Crys And Gabe

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Their two headed dragon that shared one heart was now on each of their bodies.

  Crys had wanted it on her left side, so that the mouths were aligned, when Gabe's body was on hers.

  It had taken some pretty strange moves in the afterhours at Human Hiero to align the tats but Dex eventually got everything in place and had marked it, inked it, with small dots.

  Gabe had done the ink.

  Had lovingly applied the ink.

  The fill had yet to be done, but he had plans to do it, visions of her naked and writhing as he used the machine on her.

  "God, Crys," he moaned, finishing his rubbing of the cream up at the flames, tossing the tube over the side of the bed as his hand captured her breast before lowering his head to tongue her nipple.

  He turned her, wanting her in a different position this time.

  On her amazing stomach, that beautiful ass in the air, legs spread.

  He moved behind her, his knees holding her legs open, his hands holding her hips as he moved himself in and out of her tight wetness.

  His eyes glued to her tiny waist, to the tattoo on her lower back.

  The one a lot of people called a tramp stamp.

  Crys's, though, was simply her name done in very cursive script in red, the red matching the poppy flowers from the design he done for her a few years back. The script was surrounded by the black lines and leaves, mirroring the ink on her arms.

  It was hot and showcased her tiny waist to perfection.

  And it was his design.

  On his girl.

  His wife.

  The one person that had captured his heart, his life. The one he was moving himself in and out of, delighting in her heat and wetness.

  "God, so tight," he moaned, watching as his cock moved. "So fucking wet."

  Feeling her grip onto him deeply as he moved inside her.

  He wasn't going to be able to last very long. Not with her fucking perfect ass bouncing back into him, or with her throaty moans urging him on.

  Gabe rounded himself over her back, one hand reaching to twist a nipple as the other hand went between her legs to stroke her swollen, wet clit.

  "Aw, Gabe," she breathed as she pushed herself back onto his hard cock. "Baby, I…"

  And he felt her pussy begin to pulse around him as her moans became rougher, throatier.

  His balls contracted and he knew he was as ready as she was to hit it.

  He kissed the back of her neck, using his lips and tongue as her body stilled and tightened under him.

  Raising back up to his knees, he pounded himself into her as he exploded with a growl.

  They stayed connected as he continued to move softly in and out of her.

  "Damn, Gabe," she moaned, beginning to drop her hips down to the bed.

  You would think with all they had done that day that his dick would be begging for mercy, but he was still half-hard remembering how she had looked beneath him.

  He crawled to lay beside her, moving her onto her back so they could lay in their special position.

  "Are you sore?" he asked on a whisper, his lips next to her ear.

  "Kind of," she whispered back. "But I'm not complaining, Baby. That was awesome."

  He smiled and nuzzled her neck.

  She was right, it was fucking awesome.

  They were quiet and he could feel her body slowly relaxing and her breathing deepen.

  This is what he had wanted, had planned for. It took a lot more than he thought to make Crys his, and he had worked to grow into what she wanted, the man he needed to be in order to love her.

  He reached up and turned off the light, cuddling himself against her back.

  "Gabe?" he heard her mumble. "Wanna tell you somethin'."

  "Okay," he breathed, his eyes almost closing without volition.

  "Love is just an emotion, right?" she said sleepily.

  "I guess," he said, not knowing what direction she was heading with this.

  "So, if you love someone, that emotion is on you, not the one you love," she continued, breaking into a jaw-cracking yawn when she was finished with her sentence.

  "That makes sense," he said slowly, thinking about what she meant.

  "So I can't be scared just because I love someone. Scared like they're goin' to leave. Because when you love them, they may go away, but the love doesn't."

  Ah, there's her point.

  "No, Kitten, you can't. I will never willingly leave you, Crys. Been there, done that. Not worth it," he rumbled.

  "I love you so," she breathed and Gabe felt her body fully relaxed as she fell into sleep.

  I love you, too, his heart whispered as he closed his own eyes.

  And Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Mykalson slept.

  #.#.#.#.#

  Thank you so much for reading Human Hieroglyphix 2, Crys and Gabe's story. It was a hard one to write, a difficult story to tell, and I hope it made it from my heart to yours.

  This couldn't have been done without a lot of help. Help from my girls: Cassie, Cathy, Jenny, Judy, Laurie, Margarita, Reese and Rita. My girls ROCK! And I absolutely couldn't have done it without them.

  This is my fourth book and, just like with the other three, had me learning new things. Geesh, this old dog has even more new tricks to learn.

  Uncovering new ideas, new ways to work.

  Or, rather, learning what worked and what didn't.

  I'd love to hear from you. Please feel free to come sit with me at Casa de Hornbuckle. There's always a place on the couch for you.

  www.jahornbuckle.com.

  Or, you can always reach me at jahornbuckle@hotmail.com.

  Smiling and waving into the warmth of the Arizona afternoon,

  ~J.A.

  3/29/13

  p.s. There's an excerpt of a chapter of "Bewitchments" attached, a new series I'm starting. It's still set in Grantham, Colorado and follows Trevor and Zoe, co-owners of the only sex shop in town.

  an excerpt from Bewitchments (anticipated publication date Mid-May 2013):

  Have you ever lusted after someone so hard, so deeply and for so long that you almost hated them? Hated how your body instantly responded to them without any sort of conscious thought on your part?

  For me, its Trevor.

  Trevor Declan MacQuaid.

  Sigh.

  I was standing at the other end of the counter when he came downstairs from the loft he lived in above the store, smelling so freaking good, my knees got weak. And I think it was only the soap I was smelling.

  Regular old soap that smelled like sin. Hot, soapy, wet skin kind of sin.

  Allegedly, I was only entering in the inventory numbers into the database so we could keep track of our stock, but my hands weren't moving.

  My eyes were, but my hands were still as stone, as I turned inward, listening to my body.

  Yep, certain parts of me were tingling as they tightened.

  Other parts, deeper parts, were softening and becoming moist.

  Crap.

  For the five-hundred and fifty-third time I wondered what it was about him, about Trevor, that revved my motor so high.

  Zero to sixty in less than two seconds. Take that, car makers!

  Tall, yep. But I was really only attracted to tall men. Probably because I'm so tall myself. Five foot, eleven in my stocking feet. But Trevor topped me by a good six inches.

  I know there is irony in that measurement, but I was of a mind that Trevor had more than six inches in the package I'd glanced at, wondered about, drooled over.

  Muscle-bound? The kind of muscles you dream about, broad-shouldered with every single solitary muscle outlined and defined, clearly part and parcel of the whole. The whole of the man that was called Trevor.

  Try saying that name, if only in your head.

  Trrr-ev-orrr.

  Almost like purring, isn't it?

  He glanced my way and I felt my already dewy, swollen, nether parts begin to echo my heartbeat. His luscious penny-colored eyes caught mine a
s his mouth, oh dear God, that mouth, quirked up in his typical sardonic grin. His fu man chu mustache lifting as his full lips, his luscious lips smiled.

  Oh, God.

  I was going to come without even being touched.

  I shifted and felt the ribbing of my thong scrape across my swollen, sensitive flesh.

  Swallowing thickly, I dragged reluctant eyes back down to my hand-written sheet. But it could've been written in Farsi for all I knew or cared.

  My attention was on what he was doing, where he was moving to, and wishing it was towards me.

  To take me. And this time, in this fantasy, I wanted him fast, hard and so very deep.

  The kind of deep where you know he'll make you scream.

  God, I hated him.

  Hated my body's reaction to him.

  He was an ass. A stuck-up, I'm so much smarter than you, kind of ass. An ass with absolutely no sense of humor.

  None.

  "Hey, Trev," I said casually, bending my face to the computer screen like I was checking for gold or something.

  "Zoe," he growled.

  Oh, I forgot to tell you about his voice. His deep, sultry, I'm going to make you come so hard you'll see God, kind of voice. I don't think I ever heard him talk where he didn't growl, moan, groan or grumble to the point that a soft 'how are you' didn't leave me hanging by my fingertips. My body dangling by my fingers over the crevasse of the Valley of Orgasms.

  Good thing we owned a sex shop together.

  Well, we all did. Me, Trevor and Trevor's sister, Samantha.

  Bewitchments.

  That's the name of our shop, which is just a tiny space across the tracks in tiny Grantham, Colorado.

  We sell sex toys at our tiny shop. The only Adult Toy store in Grantham. But most of our business comes from our online sales. And that, my friend, is a booming business by anyone's set of numbers. Especially with all the awards we'd received.

  "Inventory?" he rumbled as he leaned over my shoulder. No one is tall enough to lean over my shoulder, but him.

  Oh, God, him.

  I know I closed my eyes as I stifled a gasp at his nearness. And a moan, if I was being entirely truthful.

  "Ah, yeah," I said, swallowing thickly. "I did a quick inventory of the bondage area this morning and just need to get these numbers into the system."

  "Good," he said, thankfully moving away, allowing my lungs to again fully expand.

  "Sam said she would be in at three," he rumbled, straightening some of our smaller, one-off items on the counter. "We need to have a brief meeting as soon as she arrives."

  I dragged my eyes to him, noticing that today he was wearing a pristine wife-beater, black leather vest and his ever-present jeans. His shoulder-length, dark blonde hair was slicked back into a pony tail that was held in place by a black leather glove.

  Ya-hum-mee.

  "Sure," I said, striving for a business-like tone, even though I wanted so very hard to mewl.

  I looked down at my chest as I turned back to the keyboard.

  I should know better than to buy lace cup bras. I needed the thick, t-shirt bras that hide everything. The 'anti-Trevor' bras are what I called them.

  Where was I? I thought, blinking rapidly.

  Oh, yeah.

  Grantham, Colorado.

  March something. 2012.

  Inventory.

  Yeah, inventory.

  He finally moved away, to the office tucked between the erotic books and our plethora of magazines to do his numbers kind of thing. And I heaved a sigh. A sigh of longing, of want and of thankfulness that he was finally moving away from my radar.

  A sigh of relief.

  But, my eyes were trained on the hard, flexing muscles of his ass as he moved away.

  I reached underneath the counter and snagged a tissue to wipe my forehead and blot my heaving, dewy chest.

  God, he made me so hatefully hot.