Hung (17 page)
Authors: Holly Hart
"Now," Clay said, monosyllabically, and stood up. My pussy was aching for his cock, but I couldn't talk, couldn't beg, in fact, was simply struck dumb by the unbelievable, unbroken pleasure I’d just experienced. I'd already done the hard work in loosening his belt and unzipping his jeans, so all Clay had to do was shrug them off and kick them away from where they fell in a puddle at the bottom of his feet. He pulled off his T-shirt with one hand and threw it carelessly away, not bothering to look, because he only had eyes for me.
He lifted my hips up and positioned my feet on the leather seat for support, then entered me in one long, fluid motion that had me biting my lip. I was almost nervous that his cock would somehow bring back memories of the pain I'd experienced in childbirth, but it did nothing of the sort. Instead of pain, all I experienced was delirious pleasure.
"Oh my God," I moaned as he started thrusting, so close to the edge after his earlier ministrations between my legs that I knew it would only be a matter of seconds before my orgasm washed over me. I fought the urge to screw my eyes shut, because I wanted nothing more than to see Clay's face in the moment that I came.
His, by contrast, were screwed closed as he basked in the pleasure that had been so long denied to him. I could feel his cock throbbing inside me, the thick, pulsating veins rubbing against the sensitive walls on the inside of my pussy and contributing to the sparks that were exploding within me.
"I'm close, Clay," I groaned. I needed him to know how close I was – I wanted him to come with me. He didn't say anything back, but I felt him pick up the pace of his thrusts, and make them both longer and deeper. I knew he'd do everything in his power to come with me.
If this was any other day, and if he'd not been holding it in through the whole of the last three months, there was absolutely no way he'd have been ready to unload inside me. As it was, Clay was on a hair trigger, and he was ready to blow.
He grunted, his breath becoming ragged, and I knew he was there. I clenched my pussy, feeling the muscles between my thighs grab his cock and refuse to let go. Clay groaned and dug his fingernails into the soft flesh on my thighs. I felt the heat bloom inside me, so much heat I could scarcely fathom it. There was more cum flooding into me than I'd have believed possible, and that was exactly what sent me over the edge.
"Yes, Clay, don't stop," I said. He didn't, just kept thrusting throughout his orgasm, and I came hard. I saw stars in the blackness behind my eyelids and felt an overwhelming, unbelievable closeness to the man buried between my legs. I jerked and moaned as shocks of desire crashed through my entire body for what seemed like minutes after, and I suddenly noticed, with surprise, that my eyes had somehow closed.
I opened them and stared back up at my lover. "How long have you been holding that in?" I asked cheekily.
"You have no idea," he said, panting. "But I promise, I'll be better for round two.”
I didn't know if that was possible, but I knew I wanted to find out…
I
t was funny
, I mused, bouncing baby Sarah on my knee, how times changed – and how people changed, too.
Two years ago, if you'd told me that I'd have knocked up a girl and she'd have not just one kid for me to pay for, but two, I'd have been beyond angry. I'd have assumed that the girl was only after my money, and I'd have had my lawyers fight them every inch of the way through the courts. But for Mike Junior – damn, Mike Senior had been proud when I told him we were naming my kid after him – and Sarah, nothing was too much. I'd have given the world, if I could – and I hadn't entirely ruled out whether that was or wasn't possible…
"Say daddy," I said, beaming down at Sarah. She had my sister's eyes – that same ice blue stare that always told me I was in trouble, but her mother's tanned skin. I was under no illusions – she was going to be a knockout when she grew up. I was going to have to stay in shape just to fight the boys off her.
"Come on, Clay," Alicia said, entering the room with a stack of papers under one arm. "She's three months old – there's no way she can talk yet. And besides, when she does, you really think her first word's going to be daddy?" She grinned. "A thousand bucks says she says mommy…"
"You're on." I smiled. It didn't matter, really – we shared every penny we had, and every penny we made, but it livened up the day. Even so, I decided to tease my beautiful wife. "You're becoming pretty comfortable around cash, aren't you?"
Alicia flushed, looking embarrassed. "Hey! You're the one who started all this."
I had, but that didn't mean I couldn't have a bit of fun with her from time to time. "Maybe." I grinned. "Maybe that's true. I suppose I can cut you some slack – after all, you're the reason we have it all in the first place…"
I joked, but it was true. Liss had pulled me out of the spiral I'd been in before I met her, and we both knew that if she hadn't turned up, that spiral could only have ended in one place – with my early, and untimely, demise.
"Hey, Clay," Liss called, checking over some figures or something on the paper in front of her. "Come over here. I've got something for you to sign."
"Ah, seriously?" I replied, turning baby Sarah to face her mother and manipulating her face gently with my hands so that her little mouth was turned upside down in a frown. "Can't you let me play with Sarah for a little bit longer?"
"Trust me, you're going to like this." Assuming it was just another bank statement, or statement from the label telling us exactly how rich we were, I begged to differ. At least, I did in my brain – I wasn't brave enough to stand up to my wife. That girl was as feisty as she was undoubtedly beautiful.
"Okay, okay," I said, setting Sarah down to play with her brother. He was lying on his stomach, sleeping with a felt football in his hand. I knew without a doubt that he was going to be a pro footballer, right then and there. After all, with my genes and his mother's hard work, how could he be anything but?
I walked over to the table and put on my glasses. Liss was right about those, too. They really did make life a hell of a lot easier.
"What am I looking at?" I asked, kind of disinterestedly. I might have been making more of an effort with the business side of things over the past year or so, but that didn't mean that I
enjoyed
it… Far from it, in fact.
"I thought," Liss said with a shy smile on her face, "that it was about time we got rid of
this
." She brandished a sheaf of papers that I vaguely recognized in front of my face.
"What is it?"
She handed it to me. "Look."
"Is this what I think it is?" I asked, dumbfounded.
Liss nodded happily, a broad smile breaking out on her face like a morning sunrise over the ocean. "I've been meaning to do it for a couple of months, but, you know – dealing with the kids and the tour, I've just been a bit rushed…" she finished apologetically.
"
You're
apologizing to me?" I asked, stunned, looking back down at the legal contract in my hand. Everything beyond the three words
Custody Agreement Revision
paled into insignificance, because Liss was giving me the greatest gift that she could – the custody of my own children back.
"Clay, I've known for a while now that you've changed. It didn't seem fair to keep you locked into this agreement like I didn't trust you."
"You sure you want to do this?" I asked, still stunned. "Having that trust fund set up is kind of comforting, you know?" I wanted her desperately to say yes, but I knew I had to give her the opportunity not to.
"Are you crazy, Clay?" She grinned, adopting a joking tone. "Don't you want custody?"
I trusted my reply to actions rather than words, reached over and gathered my wife into a bear hug. "Of course I do," I growled. "More than you know."
She looked up at me from her position ensconced in my arms with an inviting smile on her face. "Then sign the damn document, Clay."
I didn't need asking twice. "Give me that pen," I said, beyond excited. Giving up my rights to my own child – back when I thought I was only having one – had been one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do, but I'd done it to ensure a future with Alicia. Now that Liss was giving it back to me, displaying absolutely no reservations about her choice, I felt like I was becoming whole again.
The nib of the pen hovered over the page for a fraction of a second before I carefully inscribed my signature on the dotted line. I initialed the papers where I needed to, and then it was done. I looked up at Liss with a smile on my face.
She'd given me something I didn't even know I needed.
"Shall we go and play with our kids, Daddy?" She grinned.
I nodded, struck dumb with joy. "Thank you, Liss," I whispered.
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C
hapter One - Mike
H
ill
57
35 miles east of Kandahar, Afghanistan.
"
W
hat are
we doing up here anyway?" Tommy says, moodily thumbing the shot selector on his dented and dusty M4 carbine. "We're sitting ducks out here waiting for some Taliban fucker to light us up."
"
L
ighten up
, Tommy," I say, grunting, struggling unsuccessfully to find a comfortable place to lie on the rocky mountainside. "Can't you be more like Jake? He never grumbles – look at him, he’s happy as Larry lying there in the sun."
"
H
e's a dog
, Mike – he doesn't even know he's in a war zone. Look at him, the dozy bastard," Tommy says grumpily.
I
watch
through eyes lidded against the harsh sun and throat-choking dust kicked up by the venomous wind off this cursed mountain range as, for once, Tommy cracks a smile.
"
I
mean
, what the hell was Delta thinking sending us up here? We’re special forces operators, not fucking babysitters!"
"
W
ell
, that's your first mistake, buddy," I say, wiggling my ass into a dent left behind by some long-ago dried out irrigation ditch, and sighing in relief. "Whoever said Delta thinks?"
"
I
t's dumb
, though," Tommy grumbles, chucking a rock down the mountainside, which holds both our gazes until it skitters too far down and out of sight.
W
e don't talk
to each other again until the sounds of the small piece of tumbling volcanic stone hitting the cliffside stop echoing through the valley. "Of course it is," I agree, to nobody in particular. "Wait – what's dumb this time?"
"
A
ren't
you listening to me, Mike?" Tommy asks, shooting me a grumpy glare.
"
N
ot really
," I reply nonchalantly, reaching out and grabbing a handful of Jake's short, dusty fur to give him a hard scratch. Soldiers are all the same – they love to complain. And that’s no different even when the soldier in particular is a hardcore motherfucker – a Delta operator like Tommy.
A
nd like me
.
J
ake's
a seven-year-old German Shepherd, and apart from Tommy, he's my best friend out in this dusty hellhole. Luckily for me, he doesn't moan nearly as much as the New Yorker I met in basic who's resting a few paces below me against the sandbags – and when he does, either it's because he's hungry or because he's got a stone in his paw – both things that, unlike orders, I can actually fucking do something about!
T
ommy's
not one to quit, though, and keeps going. "Well think about it, Mike. You're a dog handler, right?"
"
R
ight
," I reply, absentmindedly scratching under Jake's collar as he languidly stretches beside me. "What gave it away?" I grin, pointedly glancing at the eighty-pound dog lying by my side.
"
O
h
, shut up." Tommy grins, chucking a small piece of gravel at me that bounces off my helmet and lands on Jake, who just turns and looks at me with sad, doleful eyes, as if to tell me I should bite my best friend. "What I'm saying is, shouldn't you and Jake be out there sniffing for car bombs?"
"
I
t's too hot
. And like you said, buddy – we’re special forces, not regular grunts," I say, grabbing the knife attached to the sidearm holster on my right leg and using it to scratch an itch that has, like clockwork, appeared under the leather of my left boot. "Ahhhh," I groan, stabbing the blade of a knife into the soft, sandy soil by my side once I'm done.
"
S
till
, man, I just don't get why the army sent us here," Tommy says with an annoyed grimace on his face.
"
I
told you
, Tommy – it's the army. How long have you been in?" I ask.
H
e shoots me a funny look
, like he thinks I’m messing with him or something.
"
Y
ou know how long
, you idiot. We went to basic together – what's it been, three years ago now? Why do you ask?"
"
S
o
, you've been in the Army long enough to know that there's no point questioning why we do anything, or why they send us anywhere. Just do what I do – lie back and enjoy the ride," I say, shifting my ass slightly as another sharp stone somehow rides its way up my backside.
"
Y
eah
, you're probably right," Tommy replies with a concentrated frown on his face. He settles back down, and we don't say anything for a while, just enjoying the day’s warmth as the sound of cicadas competes with an otherwise comfortable silence.
I
don't get
to chill out like this very often because Tommy's got a big mouth.
I
t's not
that I don't like it, but sometimes I wonder if a different man on a different hill might tell him to shut up every now and again. I wouldn't do that, though, not just because I’m a decent guy, but because I suppose since Jake doesn't – or can't – say a word, things balance out.
I
nevitably
, Tommy’s Bronx accent breaks the silence. "Yeaaah," he drawls. "But it's such a waste, you know? Why spend all that money training you and Jake up just to stick you out here in the sticks?"
"
I
know
," I agree, for Tommy's peace of mind rather than anything else. "But what you gonna do about it – go to the captain and complain?" I ask. "You sign up for your four years and the army gets to tell you what to do – that's the deal, isn’t it? Anyway, they’ve probably got a reason. What did they say in the briefing again? It’s some kind of weapons smuggling hotspot, isn’t it?"
T
ommy doesn’t answer
and retreats into silence again.
I
can't tell
whether he's turning over what I just said or whether he's just moved on to a completely different topic. His mind works like that – it gets stuck on a problem and can't let it go, like Jake with a bone. And, just like Jake, when he gets all the meat off it, he moves straight on to the next shiny topic. So, to distract myself from the inevitable, like I have every day for almost three months now, my mind inevitably gets drawn back to the breathtakingly beautiful woman who haunts my dreams every night – Katie.
"
H
ow long have
we got left?" Tommy asks. "I could do with some chow."
M
y belly rumbles in agreement
. We've been at this watch post for hours, watching the mountains for any sign of Taliban movement, but just like yesterday, and the day before that, we haven't seen a thing. I check my watch.
"
S
till two hours
, buddy. Hey," I ask, "did I ever tell you about that girl I met back at the base? Man, she was just about the most attractive, most flexible, dirtiest girl I’ve ever met. Seriously, buddy, I can’t get her off my mind!"
"
M
ike
," he grins, "you haven’t shut up about that broad since we got posted…"
I
blush
, realizing that in my infatuation, I’ve probably been a little more open than I would normally be. I’m usually a closed book, a typical tough guy – more than willing to bottle up my emotions, just in case someone notices I have them at all. With Katie, though, it’s different. I don’t know if it’s just because she’s the only woman who’s been in my bed since I deployed to this dusty hellhole, or whether she’s actually every bit as goddamn sexy as I think she is, but either way – she’s messing with my mind.
I
toss
a rock in the general direction of Tommy’s head, hoping it lands true. "Ah, shut up," I say, grimacing. "If you’d met her, you’d understand!"
"
I
f I’d met her
," he says back to me with a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face, "she wouldn’t have ended up going back to your rack. I’m a certain kind of man, Mike, and it takes a certain kind of woman to appreciate me…"
"
H
ey
," I parry back, raising my voice slightly, and making it sound ever so slightly stern – feeling an angry, almost protective need to make it clear that
this
girl was different. She was off limits. "Don’t talk about her like that, okay?"
W
hen you’re
out in the field for months at a time, with no women for miles – or at least none that speak English – finding a gem like Katie is a pretty big deal. And there’s no way I’m going to let Tommy disrespect her, no matter how good a friend he is. And to his credit – or maybe because I’ve got twenty pounds and two inches on him, as well as a fearsome bar brawl record, he quickly decides the safer course is for him to back down.
B
ut not without
one last parting shot…
H
ell
, I should have expected it. Guys like Tommy and I – the kind of guys who make it through Delta’s fearsome selection course – we’re not always that tactful… And a barracks environment encourages…a ‘certain’ kind of humor, after all.
"
S
o
, do you reckon by the time we get back to base," Tommy says in an artificially raised, provocative tone of voice, "she’ll be showing?"
I
sigh
. "Showing what, Tommy?"
"
Y
ou know
," he grins mischievously and rubs his stomach, "down there…"
I
t takes
me a few seconds to grasp what he’s hinting at. "You think… Nah, surely not."
"
S
o
, you were using a jonny, right?"
I
suddenly try
and cast my mind back to the alcohol-fueled night that had led up to Katie ending up in my rack – but for a very different reason than I’ve been using for the rest of my tour. "Yeah…" I say weakly, "but she’d have been on the pill, too, right?"
T
ommy looks
at me with a crowing smile. "You don’t know if you used a condom, do you?”
T
ruth be told – no
, I didn’t. And suddenly, I realize I’ve got a much more pressing reason than just boredom to get back to the base. I might be expecting a kid…
I
don’t reply
, not immediately, stunned into silence by the revelation – or realization, that Tommy’s provoked.
"
T
his doesn’t prove anything
…"
"
Y
ou think
they bother shipping the pill out to this dusty shithole?" Tommy asks. "Especially since," he modifies his voice to mimic the Army rulebook, "
fraternization is highly discouraged, and you may be demoted for engaging in sexual conduct on an active military base…
"
"
B
ut there are
other reasons to use the pill, aren’t there?" I ask plaintively. "Mood regulation, and... hell, I dunno." This was well beyond my area of expertise. Finding and defusing bombs while being shot at? No problem. The intricacies of the female reproductive system? Now that’s something that gives me pause for thought.
"
F
or your sake
, buddy," Tommy laughs, "I hope so. Hey, if she is preggers, can I be the godfather?"
I
toss another
, bigger rock at him and slump down into the dirt clutching my rifle, with my mind desperately trying to figure out whether Tommy’s just trying to needle me or whether he’s right.
C
ould
I really have got Katie pregnant?
***
"
H
oly shit
, Tommy." I shout angrily. "Smaller rocks, okay?" I look down at him, and I see the terrified look on his face. "I didn't throw it!" he shouts up, his panicked voice a few octaves higher than normal.
"
S
hit
, get down," I scream, realizing in that instant that we must be taking incoming fire.
I
throw
myself onto my belly, getting a mouthful of red mountain dust in the process, and grab Jake's collar as I wriggle over to Tommy to crouch behind the sandbags. Jake knows what to do; he's wriggling along himself, keeping his head low. He's a good dog. "Call it in!" I scream to Tommy, knowing that he’s got the medium-range radio.
"
O
kay
, okay," he calls back, and his voice is lower now, more professional – and I can tell his training is kicking in, he's falling back on routines. All around us we can hear the cracks of bullets impacting against the rocky shale, and the wheezing hiss of more poorly aimed ammunition whizzing over our heads. Some of the bullets, though, are coming uncomfortably close, and Jake’s trembling with fear. We've been shot at before, the pair of us, but not like this – not so close, not so much.