Page 75 of Bucked Hard

Dove will be cooking. And, listen, I love this woman like apple loves pie, but she can’t cook a leaf salad. So I slipped over to Jessie’s yesterday after working in the barn with a few clients I’ve taken on.

I’m not sorry. I begged her to please be here and help my girl cook, otherwise we’ll all starve. Now, I’ll eat whatever she puts in front of me, because that’s my job. But Lord, I’ve taken to teaching myself how to cook because her talents lie elsewhere.

I’ve got a surprise for her when I get back today. I had the contractors take one of the small barns out near the hay field and convert it to a studio for her. It’s taken them time to do it properly, but it’s done. I had them put a big day bed built into the wall, a couple skylights. Painted the inside all fresh white and put yellow and pink pillows everywhere. There is a whole area for canvases and painting, a desk for writing, a new Mac laptop and Retina monitor. Even a swing and all the baby stuff for Beth because I know she’ll want the baby there with her at least part of the time, and I don’t want her carting everything back and forth.

They are finishing up the last of the details in there today while I’m at Roger’s. There’s been workers out at that part of the farm since we moved in, so she doesn’t suspect a thing. I also carved a big ol’ heart in the weathered front door with our initials inside. Guess I’m a sentimental sap when it comes to us.

I’ll take her out there tonight. I’ve got about a hundred candles to light first, I want it to remind her of the cabin at Jessie’s that first night we were together.

She’s going to cry. And if she cries, I usually do to. I’m that kind of man. The kind that cries with his woman.

Vanessa and Rachel have become close friends. They take off sometimes and go out doing whatever it is girls do. Lunch, I think. Rachel’s not much of a shopper, but she loves to decorate our place and Vanessa is helping her, so I just pay the credit card bill every month, smile, and nod like I know what I’m talking about when she asks if I like what she’s doing with the house.

Hell, if she’s in it, I like it.

Tabitha and Roger seem to be gettin’ on here recently as well. Roger seems to have lost his usual wandering eye, and from what he told me last week, he and Tabitha are coming here to Thanksgiving together. Now I know my Dove must know something about all that shit, those two are thick as thieves, but she’s not spilled any secrets to me and I just play dumb. It’s just better that way sometimes.

The house is filling up with antiques and brightly painted walls. It’s an old farmhouse, way bigger than we need, but I intend to fill all the bedrooms with our kids, and Dove seems to be happy with that plan. The white, three-story house has had new pieces tacked on over the years by owners that needed a new room or a bigger space. So now, all in total there are eight bedrooms here in the main house, then there’s a thousand square foot guesthouse with another two.

Now, I did gripe a bit when Rachel took to decorating my office down at the barn, but I lost that battle too. Turns out, she did a great job. It’s comfortable and clean, but she’s kept it rustic. I’d do just fine with a wooden bench and a folding table, but she did it up right.

I shift over to grab the quilt and pull it over our naked legs, tucking it around her so she’s warm while Beth still eats away. My head drops back, I close my eyes and like I do a few times every day, I thank whoever might be listening for that day I met my Dove.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Chad

Epilogue Two

“If you don’t stop, the kids are going to know what we’re doing.”

I don’t stop, because I’d be shocked if our older kids don’t have a general idea of what happens when our bedroom door is closed.

I shove my tongue deeper into her clutching tunnel, swallowing the sweet nectar that streams over my tongue.

Today is our fifteenth anniversary, and the kids and I have a big dinner planned for Rachel. They’re all downstairs making a mess in the kitchen, while I’m up here making a mess of my wife.

The years haven’t dimmed our passion for each other one bit. We’re still on each other at least once a day. Most days more. I like waking her up with my mouth and putting her to bed with my dick. It seems to be working so far, and it’s had a good long road test.

My formula for a happy wife has been multiple orgasms via my mouth, fingers and cock every day. Say ‘Yes dear’ when she asks for almost anything, unless it’s a danger to her or our kids. Pay the bills, and then some. Not because she’s a spender, hell no, not her. But because I want us secure and safe, no matter what life might send us. And last but not least, be the best father I can be.

We’re on child number eight right now. Our last baby boy, Murphy, is a Trisomy 21 baby. A sweet smiling Downs Syndrome angel, and if there ever was pure love on this Earth it’s him.

Our oldest, Beth, is the little mama. She fights Rachel to take care of Murphy and that boy never has a chance to want for anything. I’m so proud of all my kids. And her, my Dove. They’ve given me a life better than any dream I could have imagined.

I munch on Rachel until her pussy is swollen red and her voice is raw. Only then do I come up over her and guide her onto all fours. I’m giving her what she asked for this morning, she just didn’t know back then that I was planning to take the scenic route.

First I coat my cock with her slick cream, then scoop it onto a couple fingers and circle the dark bud of her ass. We do it all, and my girl loves it all. She’s shameless, and that only makes her more beautiful to me. I want to give her every pleasure, every sensation she desires, and sometimes that’s my hand on her ripe, round ass.

“You want my cock in your ass, don’t you, Dove?”

Her hips answer, raising up as she lowers her face into the white comforter.

I glide the tip of my dick forward, listening to the beautiful sounds she makes when I fuck her this way. She has special noises she brings out just for this. She loves how full it makes her feel, how owned.

Me? I’ll love her and give her whatever she wants, but her ass is tight and nearly sucks my cock inside all on its own.

My slow entry has her moaning my name already, stretching her open as her hands grab fistfuls of the fabric.

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