That was the only opportunity you’ll ever have, and now that you chose to stay, I’m going to bind you to me so tightly neither one of us will ever be able to breathe without the other again. So, there’ll be no birth control, there’ll be no condoms or Plan B. I’m going to fuck you over and over until you’re pregnant, and we’re both going to fucking love it.”
By the time I’ve finished speaking, my hips are rolling, and her mouth is hanging open.
“Oz, we can’t?—”
“We are,” I snap. Lowering the hand from her cheek to her throat, I hold her in place without gripping tight enough to bruise. Pulling almost all the way out, I slam back in, snapping my hips until they crash against her own.
“It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I’m going to pump you full of my cum every day for the rest of our lives. I’m going to breed you over and over until we have an army of beautiful babies who look just like you, and then when we’re done, I’ll keep fucking you like I’m trying to breed you until the day I die. Keeping you well-fucked, well-bred, and happy became my life’s mission four days ago, and I’ll never stop, because you’re mine, Etta, all fucking mine.”
I fuck her while I talk, slamming into her over and over while she writhes against the wall, trying to move with me but unable to with how tightly I’m holding her.
“Oz, please, she begs.”
“No. Stay still and take what I’m giving you,” I snap, palming both of her hips and holding her still while I buck up into her.
“Come on my cock, show me how much you want to be full of my cum,” I order.
I feel the moment her orgasm splinters inside of her as full body tremors ripple through her and she clenches around my dick so tightly, I can barely move.
“Good girl. That’s it, Jesus, your cunt is perfection,” I growl, burying my face into her neck and forcing my dick to slide in and out of her perfect clamp-like vagina.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she chants as a second, slightly less powerful release barrels through her.
Instead of slowing, I rut into her, hard and fast and deep, helping her orgasm build until I spill inside of her in painful bursts that have my knees threatening to buckle.
Peeling her back off the wall, I hold her up with an arm under her butt, then turn and carry her across the room, climbing onto the bed and settling against the pillows with her in my lap.
“Oh my god,” she whimpers, resting her cheek on my shoulder as we both try to slow our ragged breathing.
“Mine,” I growl, fisting her hair and tipping her head back until I can take her lips with mine.
I don’t let her out of bed again until both of our stomachs are rumbling and it’s after noon.
“Let’s get dressed and go into town for lunch. You never even got a chance to look around before I brought you up here,” I suggest, lifting a towel from the rack and wrapping her in it.
“Really?” she asks enthusiastically, like she thought I planned to keep her up on the mountain forever.
“Let’s go, I’ll show you the sights,” I say with a smile.
Her excitement is infectious, and after she slips on the panties, bra, and dress I picked for her from the closet, we drive down the mountain and straight to the Peak Bistro for a late lunch. She orders a mushroom risotto and a pink-looking cocktail from the impressive menu of drinks, most of which I’ve never heard of.
Watching her eat makes a warm sense of satisfaction glow inside my chest. She barely makes a dent in the food before she declares herself full, but knowing that I’d provided for her fulfills some sense of male pride I didn’t even realize I had.
An hour later, I watch with an amused grin as she slurps the last drops of her third cocktail—this time a Long Island Iced Tea—through a straw while we wait for our desserts. Something new I learned about my future wife this afternoon is that she really can’t take her liquor. She’s not sloppy drunk, but she’s definitely tipsy. I hadn’t planned to get her drunk, but if the alcohol lowers her inhibitions and makes her a little more agreeable, then that’s only going to help with our next stop of the day.
We end up sharing her dessert, and by the time I help her back into my truck, she’s rubbing at her belly and smiling sweetly at me.
“Thank you for lunch,” she says, rolling her head to the side to look at me.
“You’re welcome.”
“I want you to take me home and fuck me,” she whispers like she’s saying something scandalous.
“I promise I’ll fuck you as many times as you want soon, but first we have an appointment.”
“An appointment? Did you make me an appointment to see the doctor to get on birth control?”
“No, Little One. We’re getting married,” I tell her, watching her expression as she tries to process my words.
“No, we’re not.” Her brow furrows, her lips purse, and she looks freaking adorable.
“Yes, we are. I got a license on Monday, and the judge is waiting for us. I want you to have my name.”
“But you hate me,” she mumbles.
“I could never hate you. I’m in love with you, Etta, and I need you to do this. Can you be my good girl and do this for me?” I coax, using the praise that I know she finds so intoxicating to encourage her.
“No, we can’t. That’s not…” She trails off as I start the engine and pull out of the restaurant’s parking lot and onto the street.
Placing my palm on her thigh, I squeeze, pulling her attention over to me.
“We’re not really getting married, are we?” she asks, blinking like she’s trying to clear her vision.
“Yes, Little One, we are.”
“We can’t,” she whispers.
“We are,” I tell her, not allowing her a chance to argue.
“No.”
“Yes,” I say, tightening my hold on her thigh.
“This is crazy.” Her eyes look a little clearer, like reality is pushing its way through the haze of alcohol.
“Completely insane,” I agree with a smile.
“I’m not dressed for a wedding,” she says, glancing down at the pretty green dress I picked out for her.
“I don’t care what you’re wearing, the only thing that’s important is you saying yes. Say it for me, Etta, say yes,” I coax.
Her lips fall open, and instead of bracing for her rejection, my mind fills with all the filthy things I plan to do to my wife’s mouth once we get home.
“We’ll have a big wedding after the baby is born, you can invite whoever you want and wear a fancy white dress if you’d like.”
“I’m not pregnant,” she says.
“If you’re not yet, you will be soon.”
“I’m not pregnant,” she says again, like she didn’t hear anything I just said.
“Let’s not worry about it right now,” I assure her, pulling over to the curb outside the courthouse.
Turning off the engine, I pocket my keys, then circle around to the passenger door and open it. Her eyes are wide and a little glassy when I lean in and press my lips to hers, kissing her like we’re not in public and minutes away from getting married.
“Oz.” My name is a seductive rasp on her lips, and I have to suck in a deep inhale to stave off the urge to get back into my truck and take her home to bed.
“You’re a fucking temptress, Little One,” I growl against her mouth. “Let’s go.”
Unclipping her seat belt, I lift her from the truck and carry her bridal-style, closing and locking the door before striding into the courthouse. I’ve never been in the impressive red brick building, but I don’t waste time looking around. Instead, I follow the signs and head straight to the clerk’s desk, lowering Etta to her feet but pinning her to me with a restrictive arm around her waist.
“Hey there, we have an appointment with the judge to get married,” I tell the man behind the glass window.
“Names, please?” he asks.
“Oscar Malik and Henrietta Jordan.”
“I’ll need to see your IDs, please.”
Grabbing my wallet from my back pocket, I pull out both mine and Etta’s IDs and slide them over to him.
Etta’s brows furrow in confusion as she stares from me to her ID that I took from her purse while she was drying her hair.
“Okay, everything seems to be in order. Your license has been approved, and the judge will be ready for you as soon as he’s finished with the current wedding he’s officiating. If you’d like to take a seat just over there, he’ll call you in just as soon as he’s ready.”
“Thank you,” I tell the guy, taking our IDs and the license from him and then steering Etta over to the line of chairs against the wall.
“Oz, we can’t get married,” Etta says, a hint of panic clearing the slight slur from her voice.
“Yes, we can. I applied for the license in plenty of time, and the guy said the judge will be ready for us soon.”
Sitting down in one of the chairs, I pull her into my lap instead of letting her take the seat beside me.
“This is crazy,” she whisper-yells.
“Seems like it makes perfect sense to me.” I shrug.
“Oz.” Her eyes bug out a little, and it takes everything in me not to laugh.
Pinching her chin in my fingers, I turn her to look at me. “Are you mine?” I ask.
“Oz,” she whines, like she thinks the tone of her voice will explain everything.
Standing with her in my arms, I glance around us until I spot a sign for a bathroom. Throwing open the door, I step inside, then close and lock the door behind us. Lowering her to her feet, I tower over her, forcing her to tip her head back to look at me.
“Answer the question, Etta. Are you mine?”
When she starts to shake her head, I grab her chin and stop her from moving. Crouching down, I push my hand up her skirt, finding her pussy and cupping it possessively. “How many times have I fucked you in the last four days?”
Her lips part, but I interrupt her before she has a chance to speak.
“Dozens. How many other men are you fucking?” My words come out sounding like an angry snarl, but I don’t soften my tone.
“I…”
“Answer me,” I growl. “How many other men are you fucking?”
“No one else,” she whispers.
“How many other men have pumped your tight little cunt full of their cum, Etta?”
Shaking her head, she tries to drop her gaze, but I squeeze her face, refusing to allow her to hide from me.
“How many?” I demand.
“Only you,” she admits, her voice broken and weak.
“How many men have you taken care of you? How many men have loved you from the moment they saw you? How many men would rather die alone than spend a single day without you now that they’ve touched and tasted you? How many men are desperate to keep you, to love and fuck and breed and protect you? How many fucking men, Etta?” I demand, my chest heaving.
“No one else, just you,” she whimpers.
“Damn, fucking straight. There’s only me, Little One. There’s only me for you now. How many other men would want to spend the rest of their lives inside of you, because now they’ve felt how perfect you are, they know they’ll never find anything so unbelievable again? How many other men would give you rules and make sure that you’re taken care of and looked after? How many men would call you their good girl? How many would make sure you knew just how perfect you are?”
“Just you.” Her glassy eyes stare up at me, and even though I can see the confusion and fear and trepidation in her gaze, I know she understands what I’m forcing her to hear.
“No one but me will ever want you the way I want you. No one but me will ever take care of you the way I will. No one but me will ever control you the way I do. No one else will ever love you the way I love you.”
“Oscar.” My name on her lips is a desperate plea for something, but I won’t give her a get-out clause, I’ll never give her a chance to be free of me now. I’m too obsessed, too consumed, and even if she’s not there yet, I’ll make sure she feels the same about me, given enough time.
“Tell me who you belong to,” I demand.
“I’m…I’m yours.”
“You don’t sound that sure. Tell me again, who do you belong to?”
“I’m yours.”
“Are you mine, Etta? Are you my very good girl?”
I fight to hide the smile that’s threatening to consume my lips when I feel her shudder in response to those two words. I know that using them right now isn’t playing fair, but I’m only interested in winning, and exploiting her love of praise is my secret weapon.
“Yes, I’m yours,” she says more confidently now.
“All fucking mine,” I growl. “I already own you, Etta. This just makes it official. Do this for me. Be my wife. I need it, Little One. I need this the way you need to know how perfect you are, how special you are, how proud I am to be your man. You’re mine, but I want to give you my name, give our baby my name.” Sliding my hand over her stomach, I pull her lips to mine and lose myself kissing her.
“I—”
The only word I want to hear coming out of her mouth right now is yes.
“Say yes,” I demand.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Again.”
“Yes.”
“Say, I do.”
“I do.”
“Again.”
“I do.”
“Again.”
“I do.”
Slamming my lips against hers, I kiss her until we’re both breathless, then I pick her up, open the door, and step back into the hall, almost tripping over the man from behind the counter.
Clearing his throat, he quickly runs his eyes over us, then clears his throat again, a pink hue heating his cheeks. “Mr. Malik and Miss Jordan, the judge is ready for you.”
Lowering Etta to her feet, I wrap my arm tightly around her waist, then follow as the man leads us over to a set of wooden double doors, opening one for us, then gesturing for us to go inside.
I breathe a little easier once the courtroom doors are closed behind us, enclosing us in the small wood-paneled room.
“Good afternoon,” the judge says, sliding his glasses down his nose and reading from the papers in front of him. “Oscar and Henrietta.”
“We actually prefer Oz and Etta,” I correct him, not wanting him to use the names we both left behind as kids.
“Well…” He picks up a pen and writes our names down on the papers. “Okay then,” he says, pushing his glasses back up his nose and standing from his seat. “Do you have any witnesses, or would you like me to ask two of my colleagues to be present?”
Before I can speak, there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” the judge calls. When the door opens, Knight and Anders file in.
“Well, that answers my question,” the judge says. “Let’s get started, shall we?”