36. Brant
Brant
“How many kids do you want?” I pant.
I’m cupping Callie’s breasts through the material of her lace bra. She moans, her back plastered to my chest as she’s straddled over my lap.
The top of her dress is puddled at her midsection. My jeans and boxers are bunched around my thighs as she rocks over my cock. “F-four.”
I parked the Tacoma in an open field along the back road. The murky awning is enough to shield us in the bed of the truck. At least, that’s what we said to convince ourselves.
My hand slides to stretch her panties farther to the side. She reaches behind her, settling her palm on the back of my head.
“Do you want to make babies with me?” I whisper.
My lips part against her ear as she soaks me. She nods, her head tipping back in bliss as she arches. “I want all your babies.”
I softly wrap a hand around her throat. Her back bows more before my hands yank her bra down.
I release her ample tits, my brows creasing as she works me harder. I pinch her sharp nipples, connecting my lips to the nape of her neck. Nipping and kissing her as I whisper, “Little Brants and Callies running around a huge yard. Your garden lining the rear. You want that?”
Her pussy briefly clenches, and my abs scrunch the building pressure. “Y-yes,” she whimpers. “So much.”
“Gable end roof.” My lip lazily tips up. “Blue shutters.”
“Seafo—”
She cries when I tweak her stiff buds between my fingers. My nose drags along the tender slope of her jaw as I rasp, “I know what color you want. I’ll give it to you.”
“Mmph,” she moans, keeping her pace on top of me.
Her body begins buckling, and the tip of my cock strokes that divine spot inside of her.
“The yard. The kids. The house. The fucking,” I breathe.
She smells like strawberry and flowers, the scent mixing with her sweet juices between her thighs.
“Watching you with our babies? Fuck, Callie,” I pant.
“I’ll lay you down every single night. Fuck this perfect pussy raw until you carry another baby of ours. ”
Her nails graze through my short hair as she floats higher. I nip her earlobe as I roll her aching nipples once more.
She’s pumping her hips at lightning speed now. She chases her orgasm as I grit my teeth in caution. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she chants.
I knead the swells of her tits in my palms, and then she comes undone.
Her drenched pussy spasms as she freezes in my embrace. She pulsates around me in desperation, and my palms skim her stiff body. They’re indecisive on where to go as her orgasm tears through her.
Her hips buck jaggedly, the carnal shocks eventually slumping her back into my chest. She ejects a harmony of reserved breaths, her chest heaving as she sinks down from the cloud of rapture.
I tap the side of her ass, signaling to her. She licks her lips to straighten up, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she rides me. My face contorts, lips parted as I lean my back against the frame of the bed.
Her head peeks over her shoulder, and she rests a delicate palm between my unbuttoned shirt. She’s warm and soft, her flesh melting to the rippled contours of my stomach.
My fingers lift the hem of her dress, exposing her to me. “Fuck yes. Ride me, baby.”
I blow out a breath as her ass cheeks peek out of her white lace. The round globes slightly jiggle as she rocks my dick to ecstasy.
My brows crunch, and she fastens the knot of pressure tighter. Bathes me without shame.
I tuck my lower lip between my teeth, tapping the underside of her ass. “That’s it, come on,” I coax. Tap. “It’s so fucking good, baby. Make me come.” Tap.
She mewls, leaning forward to cup her palms around the denim of my calves. She teases me through doe eyes that glint with silvery flecks under the stars.
I hiss a breath in through my teeth, the new angle swirling that burden faster.
But she’s too fucking far away.
In the next breath, I cage her stomach with one arm to plant her back against my chest. She turns her head to the side, peering down at me. I rock up into her, and my eyes trace her beautiful face.
I see our future dance behind her eyes. A future I need in order to look forward to another breath of air.
She nods at my silent perusal, sinking a hand between her legs. She gyrates her body over me, and my mouth parts. Our eyes lock as she plays with her clit, brewing my climax to the surface at the same time.
“I-I’m ovulating,” she breathes.
Her voice quivers through the panicked confession. But there’s also a hidden plea sewn into it. Her gaze is coated with pleasure and anguish, and I hook my hands under her thighs.
I lift and spread them, Callie’s face tensing as I staple her in this position. “Then look at me when I give you our baby,” I whisper.
She hiccups on a breath, the shock of my statement settling into her.
“We’ll do it right this time,” I rasp. “For them. For us.”
I’m melodically pumping into her. It’s steady.
Thoughtful.
The toes of her pink cowboy boots scrape the floor of the pickup bed. Her fingers continue to work her clit, and she rocks her hips with me. Matching my tempo before she’s impatient.
Her perfect pussy squeezes me on each upstroke, and my uttered promise springs her next orgasm into motion.
“Oh god,” she moans. “Fuck!”
Her legs buck chaotically, and I glue my palms at the apex of her thighs. Holding her open. “Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” I chant breathlessly, fearful she’ll slip off me. “You’re okay. You can take it.”
My gaze cements to hers, and she drains every ounce of me.
She pulses just as I jerk inside of her, my crinkled brows reflecting her own. I fill her with ropes of my hot pleasure, my hands snugly caging her inner thighs so she has nowhere to go.
Her upper body thunders with satisfaction, her face painted in awe. Like I’m injecting her with hope of a better life than all of this.
Her palms find the top of my hands on her thighs, and I decelerate my pumps. Our damp and clammy skin grates under the star-dusted sky as we manifest this new fate.
We ride the final swells, her stray locks tickling her cheeks as we do.
She slumps her back into my torso. Our heaving breaths intertwine in the fresh breeze, and her hand brushes over my head.
Her nails graze my scalp, only to whisper the three words I’ve waited to return to me.
“I love you.”
A shiver ripples across my back. I lift my palms to lay over her bare breasts, connecting my lips to her temple. Before grazing a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her neck. “God, I lo—”
Distant snickers rumble from the near distance.
Both our heads whip to the right. Callie’s hands immediately pluck her bra up to cover her breasts, and I ease her off me.
My hand rests on top of the bed frame, eyes scanning the murkiness of the open field. That’s when I notice a flash of movement by the silhouette of a tall tree.
“Hey!” I shout.
My hands nudge Callie’s legs away, and I’m scooting off the bed of my truck. All the while hiking my boxer briefs and pants up.
“Oh my god. Run!”
When I hear the young voice, my legs kick into action. I zip and buckle my pants around my waist, squinting as I sprint toward the shifting shadowy figures.
My boots are heavy on the grass, but my legs accelerate. Until the backsides of a young boy and girl sharpen into focus.
They have to be teenagers, given their height, and my palm wraps around the boy’s upper arm. “What the hell are you doin’?” I grit out, spinning him around.
His movement ices over just as I release him, his brown eyes gaping. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. P-please don’t hurt me.”
“Sir, please. We didn’t know.”
My brows crease, and I drag my attention to the redhead beside him. She holds her palms in front of her, her chest heaving under her short-sleeve shirt. Just as her hazel eyes flash with fright.
I lick my lips, jaw tightening as I rest my palms on my hips. “You with this kid?”
“We’re friends, sir,” she answers.
“Oh,” I say, panning my head back in the boy’s direction. “Well, you and your friend have some apologizing to do.”
The boy’s hands lift. “I said I was sorry.”
“Not to me. I don’t give a shit,” I spit back before turning around. “Let’s go.”
“What? Where?” he asks through a snarl.
I rotate on my heel, quirking a brow at him. “I can drag your ass over here if you’d like that better.”
The boy shakes his head quickly, his dark and shaggy hair whisking with the movement. Then he strolls forward.
I continue the journey back to my Tacoma, smirking when I hear him speak behind me. “Keira, take good care of Pickles for me when I’m gone.”
“Ew, you know I can’t stand your pug,” she scoffs. “She snores way too much.”
My chest bounces silently, and the bed of the pickup carves from the midnight. “Callie?” I call.
She’s turned the dome light on in the truck, her white dress poking out from the open door. “What happen—”
Once she stands and spins around, her words clip. Her eyes dart to the peeping toms I’m towing in back of me, my hands slipping into my pockets when I idle a couple feet from her.
“A-are you serious?” she asks. Her jumbled gaze stitches to mine as she quietly scolds me.
“Oh, I’m very serious,” I quip with a smirk. Then I’m shifting my attention to locate the boy, angling my head toward Callie at the same time. “I believe you have something to say to the lady.”
His skinny throat bobs, and he raises his palms at Callie. “Look, we didn’t see the show.”
“Honestly,” Keira chimes in. She wags her head profusely as her gaze volleys between me and Callie. “We heard a few sounds, came to check out the scene, and that was it.” Then she pops a shoulder. “If anything, we caught the ending credits.”
“Hmm,” I hum, tilting my chin toward the nighttime sky. “It’s funny, I didn’t hear an apology between any of those words.”
When I scoot my attention down, I catch the way Callie’s fingers are resting on the bridge of her nose. She’s masking her chuckle, totally enjoying this just as much as me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry,” I amend, motioning my hand to give them the floor.
Callie’s lips purse to fight more laughter, her knuckles tucking under her chin.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Okay, it could be a little more convincing, but it’ll do,” I say, padding up to the teenage boy. “Now, let’s see your phone.” I crook my fingers. “Come on. Show me your camera feed.”
The boy rolls his eyes, plucking his iPhone from his jeans. “I swear, I didn’t take anything.”
“Did you?” I ask Keira, whose eyes are dipped at my unbuttoned shirt. Her head shakes as she skims her eyes back up, and I use my fingers to keep my flannel closed.
The bright light of the phone screen ignites before the boy enters his photos. “Don’t mind the selfies of my friend, Derrick.”
“I don’t give a shit about Derrick,” I mutter.
I scan my eyes along the last few rows of pictures and videos, ensuring that none of them include Callie and I.
“See. Nothing,” he sighs.
“Alright,” I say, straightening up. “Looks like we’re done here.”
“Oh, thank you,” Keira breathes, her palm tapping the boy’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
The boy’s peering up at me as he shoves his phone in his denim pocket.
Keira strolls away, but a pout dips the corners of his mouth.
Bitterness gleams in his brown hues. “Not for nothing, sir, but I might’ve kissed her tonight if it weren’t for your chiseled chest stealing all her attention,” he grumbles. “Thanks a lot.”
A smirk graces the crook of my mouth just as Callie slips beside me.
Callie shoots behind me, clutching the cotton of my t-shirt again. My arms search in back of me to cage her in, and I retreat us backward. Dull creaks resonate from the bed of the pickup, and I know we’re really in for it now.
“Look at that,” I mumble, lungs flattening with fear. “I’m gonna be the one to shit my pants.”
The man jumps from the pickup, stomping his way to us in only a pair of Wranglers. At least from what I can tell. “You little punk ass perverts,” he roars. “What the hell are ya doin’?!”
Callie’s chin rests on my shoulder. “Woah,” she breathes. “Wow.”
I’m assuming she’s referring to his chiseled torso.
Great timing, Callie.
“S-sir,” she starts, her voice wobbly. “We thought you were in trouble. We heard screaming.”
He swipes a hand over his dark hair before stabbing a finger in my direction. “I’m gonna kick your ass, boy.”
“New plan, Callie. Ready for it?” I mutter.
She nods frantically against my shoulder.
“Run.”
Somehow, I became the hunky man Callie was wooed by that night when we were just sixteen years old. Right before I kissed the hell out of her on a dark and dirt road.
“What’s your name, kid?” I ask him.
“Grant.”
Grant.
Brant.
You can’t make this shit up.
“Grant,” I start, “you’ll be just fine. Trust me.”