Page 18 of Untold Restraint

She’s driving me crazy with need, and my mind refuses to stray from the thought of getting her good and visibly pregnant as fast as possible, so she can wear my possessive mark like a fucking badge.

All I can think about lately is breeding her, and the thought has me all kinds of hot, locked, and loaded. I’ve actually quit jerking off, to save up my boys for the challenge of getting her on the first try.

I know we’re young, but Kira’s going to be the perfect mom. She’s the exact right amount of responsible and caring, mixed with that challenging nature nurses seem to have, where —unless you’re actually dying — they’ll refuse to put up with any of your bullshit.

She’s going to be amazing, and I’m going to take such good care of her and all the pitter-pattering little feet that march out of her — and they will be marching if they’re anywhere as driven as she is. She’s well on her way to running the ward she works on as a nurse-aide.

And the libido on her?

I’ll probably need to fuck a baby into her, just to slow her down enough so I can keep up. She fucked herself four times yesterday — that I know of. She’s going to keep me so fucking happy.

But I’m not going to that party at The Lodgewith Kira’s Dad and Jack, and all their creepy, sycophant, business associates. Because, if the Montgomery’s are invited, that’s the kind of assholes who’ll be there.

This isn’t the kind of birthday party Kira would want at all, and that makes me want to kick her dad in the nuts.

There’s no way I can turn up, not kick Sherman in the balls at least twice, and then keep my feelings for her under wraps. Jack will definitely catch wind of my infatuation.

And Kira will be flirting like a motherfucker, luring me away from the crowd, and tempting me to fuck her virgin holes so hard, everyone will hear her screaming and come running to see my cum dripping down her legs.

Uh-uh. Not happening. I’ll be out of control — I told her we’d need rope, for fuck’s sake.

And I can’t show up to a business party with my father, once I’ve told him to go fuck himself and his college degree and the corporate future he mapped out for me when I was five and showed an aptitude for numbers. I’m not going to be another one of his pawns. He’s got plenty of other sons who can act as if they enjoy that boring shit, but I’m not surrendering my soul to the devil for free.

These are the things I repeat in my head as I stride toward Jack’s office.

I’m twenty years old. I’m going to work with wood. It makes me happy. The smell, the feel, the creative freedom…

I like to build real things, not tear apart digital companies on a computer and sell them off for profit, and I couldn’t give a fuck about stocks, investment folders, or currency trading. Property development is a possibility, but because Jack knows I’d prefer that option, and he’s kept that portfolio well out of my reach.

It’s as if he thinks he’s making us more resilient by repeatedly breaking our spirits and forcing us to mend faster and harder. Sure, it’s an enviable trait, to be able to dust yourself off and rise again stronger, but he’s attacking all the wrong shit, and if we didn’t have to keep hauling our psychologically damaged asses out of the dirt every time he shoves us down, we’d all be a lot better off and further ahead than we are.

Who knows how high we could rise if he only thought to lift us up, instead of breaking us down?

I thump on his office door. “Jack?”

Only silence greets me, and I raise my knuckles to knock again.

The door swings open, and Jack swats my hand down before slapping me so hard across the face my jaw clicks.

“What the hell are you playing at, banging on my door like that, boy?” he growls. “Show some respect.”

With my cheek pulsating with heat from his strength, I calmly reset my jaw and give him a leveling stare. “If it were due, I would.”

I snap my hand up, to catch his, when he makes to strike me again. I wrap my fingers around his wrist and squeeze until he utters a grunt, and I thrust my parting gift of two foiled contracts at his chest. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Jack,” I say with a smile.

“Want to bet, you rebellious piece of shit?” He hits the personal alarm on his wrist that’ll call Lucius from wherever he’s lurking. Older than me by a year, my belatedly acquired, deeply disturbed half-brother, Loosh, is bigger, stronger, and hairier than a Sasquatch, and he’s proven himself deadly on multiple occasions. Which is exactly how Jack gained leverage over his favorite side-dish-spawned henchman.

“It’s alwaysyou, Quintus,” my father scolds, wrenching his hand free of my grasp and taking the paperwork I’ve shoved at him. “No matter how hard I kick you, you never stay down.”

He walks back behind his desk, and sits, flipping over the ruined paperwork I gave him. He sets them aside with a smirk and take a different pile of contracts from his in-tray, signing each one. He carries on with business, as if this is a normal fucking conversation for a child to have with his father.

“I know you’re planning to leave,” he says, “but I can’t let your kind of tenacity go, so cancel your plans. Montgomery Enterprises needs your bull-headed brand of robust fortitude, and I’m on to you and your meddling ways. Quit fucking with my schemes and cancel whatever bullshit plans you have, to run away and join a construction crew. Not a single one will take you. I’ll make sure of that.”

Not that surprised by his knowledge of my secret sideline career, or his threat to dash my hopes before I can even try to succeed, I raise my chin and stare straight ahead. “No. I refuse to serve your immorality a moment longer. I’m leaving.”

“In what?” He leans sideways, to address Loosh who has arrived as summoned. “Lucius, puncture all four tires of Quin’s truck.” Looking back to his paperwork, he adds, “and the spare.”

I grab for Loosh before he can leave, staying him with a hand on his arm.

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