My lovely bride loved it just a little bit rough, just a little bit dominant, and I pulled her head back to make her look into my eyes by pulling at her hair, but only the way she liked.
It made my balls tingle, looking at those hungry eyes of hers. I wanted to drop my load now, but first I wanted to watch her come again.
Her eyes, dazed with passion, burned with a golden light as her pleasure grew with each thrust of my hips. She was close, I felt it in the way her walls gripped at me, in the way her juices eased my passage into her.
“Come, baby. Come for me, Tara. Make that tight little pussy of yours grip me only the way you can do it, baby. Please. Come now.”
And so she did, her whole body convulsing as pleasure tore through her, my fingers tighter in her hair, just a little tighter. Her walls clamped down hard on me and I had to bite back my own need for release.
“Just a little more, Tara. You’ve got it in you, baby, just a little bit more. Give it to me.”
She was almost screaming now, the alcohol loosening her up. She gave one final, massive wave of pleasure, and sank back into the pillows, her eyes closed, her body relaxed.
I sat back, pulling her legs up so that I could lift her ass, and drive into her at the pace we both loved. She’d come again, one more time, as I fucked her hard and fast, and that was good enough for me.
I found my own release as she went off on round three, emptying into her, knowing she’d stopped taking birth control pills a month ago. They were in the drawer in the kitchen, untouched. She didn’t want to make the decision to have a baby on her own, even if I was giving her the option. She wanted it to be our decision, and, well, I want to see her pregnant, big with my baby. Because this time we’d both be there for the child we’d created. We’d both be parents, we’d both work to get Tara through the rest of her training, and only fate could change that. Since we’d met each other, fate had been good to us. So I left it up to fate.
The End
Author’s Note
I hope you loved Professor Next Door.
This book also contains free bonus stories for your enjoyment.
Don’t forget to check out the Exclusive Never Before Published bonus book, Brit Next Door!
Please refer to the Table of Contents to find out more.
Paranormal Romance Collection
Daddy’s Home
Chapter 1
Zebadiah Rasnake entered the tent and went over to his cot. Laying on his bed were two letters. Cherokee Joe had picked up the mail he noted as he reached down and picked up the letters. He instantly recognized the handwriting on one from his mother. The other, he knew as he opened it, was from his new wife, Mary. He lowered himself down to the cot as he read. Mary poured her heart out in the letter. Her love and adoration for him etched into every sentence. She was desperate for him to return home to her and the baby she was expecting any time now. They had been married just six months before Zebadiah had been shipped off to this godforsaken place in Vietnam.
It was only 4 am but already the heat was rising for another scorcher of a day. Zebadiah bundled the letters into a plastic sleeve and slipped that into his inside pocket. Slinging his webbing onto his shoulder and picking up his rifle he made his way outside to join the rest of the crew. He was part of a Long Range recon group and today they were headed back into the jungle.
Lieutenant Bill Simpson counted his five men into the awaiting chopper, slapping each one on the back as they ascended into the cramped seats past the gunner. Cherokee Joe hauled his machine gun up in front of him as if it were a child’s toy. He was a huge man. At least six foot six tall and wide across. He smiled over at Zebadiah.
“Got you some mail from that pretty wife of yours right, Razzer?” He said.
“Sure did. Thanks Joe. One from my Ma too it looks like. I’ll have something to read on the trip at least.” He laughed.
Cherokee Joe smiled back and the six of them dropped into silence as the chopper rotors increased speed and they slowly lifted off.
Looking from the open doorway, Zebadiah noted the second chopper that would accompany them. Both helicopters would play hopscotch through clearings in the jungle. As one would pretend to land the other would zoom ahead and further on would itself appear to land. This would keep the Vietcong from knowing exactly where the insertion point of the recon group would be. They’d know it was somewhere and would be out hunting them, but at least this method bought the team some time to get into the depths of the jungle and under cover. Everyone in the team had been chosen because they were skilled in something of use to the team. Cherokee Joe, huge as he was, was a natural tracker. He could pick out the path of a snail that might have gone through a week ago. He knew what was edible and what was poisonous. What water could be drunk and what would send them into agonizing stomach cramps and a case of the runs. Hunting Charlie was an easy task for this man and though he rarely smiled, he was always happiest out here in the jungle.
Lieutenant Simpson was an old hand in jungle warfare too. He was a natural leader of small, crack teams like this and his priority was always getting his men home. As the helicopter soared over the treetops he pored over the map on his knee.
They were headed for an old French fort. Intelligence reports suggested some activity in that area and Lieutenant Simpson and his men would quietly move in and confirm or deny Vietcong there. No need to engage the enemy. No drama. Just get close enough to make notes and get out. They’d be inserted five miles from the fort and would be extracted a few miles further from that point. Simple and short. Just like every other simple and short recon they went on thought Lieutenant Simpson as the chopper dropped into a large clearing. He knew this wasn’t their drop off, just a decoy, so he carried on examining the map.
Jethro Mullen sat fiddling with his radio. He constantly wiped at it with a dirty green rag. It was his pride and joy. As the radio operator he was a key part of any mission. Communication back to base could call in an airstrike and artillery barrage, and of course an evacuation, anywhere and anytime. Just so long as his beloved radio stayed operational. Wherever they ended up, Jethro Mullen was their link to home. He smiled to himself as he hummed a pretty new Rolling Stones song and gazed around the chopper at the other faces. All were coated in camouflage cream and stubble, broken only by gleaming eyeballs and shining teeth. He knew these were the guys that would get him and his radio home again.
A look back from the copilot and a nod confirmed to Lieutenant Simpson the drop zone was coming up and this one was the proper job. He slapped Cherokee Joe’s knee and nodded. The signal passed around the cramped cabin and the team were switched to combat mode. All the daydreams and sleepiness got put to one side as they mentally prepared to disembark. The chopper swooped low into a clearing and hovered ten feet above the ground. One by one they leaped out of the chopper and zig zagged across the clearing into the cover of the trees beyond. The whole operation had taken only a couple of minutes and all six men safely melted into the security of the jungle. The chopper lifted off and sped into the air closely followed by its companion. They would make a few more dummy runs before returning to base.
Dawn was breaking as the small team gathered together in a small hollow under the canopy of the huge trees. Here Lieutenant Simpson showed them all the map and outlined the mission. They set off towards the target with Zebadiah taking point. Progress was slow through the thick jungle. It always was and they were all aware of the fact that getting there was about a state of mind more than anything else. Just keeping moving in the right direction was more important than breaking a speed record. Feeling too hot already, the air was starting to steam as the sun rose. This was a journey through a sauna with the addition of leeches, snakes and an enemy waiting potentially around every tree. Taking it calm and taking it slow mattered. A man could easily lose his mind in here.
Zebadiah edged his way into the dense jungle followed by Lieutenant Simpson. For Zebadiah the only real difference to tracking through this
jungle and his home in West Virginia was the type of trees and of course the quarry he was hunting. But he understood how nature worked the same way the world over. It was the parts that weren’t natural that he needed to be aware of. He had been brought up to hunt through the forests and mountains with his father. They would spend a couple of days out hunting for the deer that would keep the family fed for a good while. Perhaps a couple of squirrel to fill the pot and if they struck luck, at the right time of year, a brace of wild turkey. Keeping a low profile in that situation was just as important as now and his father still kept himself a moonshine up there. Well-hidden, he would bring Zebadiah up to check on it regularly. Unlike the deer and squirrels, the revenue men wouldn’t be running in the other direction if they were found out. Another reason for Zebadiah to learn the art of keeping a low profile and silent movements from a young age. The moonshine brought in a little bit of much needed income but to be caught was a price they could never afford. Without his father or even without Zebadiah, the family would have struggled to survive in their isolated homestead. His feet edged and poked forward carefully as they moved deeper into the thick steaming jungle.
The group had been moving for about an hour when Zebadiah waved them down to a halt and motioned for Lieutenant Simpson to come forward. They were approaching a track. To ordinary folk this would have looked perhaps like an animal may have moved through at some earlier date but to Zebadiah and Lieutenant Simpson it could have been a four lane freeway. Lieutenant Simpson moved back and got the group together as he reached for his map. He pointed out the area and noted the path on his map. Obviously the Vietcong had been moving through here and recently. The track led in the right direction to the old French fort. A good indication the intelligence had been right. They would follow the track but stay in the cover of the jungle and move parallel to it. There was a good chance the track had been booby trapped and the Vietnamese would soon know if an enemy patrol had been on it. They had nothing but contempt for the way the Westerners crashed through the jungle like buffalo. To the Vietnamese they smelled as bad as buffalo too. Following the track then wasn’t an option. Lieutenant Simpson and his recon team weren’t your ordinary Westerners. They knew their stuff too.
Jim Harrison took point as they moved on towards the fort. Jim was short, dark, much like Gregory Mason, the man behind him, from Kentucky. Zebadiah fell back to the rear with Cherokee Joe ahead of him, frowning as he scoured the dense jungle with the machine gun. They moved along in silence, absorbed in the moment and alert to the slightest movement around them. The sun was high and steamed down through the tree canopy, almost blinding them with the moisture. The sun itself was shrouded in a blanket of steam that hung below the tree tops.
By midday Lieutenant Simpson called a halt and they grouped defensively in a cluster of tree roots. Here they would take a break from the heat and Lieutenant Simpson and Jim Harrison would take a look at the fort. For now, the rest of the team could enjoy a watchful halt in the safety of their tree roots. Zebadiah took the letters from his pocket and opened the one from his wife, Mary.
Mary was missing him, it read. Missing his muscular arms around her. Missing running her hands through his thick mop of blonde hair. Though he was so far away, she slept with his shirt beside her every night and felt him close to her. The baby inside her was kicking and restless to be born. That would be soon. Then both Mary and their baby would be waiting for Daddy to come home. That was all Mary wanted. Her husband and father of their child home and safe again. Back in their secluded mountain homestead. Away from the problems the world seemed eager to chase day after day. A world they didn’t need because all they needed was each other and this little place called home.
Zebadiah wiped a tear from his eye as he read. He could see Cherokee Joe staring at him and made as if he was wiping sweat from his brow. Joe gave a knowing and rare smile and nodded, looking away. Zebadiah replaced the letter in his jacket pocket carefully and started to give his rifle some attention with a cloth from his trouser pocket. Focus on the moment was all he needed. Home was a long way away and to get there, he would need to stay focused on the job in hand. Simple. Stay focused Zebadiah, he told himself.
Lieutenant Simpson returned from his first foray with Jim Harrison. He pulled the group in to him and using the map explained what they had found at the fort. The fort itself was still an empty ruin, but not far from it and not far from where they were sat, the Vietcong had moved in two artillery pieces. There were at least fifty Vietcong in and around the guns too. Lieutenant Simpson was pretty sure that the track they had shadowed was probably patrolled and that moving out now was a bad idea. He pointed towards the sky, or at least the bit of it they could see through the thick tree canopy. He determined they would wait for the approaching rain storm before they left. The torrential rain would keep any noise they made hidden and keep the guards heads down some as the recon group made its exit.
Lieutenant Simpson took the headset from Jethro Mullen and reported their position and what he had found. He suggested an airstrike or artillery strike on the fort and surrounding area soonest. With the coming downpour, he thought a combination of the weather and an artillery barrage would cause enough distress to allow him and his team to leave the area and meet their extraction chopper. He was less than happy with the response from HQ. Although he had crawled up there himself and numbered the enemy units, headquarters were still convinced there was nothing of any importance there. They told Lieutenant Simpson they would note his report and send in a couple of tanks with a platoon of infantry the next day and not to worry over it. Have a safe trip back to the extraction point but thank you for the effort. He threw the headset back at Jethro in disgust and growled.
“I waste my fucking time with these cowboys! One day I’m going to drag one of those useless bastards out here and let them see first-hand the shit we go through to get this shit done. Okay we wait for the rain and bug out for the ride home. No artillery coming. Fuck ‘em we did our bit.”
The rain came. There wasn’t any doubt it was going to come. Rain at this time of year came like clockwork every afternoon. The skies just got so hot and loaded with the moisture it had no choice but to drop it all back down again in a huge deluge. Within a minute of the rain starting the whole area changed. Winding breaks between the tall tree roots turned to small rivers of brown mud. Visibility through the rain was negligible and the trick was just to worry about keeping the man ahead in sight. Zebadiah had taken point with Lieutenant Simpson not too far behind, confirming the route through the torrential downpour. He was of course right about the noise. The crash and hiss of the rain hammering down would have drowned out a division of tanks moving through this part of the jungle. They followed the track they had found on the way in and staying parallel to it again made a couple of miles progress. They stopped for a break in a well-hidden gap and hunkered down against the rain. Lieutenant Simpson got back on the radio and called in for their chopper. They didn’t have too far to go but he didn’t want them exposing the pick-up by being too close if someone had managed to shadow them. Timing was everything so a wait here would make a quick extraction easier and safer. Zebadiah opened the second letter from his mother. He knew it would be maybe half an hour before they moved again.
His mother’s letter had obviously followed a week or two after that of his wife Mary, though he had received them together. She was not happy. Mary was not the good woman Zebadiah thought she was. She was rude to her. Always snapping at her about how things needed to be done. She wouldn’t have got away with talking to Zebadiah’s father like that she noted. He would have taken a switch to the sassy madam. Sadly Zebadiah’s father had passed some years ago and Zebadiah had taken on the role of man of the homestead. Zebadiah missed his Pa. Missed him bad. He had been everything Zebadiah wanted to be. He continued reading. Apparently Mary had been going into town almost as soon as Zebadiah had left. She was getting something of a reputation. Coming home late and having strange men drop her off
at the bottom of the track. This wasn’t the girl Zebadiah deserved she thought. She didn’t even believe the baby was his. She was sorry she had to write him such a terrible letter but some things needed saying. She hoped he would stay safe and out of harm’s way. She couldn’t wait for him to get home and sort out his wayward wife.
Zebadiah folded the letter and returned it to his jacket pocket as he started to feel that the world had just turned into a place he didn’t know. He loved his mother. She was a true mountain woman and had no fear of anything in those hills. The only thing she feared for was for son. Protecting him from the world and the evils that came from the town was all she cared about. She had taken to Mary at first and was pleased they had married, Zebadiah remembered. She had welcomed Mary into the home and had done her best to make Mary feel the woman of the house now they were married. She wouldn’t be writing this sort of thing if there wasn’t some truth in it, Zebadiah thought. She wouldn’t have written it if she hadn’t thought long and hard before she put that letter in the mail, knowing where he was. He trusted his mother. He thought he trusted Mary. His head whirled at the confusion of it all.
“Okay we need to make this quick and quiet. Razzer take point, I’ll be right behind you.” Lieutenant Simpson whispered. In a mental fog, Zebadiah made his way to the front of the group and set off towards their extraction point. The rain was still beating down as they splashed between gaps in the trees and waded through stretches that just a few hours ago had been dry land. It became impossible to follow the man in front and each man felt for his own route through the mire and roots. They had left the track they had found about a mile behind them and were now less than half a mile from the pick-up point. If the chopper arrived on time and in the right place, they would be home for dinner.
Professor next Door Page 15
