12. Oz
12
OZ
M y balls draw up, and a guttural growl bursts through my gritted teeth as hot, pulsing cum bursts from the head of my dick in stomach clenching jerks that flood her cunt with my cum.
I hadn’t planned to push my new wife to her belly over the edge of our bed and rut into her like an animal the first time we consummated our vows. But when she suggested we get our marriage annulled, I saw red, and my body took over, claiming her like a fucking caveman.
No matter what she wants, I wasn’t lying when I told her I’d never give her a divorce. I won’t. She’s mine for the rest of our lives, and if I have to spend every day from now until the rest of eternity reminding her why she belongs to me, then I’ll happily do it because me and her are it. We’re endgame, a sea of kids and grandkids, a white picket fence, and happily ever after.
I won’t accept any other alternative, because she’s mine.
Before her, I’d never felt possessive or territorial over a woman. Maybe that’s the difference her being my woman makes. Maybe I never cared about anyone else because my body recognized her as my mate, the other half of my soul, and now it’s an instinctual need to protect and covet her.
Whatever it is, she needs to understand that I’m it for her too.
My cock jerks one last time, and I exhale a shaky breath and feel my tense muscles relax. Beneath me, Etta’s body shudders as aftershocks of pleasure trickle through her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice rough.
“I think so,” she whimpers with an exhausted sigh.
“That wasn’t exactly what I had planned,” I admit.
“What did you have planned?”
“I’ll show you later,” I say, leaning down and pressing a hot kiss against her nape. Reluctantly sliding my dick from inside of her, I flip her to her back, then push two fingers into her sex, keeping as much of my cum inside of her as I can.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her wide, shell-shocked eyes staring up at me with so much emotion swimming in her depths that I have to swallow past the lump that forms in my throat.
“Keeping me inside of you. I ordered you a plug, but it won’t get here for a couple of days.”
“A plug?” she rasps.
“Yeah, it’ll keep all of my cum inside of you, and it’ll make you feel full. I’m going to pump you full of me, then plug you and fuck your tight little ass.”
“You’re not putting that monster in my ass,” she squeals, and I feel her pussy clench around my fingers as she tenses her asshole.
“Oh, I am,” I drawl, leaning down and taking her mouth.
She doesn’t fight me. Instead, she surrenders effortlessly, her muscles going lax as I take control of the kiss. Etta may fight me, but she likes the way I own her. She craves it, and although I may have railroaded her into marrying me without giving her too much time to think about it, deep down I know she wants me just as much as I want her.
Dragging my lips from hers, I push my hand between us and find her clit.
“What are you doing?” she asks again.
“I’m going to make you come.”
“I can’t come again,” she protests, but her pupils dilate, revealing the truth.
“Yes, you can. You’re going to be my good girl and come around my fingers, then we’ll snuggle for a while.”
Her shaky whine tells me everything I need to hear, and I start to work her clit, rubbing my thumb in slow then fast circles until she comes on a whimpering gasp. Her cunt tightens, then releases over and over, and I smile, knowing that she’s sucking all of my cum deep into herself.
“Open your mouth,” I order when her eyelids flutter open.
She doesn’t ask why; she just parts her lips and does as I say. Slipping my fingers from her cunt, I push them into her mouth, rubbing my cum and her arousal all over her tongue and the inside of her cheeks.
“Fuck,” I rasp, my dick hardening while I watch her clean us from my fingers.
“I can’t go again,” she hurries to say when I pull my fingers from her mouth and wrap my palm around my hardening cock. “I need a minute, you were…rough,” she admits timidly like she’s not sure how I’ll react.
“I’m not sorry,” I admit, lifting her off the mattress so I can move us both up to the top of the bed, then position her cradled in my lap, her head resting on my chest. “You needed to understand and admit to yourself that you’re mine now. But I’d never deliberately hurt you. I never want that. Please tell me you know that.”
“I think…I think I know that, at least not physically. I don’t think you’d hurt me like that,” she says, her voice barely loud enough for me to hear.
“Tell me the worst thing I did to you when we were kids,” I ask, not sure why I’m bringing our past into our present right now.
“I…” She trails off like she’s not even sure what to say.
“If I’m going to make it up to you, then I need to know everything I did to hurt you.”
“You took the new cell phone Mom and Bruce brought me, and you texted all of my friends, spreading rumors about the others. The things you said to them were horrible. How I thought one girl was ugly, another fat, another girl, you said I’d seen her dad having an affair. You told one of them that her parents resented her and she was the reason they were getting a divorce. I guess it was all petty, childish things, but to an eleven-year-old girl, they were devastating. I always found it hard to make friends, and the group I’d become a part of had all known each other a lot longer than they’d known me. They all told each other all the awful things you’d said while you pretended to be me, and then they turned on me. They were pretty popular, and I’d been so excited to be accepted by them, but after that, they didn’t just not want to be my friends anymore, they turned my entire grade against me. The bullying got so bad that Mom pulled me out of school and homeschooled me. Once it was time for me to start high school, I went to a school in another district and tried to start over, but I was too isolated and scared to try to make friends. I kept to myself and just studied to get good enough grades to get into college.”
“Fuck,” I hiss beneath my breath. I was a fucking asshole. I cost her all her friends, and she had to leave school.
“You deleted all the messages after you sent them, so I didn’t even realize you’d done it until I got to school and my friends all hated me.”
“You made friends in college, though, right?” I ask, a hint of panic in my voice.
She doesn’t speak, but I feel her shake her head.
“Octy is the first person who refused to let me keep a distance between us,” she says softly. “We met at work. The girl who worked the front desk was mean, she hated me on sight. When I got my job, I was employed to do social media marketing for a lifestyle brand. I knew it included the tattoo studio, but I wasn’t expecting to work at the studio itself. I showed up on my first day in a skirt suit and pumps. Lauren looked me up and down and laughed at me. She told me to go home because I’d never fit in. Octy told her to go fuck herself, then she took me under her wing. She did my tattoos, and she refused to let the friendship fade when she moved states away. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“I don’t even remember texting those girls,” I admit, feeling like the biggest jackass in the world.
“It was a long time ago,” she says sadly.
“Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to James and Tori, they’ll love you, and I’ll bet Betty already adopted you into the Barnett girl gang. You’ll have more friends here than you’ll know what to do with.”
“Oz,” she says tiredly. “I don’t?—”
“I can’t erase all the things I did back then, but I can make up for them now. I’ll fix everything.”
“I don’t need to be fixed,” she snaps, and for the first time since she stepped back into my life, her tone is just shy of forceful.
“I’m not trying to fix you. You’re not fucking broken, but you are mine, and I plan to take care of you in every fucking way. This is your home, your fucking world now, and I’ll help fill it with everything you want and need so you never have to think about all the shitty things I did back then. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’ll replace those shitty memories with good ones. Of us, of our home, our life, our family.”
Etta makes a soft sound and nuzzles her cheek against my chest. “You make it really hard to hate you,” she whispers.
“For years, I wanted and needed your hate. Now I need your love, Etta. I need you to love me the way I love you.”
“You don’t love me.”
“Little One, I saw you for the first time in fifteen years four days ago. I brought you to my home, fucked you, and pumped you full of me, and now you’re my wife and pregnant with my kid. What the fuck is that if it’s not love?”
“Insanity,” she whispers with a hint of sass.
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Maybe a little of that too.”
The sun has dipped low in the sky by the time I tear myself away from Etta, rolling to the edge of the bed before I slip my hands beneath her and pull her into my arms.
“Oz, no, I want to sleep,” she whines exhaustedly.
“I need to feed you, then we can sleep,” I promise.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Tough. We haven’t eaten since lunch, and it’s late. I’ll make us something quick, then we can go to sleep.”
Sighing, she rests her cheek against my shoulder, either not noticing or caring that we’re both completely naked. I’ve spent the time since we got back from the courthouse fucking her to as many orgasms as I can manage, and now she’s exhausted and wrung out.
Apart from using the bathroom, I haven’t let her out of my sight or away from my touch, and after hours of being gluttonously indulgent with her, the idea of putting her on the couch while I make us something to eat feels unthinkable.
Forcing myself to stop being a pussy, I lower her to the couch and watch as she immediately curls into a ball, resting her head on the arm of the couch. Slipping the throw off the back, I drape it over her, then lean down and press a soft kiss to the back of her head.
She makes a pained, mewling noise when I step away, like she’s become as attached to my touch as I have to hers, and my dick twitches to life. I’m not in my teens anymore, I usually need a certain amount of recovery time, but not with her. I’m hard ten seconds after I blow my load inside of her, and the more I fuck her, the more I want to.
For the first time in my life, I feel a new sense of empathy for people who lose themselves to addiction, because I am completely addicted to her. In my heart, I already know she’s pregnant, but the thought of having a kid with her makes every time I push my dick into her feel fucking exhilarating. She’s my wife, and we have a lifetime together, but I know that I’m going to lose my shit every time I get her pregnant, and I plan to do it as many times as I can convince her to agree to, or as often as I can make it happen without her realizing it.
The Barnetts home is literally packed to the rafters with kids, and until I met Etta, I truly never understood the desire to have a family. Now, I get it completely. I understand why one or more of the women in that house are always pregnant. Because even though I’m hoping Etta is already bred, the drive to fill her with my cum and put my kid inside of her is so much stronger than my resolve to give her a break. Tomorrow, we’ll need to leave the house because my dick is already starting to chafe and her cunt is red and swollen.
Hurrying to the kitchen, I quickly make us an easy supper of soup and grilled cheese, which we eat in front of the TV. I doubt it’s the poetic end to her wedding day she ever dreamed of, but to me, every single part of this day has been utter perfection.
It’s late by the time we wake up the next morning. The sun is high in the sky, and my wife is curled up naked in my arms, her face pressed into my neck, her tits mashed against my chest while I hold her to me like I’m worried she’s going to leave me while I’m asleep. She doesn’t seem bothered by my death grip on her, though, as she blinks the sleep from her eyes and nuzzles in closer as she yawns.
“Good morning, wife,” I drawl happily.
“Oh my god, that’s so weird.” She giggles.
“I fucking love it. I love you, wife.”
“Oz,” she whines, squirming against me as my hard dick presses against her belly.
“Don’t worry, I know you’re sore. I can wait, or you could let me use your mouth, or ass,” I suggest with a smirk.
“I need to pee and take a shower, I’m gross,” she deadpans.
“So that’s a no?” I chuckle, tipping her chin back and pressing my lips roughly to hers.
“Oz,” she whines again, and I know that it wouldn’t take much to turn her whines of protest into whines of pleasure, but I won’t, at least not yet anyway.
“Come on, stinky, let’s get you clean,” I tease, lifting her with me as I climb out of bed.
“I do not smell,” she says, her tone outraged.
“You smell like me and sex. I like it.”
Her pout is adorable as I carry her into the bathroom and place her down in front of the toilet. “Pee,” I say as I reach into the shower, turning on the water and leaving it to warm.
“I’m not peeing in front of you,” she says, her arms crossed across her chest, pushing her tits up and leaving her nipples enticingly on display.
“Why? Do you want me to go first so it’s not weird?” I ask.
“Eww, no.” Her nose wrinkles up in disgust, but I find her fucking adorable.
Rolling my eyes, I open the shower door and step in. “Pee, I promise I won’t look.”
She glares at me until I eventually turn around. When I hear the toilet flush, I spin around to watch her, and while she washes her hands, I take the time to really look at the tattoo she has down her spine. Obviously, I’ve seen it before, but honestly, the moment she’s naked, I’m not looking at her art, I’m concentrating on licking, sucking, and fucking her. As much as I wish I could be inside her right now, I know she needs a break. So instead, I focus my attention on the mermaid that bends and weaves its way down her sexy back. It’s beautiful, a riot of color all weaving toward the tail that almost looks iridescent, a mix of greens and blues and teals, and the mermaid’s hair is a pale pink, identical to the color of Etta’s hair.
The tattoo is kind of perfect for her, and it makes her sexy, creamy skin even sexier with the explosion of color. Etta is oddly contradictory. She’s quiet and almost…meek, but the pink hair, nose ring, and tattoos force you to notice her when sometimes I think she’d prefer to hide.
She’s nervous—at least of me—but she still came to Rockhead Point even after she found out I lived here.
Turning, she finds me watching her through the glass, and her gaze immediately drops to her feet, like she’s embarrassed. She has no idea how utterly besotted I am with her.
Swinging the shower door open, I crook my finger and beckon her to me. “Come here, wife.”
Taking a deep shuddering breath, her tits vibrate with the movement of her chest, and I have to fight the urge to stalk across the bathroom to her and fill her with my dick.
For a moment, I wonder if she’d let me tattoo my name on her. If she’d let me brand her skin so everyone could see that she belongs to me. Then my gaze falls to her hand and the beautiful rings I slid onto her finger yesterday. Just the sight of them on her settles some of the rampant, psychotic need inside of me.
Anyone who looks at her will see those rings, they’ll smell me on her, and hopefully notice the baby, which I pray starts to swell her stomach soon. Everyone will know she’s mine, and I need that. I need a visible reminder that she belongs to me. I think I always will.
Tipping my head to the side, I arch my brow when she doesn’t immediately come to me. “Etta.” I lace her name with warning, and she reacts to it beautifully, striding gracefully into my arms.
“Good girl,” I praise, turning her until she’s under the spray, water darkening her pink hair.
“I’d never showered with another person until the first time we did it the other day,” she confesses absentmindedly.
“Good,” I growl angrily.
“Does that bother you?” she asks, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Does the idea of you being naked with anyone else bother me?” I ask sarcastically. “Yes, it fucking bothers me,” I snap back, being completely irrational when she just admitted she’d never done this before.
“I bet you have, though, haven’t you?”
“Do you really want to know the answer to that?” I ask, hating that the truth is that I’ve showered with plenty of women in the past. I’ve just never cared about any of them, I’ve never loved any of them the way I do her.
Her eyes run from my face down to my feet, and then slowly back up again. “I bet you have a hit list a mile long, don’t you?” she asks, her voice more timid than normal.
“Etta,” I warn, not wanting her to ask me questions I won’t lie about.
“What? You get to act like an angry bear when I tell you I’ve never done this with anyone else, but I’m not allowed to point out that you obviously have?”
“Do you want me to tell you I was a virgin before the other day? That I was a monk until I saw you again? I’m not going to lie to you, Etta. I’m a thirty-one-year-old man. I’ve fucked my share of women. I’ve fucked them in beds, cars, and showers. I fucked them, and then I left. I don’t remember most of their names because I didn’t care about them, and they never cared about me. But nothing I felt for them in the time I spent in their beds compares to what I feel for you in a moment in your company.”
Closing her eyes, she turns away, giving me her back and hiding from me. “Don’t turn your back on me,” I snap, spinning her around and backing her into the shower wall, pressing into her until her spine is flat against the cold tile.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, I just want to get clean,” she says, her voice small.
“You don’t get to just turn away and dismiss me,” I say angrily.
Her eyes widen, and I see a hint of fear reflected at me.
“Are you scared of me?” I demand angrily.
“A little,” she blurts honestly, incapable of holding my gaze.
I think I was expecting her to deny it, and her truthfulness shocks me to silence.
“Look at me,” I say, trying and mostly failing to gentle my tone.
When she doesn’t lift her chin, I hook it with my finger and softly bring her gaze back to mine again.
“I’m an asshole,” I say. “Sometimes you’ll piss me off, and more times I’ll piss you off. But we don’t walk away. If we fight, we fight, but we don’t dismiss each other. Okay?”
She doesn’t immediately nod, and even though a part of me resents her lack of instant agreement, her pause feels like she’s taking the time to process my words. “Okay,” she slowly agrees.
“Good girl. Now come here and let me get you clean before I dirty you up again.”
Both of us say and do the right thing in the shower, she lets me soap up a cloth and coat her from head to toe and all the places in between. She stands while I wash her hair and smooth through the conditioner, she even lets me wrap her in a towel and then lick away the drips of water I don’t catch as I dry her skin. But it still feels like there’s a distance between us that I really fucking hate.
When she steps away from me and into the closet, it takes all of my resolve not to follow her and demand that she stop being so fucking scared. But I can’t do that because I still don’t know all the things I did back when we were kids. She truly feels she has good reason to fear me, and maybe she has.
“Are we going anywhere today?” she calls.
“I thought we could go into town. Tori owns a bakery that makes the most amazing cakes and pastries. Then you need more clothes, unless you really do have more stuff coming that you didn’t tell me about?”
“Have you had sex with Tori?” she asks, stepping back out of the closet and shocking me with her snippy tone.
“Tori is my teammate’s fiancée. No, I haven’t fucked her.”
“I’m sorry, it’s none of my business,” she replies quickly, turning and disappearing back into the closet.
Stomping across the room, I crowd her, pressing my front to her back. “Everything about me is your business. But I can’t change my past, Etta.”
“I know,” she whispers sadly.
“Does it make you mad thinking about the women I’ve had in the past?” I ask, pushing her to answer, even though I have no idea what I hope to achieve by taunting her this way.
“Does it bother you to think about the other men who’ve had their dicks in me?” she asks mockingly, her tone unexpectedly cold. Most of the time, her voice is so small I sometimes struggle to hear her, so when she is occasionally terse and forceful, it packs so much more of a punch.
Two seconds ago, her obvious jealousy was sexy. Now I want the names of every guy who had the audacity to touch what’s mine so I can hunt them down and fucking kill them.
The urge to push her face down into the dresser while I slam into her from behind almost overwhelms me. But I refuse to take out my anger on her, especially not when I’ve used her cunt too many times already in the last twenty-four hours. Instead, I lean down and sink my teeth into the skin where her shoulder meets her neck.
I don’t break the skin, but I bite hard enough to mark her, leaving a bruise that’ll last at least a couple of days. “You’re mine, and no one but me will get a taste of your sweet little cunt ever again.”
Yelping, she makes a helpless little sound that goes straight to my dick.
“Do you enjoy making me jealous, Little One?” I demand.
“Do you enjoy making me feel like one of many?” she retorts, her voice thick with emotion.
“You’re not one of many, you’re the only one. My one.”
“Are you my one too?” she asks, suddenly sounding unsure.
“I’m your fucking everything,” I tell her, spinning her around to face me and claiming her lips with mine.
I kiss her until we’re both panting for breath and when I finally pull back, she sways on her feet, leaning into me like her legs are weak and she needs me to hold on to for support.
“That’s not fair,” she whispers.
“What’s not fair?” I ask, amused.
“Kissing me until I forget what my name is.”
“Your name is Henrietta Jayne Malik.” It’s the first time I’ve said her full name, and it sounds fucking perfect on my lips.
“We got married, I’m your wife,” she says, her tone shocked but still reverent.
“Yes, you are. My wife.” I sound like a smug bastard, and that’s because I feel fucking smug, and I won’t apologize for it because I have everything I want right now.
My life’s fucking perfect.