SEAL'd Trust (Brotherhood of SEAL'd Hearts)

by Gabi Moore

  Once they had disappeared round the bend I sat down on a log in silence and marveled at how hard my heart was beating. He’d be back in a second, and then we’d leave. I knew all the routes and paths in this forest, but with Mark, everything had a way of feeling strange and new.

  I was wearing a bikini and a printed sarong knotted over my breasts – not exactly PVC and black leather, but somehow, it felt just right. I went to the tent and rummaged around for everything we’d need and packed it up in a little satchel we’d take with us. Suddenly, I was tackled from behind and flung over to my side. I yelped and burst out laughing.

  “Mark! You scared me!” I said as he leaned over me, grinning like an idiot.

  “That was fast,” I said.

  I was flat on my back with him propped up on top of me, both of his strong legs clamping round mine. He said nothing, just slowly lowered himself down for a kiss and then back up again to give me another loaded look. I smiled up at him.

  “Well, come on! We haven’t got all day!” he cried and lifted me up and out the tent, and I scrambled after him, laughing and clutching the satchel.

  We stole away into the forest like a pair of naughty children who’ve slipped form the adult’s watch and now were running to do forbidden things in the woods.

  “We’re like dirty Hansel and Gretel,” I giggled as I led him skipping over the old familiar stones and paths deeper and deeper into the woods.

  I had chosen this spot because of how secluded it was. I was sure I was the only person in the world who knew about it at all. Ten minutes of excited running later I tugged his arm off the beaten track and we ascended a rocky crag, pulling ourselves up with bendy yearlings, the beginnings of sweat on both our brows. The thought of him following close behind sent a hot, urgent ache to that spot between my legs. I knew he was watching me from behind with every step. I turned me on to think how that was definitely running him on.

  We walked on in silence, no path, no nothing.

  “Kat,” he said from behind me, “you’re a swell girl and all, but I’ll be mad if you kill me out here or something, ok?”

  I turned to flash him a devilish grin.

  “Pipe down back there. You’d be flattered, anyway,” I said and picked up the pace. I could hear his low breath and chuckle as we ascended higher still.

  Then, the brush thinned a little and, just like I remembered, the trees seemed to stop all at once, in an almost perfect straight line, leaving us out in the middle of a beautiful, deserted clearing. Just a few yards off, again exactly as I remembered them, were four trees huddled together in a secretive clump, the shade between them looking dark and delightful. He shielded his eyes to look at where I was pointing, then looked at me, then dropped his weight and in an instant had sped off, sprinting as hard as he could to the trees, kicking his heels up high as he yelled behind him, “last one is a rotten egg!”

  I shrieked and took off after him, but couldn’t catch him. By the time I reached the cool shadows of the trees, he was waiting for me there with strong, open arms, and I ran straight into him, panting and laughing, him closing his arms around me and tumbling us both down to the floor, giggling like preschoolers the whole way down.

  It happened so quickly it was though we both had no control over it at all. Our bodies, close enough and already hot and slick with sweat, simply found their well-worn way to one another, already well-programmed on the old dance we had practiced so many times before. My mouth was on his in an instant. I found myself desperately grinding against his hip bone, frantically trying to relieve the tension put there from a whole day of frustrated glances and flirty smiles.

  Fuck, I wanted him.

  I wanted him so badly it nearly burnt.

  Gasping lips firmly on mine, his greedy hands clutched and grasped at me, like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to grope first. It was hot, fervent fumbling of two horny teenagers, fucking outdoors in a stolen bit of time. He rose up to his haunches and towered over me, clumsily tearing at my sarong and unknotting it. My bikini flew off without any protest and the sarong was tossed aside without any ceremony either. My head flopped to the side to see them both hanging limp in the long grass all around us; grass long enough to bend under us and mold a little secret bed all around us, grass whispering almost as eagerly as we were.

  “Kat! What’s that?” He pulled back and looked at me, stunned.

  I flopped back down on the soft grass, threw my hands up over my hand and looked at him provocatively.

  “I got it a few days ago,” I said. “Do you like it?”

  His hands went down to touch the plump skin at the top of my thigh. A thick, black band of solid black circled me there, striking in the contrast.

  “You got a tattoo…” he said as he passed his tanned brown fingertips over the spot again and again.

  “Do you like it?” I asked and looked at him coyly.

  “I fucking love it,” he growled and leaned it to kiss me passionately again.

  Soon his clothing came off too, and the sudden heat of his hard body against my skin kindled the ache between my legs into a full-blown blaze. I squirmed hard against his hips, like every part of my body wanted to feast on every part of his. His fat cock bobbed hard and swollen against the now naked skin of my stomach.

  “Let’s do it now,” I breathed into his ear. It looked like it took the most monumental effort to tear himself away from me.

  “I’m ready,” he said, and gave me a look that was almost intoxicated.

  I reached over the wisps of grass and found the satchel. Inside was a little box. I took it in my hands and handed it to him. We sat opposite one another, completely naked in our temple of grass, his dick so hard it was straight up and nearly flat against his stomach.

  I opened the box and took out one of the rings. He had made them both from three bands of different colored hardwoods. I gave it to him, and he took one in his hands too.

  I had thought long and hard about the words for this moment. The gestures. But the more I did, the more I realized that that would only cheapen things.

  Eyes misty, I simply took his hand and slid the ring onto his finger. He did the same to me, hands trembling. The grass whispered around us, and the sky was clean and fresh and open all above us. We held hands for a moment, together, knees touching, stripped of everything and with no audience except four lonely, generous trees.

  He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my lips, and lingered there. Again our bodies folded into each other, easily.

  It had been hard, some of the lessons we’d endured, but we had learnt one another, slowly but surely He had studied all the little signs and signals fluttering on the surface of my body, and I had taken the long and punishing path of learning how to accommodate the total, punishing heft of his oversized cock, again and again and again, until I felt completely re-sized, molded and shaped for him and him alone.

  I could tell he was a little at a loss without any steel or leather to restrain me, but why bother? He had me so completely that he could pin me to the ground with just a look. I knew our original shared instruments had been cruder ones, made of bolts and ropes and buckles, but under these trees, in this wild air and sunshine, we were stripped of all our old props, of our clothing, of our pasts, of everything. It was just him, me, and the sordid things we were about to do to one another.

  I leaned forward to take him in my mouth, gliding a wet tongue round his ample head and quickly swallowing down as much as of that smooth, hard length that I could. At first I had struggled to get even half of him inside my throat. But the desire to please him – and several expert lessons later – he had trained me to open up fully to him. He groaned and whimpered, pressing up his strong hips to meet my mouth.

  I pounced on top of him and spread my legs wide, straddling over him.

  This was the right landscape for him. My gorgeous, shaggy, big-cocked beast of a man stared back up at me with clouds reflected in his eyes, and I stared down at him, pressing the grass fl
at so it lay round him in whorls.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you.”

  I lowered myself and popped the tip of his cock against my dripping wet body, stroking him up and down with my other hand.

  “Good. Then show me,” I said.

  Like a man possessed, he smirked and swore under his breath and in an instant gripped my thighs and thrust upwards into me, driving every inch of it inside and splitting me apart. I screamed in pleasure and dropped my shuddering weight even further onto him, my body hungry for all of him.

  Rolling my hips with his hands, he instantly found a quick, savage rhythm inside me, pounding hard and insistent into my grateful pussy, till I felt I could barely breathe. As though I was already out of my body, I heard myself moaning gutturally with each deep pump. My hair swished and whispered like the grass, and I quickly felt that blissful, syrupy swirl growing inside, right the tip of his cock touched the deepest parts of me, right where nobody had touched before.

  He was clenching and unclenching his jaw, eyes half closed as he focused intently on driving everything he had up into me. I loved the way his abs pulled and tightened with each stab, and how I could already spot the beginnings of an orgasm on his flushed face, on his quivering lower lip…

  “Harder,” I whispered darkly into his ear, then cried out as he instantly redoubled his efforts, sending almost painfully delicious ripples all through me, right up my spine, so even my fingertips felt turned on.

  There was nothing left of the old Kat anymore. Out here in the sun, my flesh was mortified. I was cleansed. Reborn. Impaled on his massive cock, I would have let go of every last shred of the woman I once was.

  “Oh god… “I moaned. “Even harder …fuck me … fuck me till there’s nothing left…”

  And he did.

  - THE END -

  Steamy Short Stories

  Break - A Bad Boy Romance

  Chapter One

  The woman in front of me was being fucked to within an inch of her life. Her entire face was flushed red, the color extending far down onto her chest and to her two swollen nipples. She was writhing like something possessed, as though she was about to combust into flames at any second.

  “She won’t come until I tell her she can,” said her tormentor to me. He flicked a sweat-damp fringe from his face and pummelled into her with more urgency.

  “What do you think – should we let her come?” he said through strained breath, flashing deep, laughing brown eyes in my direction.

  My mind raced.

  A year ago, I had only seen this man in pixelated images. He had been nothing more than ink on a newspaper for me, and now… now he was sweaty and deep in a yelping woman who seemed to be melting before our very eyes.

  Maybe I should back up a little. Everything happened so fast that it seemed like one day my life consisted of nothing but the endless cycle of work, sleep, eat …and then he appeared, like a dark hurricane, and turned everything on its head.

  It started like this: I had gone into work early that Tuesday to beat back my growing inbox and try to get a head start on the madness that the rest of the week would surely entail. I was in that sweet spot where I had successfully started at Cache magazine on the right foot, but after six months there, I didn’t need to be so ‘”yes ma’am, no ma’am” as I had been in the first few weeks. I was beginning to relax into my new role a little.

  I was young, sure, but sometimes having a lot to prove and nothing to lose is exactly the state of mind you need to write well.

  “Katie, come in here a sec, would you?”

  It was my boss Penelope Welsh, a severe pedant of a woman and dying supernova in the publishing world. She had used that notorious icy voice that could either mean I was about to be praised to heaven or threatened with my life. For Penelope, life was a dreadful bore, and she lived only for those moments of either sublime journalistic joy that made life worth living …or else eviscerating the newbie guts of baby writers like myself.

  It being only Tuesday, I hoped it was the former.

  “Your Tom Hood piece …walk me through this. What where you doing here exactly?”

  Her artsy metal earrings swung on either side of her head. She gestured to her computer screen like an unknown bug had landed there. This looked bad. As far as I could tell, Penelope asked people to “walk her through” things only so she could eviscerate them all the better. Shit.

  “Uh, yes, Tom Hood. I wanted to suggest that those nude photo leaks are kind of a new avenue for self promotion for him, that celebrities are looking for ways to manage their image by curating this completely fake online presence, except tha--”

  She raised a single bony finger to shut me up.

  “He didn’t like it,” she said, revealing a new cryptic streak that was unfamiliar to me.

  “Who didn’t?”

  “Tom Hood didn’t,” she said, relishing how ridiculous this clearly sounded to me. Her earrings had stopped swinging. I opened my mouth to speak, but she raised the bony finger higher.

  “He called me, you know. For some stupid reason. He says you’ve been unflattering and he wants an apology.” She turned her face back to the screen with a quizzical look. “As far as I’m concerned you did the asshole a favor with this piece, but what do I know? He doesn’t seem like he wants to cause any trouble. So, will you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Oh, right. Will you meet with him? He wants an apology. And he says he wants to do a more formal interview and a larger piece on this nude photo scandal crap. I’m going to have to bump Mira’s piece this month and that’s going to burn her ass, but he wanted you specifically, and I’m not going to turn that down, so I said you would. You OK with that? We kind of need it this quarter.”

  It was barely 5 minutes past 7 and I had already been assigned the biggest story of my short and desperate career. It was a lot to take in.

  All at once, Tom Hood was real.

  I had written a mere line or two of snark about him and now he had appeared right in the middle of my boring Tuesday morning, like a demon summoned with some kind of spell.

  I was thrilled. I played it cool.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound casual about it.

  “Good. Just see what he wants. I don’t mind where you want to take it, honestly, but just keep Eddy in the loop, too, you’ll need some photos.”

  She handed me a Post-It note with a time and place scratched on it in tight, impatient handwriting.

  “Tomorrow?!” I said, horrified.

  “Yeah? You can’t do it? I can get Mira to try -”

  “No, I’ll do it,” I blurted.

  I turned quickly to leave her office before anything else happened, but as I was about to close the door she quipped, “Well, have you seen them?”

  “What?”

  “The nudes.”

  Ah, the nudes. Tom Hood had had his phone “hacked” and all his precious dick pics were now “leaked” all over the world, and it was shocking, simply shocking to him. Not only did this idiot have the gall to try this stunt, he actually believed people would fall for it. The photos were pure trash of course – grainy candid shots of him in various stages of undress, one with him completely naked, a pair of bikini-clad models in the background, him laughing with an obscenely large dick just hanging there…

  “No, of course I haven’t seen them, ew,” I said, crinkling my face up.

  “You should. Guy’s hung,” she replied and returned to her work, smirking.

  Okay then.

  I went to my desk, the emails I was dead set on just a second ago suddenly seeming utterly unimportant now. The butterflies in my stomach had not abated. I chewed nervously on the end of a long-suffering pencil and typed into Google, “Tom Hood nude pictures”, looking once over my shoulder.

  Chapter Two

  By the time I got home that evening, it was already somehow eight o’clock and was drizzling slightly. I was bone-tired, a little scratchy, and in
no mood to deal with what I found there.

  “Tigger’s got his diarrhea again!” he said, the very first second I walked in the door.

  My head throbbed.

  Tigger was nowhere to be found, but the vague odor of cat shit lingering in the air let me know immediately what had happened. My boyfriend stood lamely in front of me.

  “Jeremy! Really? I told you not to feed him scraps from the kitchen, it messes him up,” I said, flinging my bag into the corner. My eyes caught the sight of a sickly brown puddle peeking out from behind the kitchen corner.

  I wanted to cry.

  “What! You haven’t even cleaned it up yet!” I rushed over and found a guilty-looking Tigger nervously cowering beside the fridge.

  “Yeah, he only did it just a moment ago,” Jeremy said.

  “Well, when?”

  “Uh… I don’t know? I was in a game, babe, so I didn’t actually see him do it, you know?”

  I glanced my eyes over to his Xbox, a half open bag of Dorito’s spilling onto the floor. I glared at him, fuming.

  This was my boyfriend, the kind of man who would play Call of Duty for five hours straight, spew Doritos all over the floor and then when feeble old Tigger ate them, would literally watch him shit himself and think, well, Katie will just clean it up. When she gets home. From her job.

  Anger shot through me. I was too tired to deal with this.

  “How long have you been home, anyway?” I asked, slowly and not without a bit of poison in my voice.

  He looked away.

  “Oh come on, not this shit again, Katie. I didn’t realize I had to check in and out of my own house everyday.”

  Something in me snapped. His house? I’d had enough. I kicked the fridge with all the energy I could muster, sending poor Tigger scampering away.

  “I want you to leave!”

  He started to protest, but one angry look from me shut him right up. He stormed out, banging the door behind him.