Renewing Their Vows by Jessa Kane
One
North
Bob. Weave.
Fists up. Guard the face.
Never stop moving. Never get distracted.
One well-placed punch can weaken the other fighter’s confidence. Make them second-guess their training, their next move.
Their life choices.
I never question mine, though—that’s why men hating fighting me.
I fight for my wife. My Gracie.
She’s the ultimate motivation. Five years ago, when we were seniors in high school, she took a chance on me. Gave up everything to be with me, a fighter from South Boston, including her rich Beacon Hill-dwelling family. By a twist of fate, she stumbled into my underground fight club and we fell headfirst into love, into obsession. Devotion.
I’m legit now. No longer scrapping for cash in The Hellmouth. I’m an amateur boxer, right on the verge of going pro.
All for her.
Every breath in my lungs, every drop of sweat is to provide for Grace.
I stare down my sparring partner across the ring and shove in my mouthpiece, bashing my gloved hand against the side of my head. He blanches, scanning the training gym for someone to take his place, but everyone pretends not to notice. Reluctantly, he starts to shadowbox, rolling his neck side to side and dancing his way toward me, fists at the ready, and I do the same, adrenaline starting to pump in my veins like motor oil.
For the month, it has been difficult to find sparring partners, because I’m even more motivated, more monstrous in the ring than usual.
Grace is trying to get pregnant.
Christ, just saying those words inside my head is enough to make my back teeth clamp down on the rubber mouth guard, intense feeling surging in my sternum. My heart speeds like a wildcat pursuing prey, wrapped in a mixture of joy and determination. You will provide. I’m driven to deliver. For Grace, yes. That’s always been my focus. But we’re going to have a baby someday soon. I’m going to be a father, my Gracie a mother. I’ll give my child everything.
I’ll make my wife proud.
She’ll never be sorry for choosing me over a life of country clubs and yachts. Over an Ivy League education. I won’t let her be.
With those thoughts in mind, I go to work decimating my opponent. This is only practice, so I do my best to hold back some of my power, but Jesus, it’s hard. It’s hard when I have this much might packed into my chest, desperate to get out. Every time I fight, my opponent becomes the thing standing between Grace and happiness. Security. Comfort. And all I can do is seek to eliminate them, as I do now. Avoiding a jab and coming through with one of my own, followed by a right uppercut, sending the fighter backward a few paces. I keep coming, keep swinging. I never stop until they’re on the mat.
Out of the corner of my eye, there’s a flash of periwinkle blue among the black and gray equipment of the practice gym. Normally, I wouldn’t know enough to pinpoint a color so specifically. It would just be blue to me. But when I zipped up my wife’s dress this morning, I asked her the shade because it matched her eyes exactly. It became my new favorite color.
That’s how I know she’s here.
In the boxing gym.
My pulse seizes. Is something wrong? She’s a kindergarten teacher. It’s the middle of the day. She should be in class right now.
“Hold up,” I growl at the other man, ducking an industrious punch. “My wife is here.”
Immediately, I wish I wouldn’t have said that. Every set of fucking eyes in the training gym turns in her direction. All activity ceases. It’s well known throughout the Boston boxing scene that I married way above my station. And not only that, but I married a girl who looks like she was sculpted by Michelangelo. She’s so goddamn beautiful, people can’t help but stare at her everywhere we go. I understand why they gape and hate it at the same time. If I wasn’t one hundred percent positive of the fact that she’s mine and no one can take her away from me, I’d probably be locked in an asylum by now.
The sweat is pouring off of me as I climb down out of the ring, going toward Grace. I’m aching to reach her, heart knocking madly into my ribs. I don’t know how other people experience love, but I know the way we feel it is rare. We’re two halves of one whole. We’re deeply absorbed in each other. Over the top. Unapologetically obsessed. Some might even say we’re co-dependent and I can’t disagree. I need constant hits of her to stay alive.
Seeing her in the middle of the day is unexpected and it’s like being hit by a lightning bolt. Every hair on my body is standing straight up, my throat is crowded with emotion. I want to get down on my knees and propose to her again. How am I supposed to behave like a normal human being when she’s dressed like that? In this periwinkle blue dress that’s tight across her gorgeous tits, but pleated and innocent from the waist down. Her long brown hair is a little windblown from the fall weather, her cheeks tinged pink from the temperature. My dick is already getting thick and heavy in my shorts, eager to sink into its favorite home.
Grace’s pussy.
God help me, I can almost taste it from here and we’re still separated by several yards.
That tight little sugar trap is guarded by white panties beneath her dress. I know, because I’m the one that put them on her this morning, dragging them slowly up her smooth legs and making sure everything between her thighs was covered. Protected. Waiting for me to get home later to fill it up. And there’s no question that I would. I’ve always been a depraved beast when it comes to fucking Grace, all the way back to when we were eighteen.
But now that we’re trying to get pregnant? Jesus, I’ve lost count of how many dresses I’ve ripped clean down the middle, how many dents our headboard has put into the wall behind our bed. I had Grace screaming so loud last night, the neighbors knocked on the door last night to make sure I wasn’t killing her.
There’s an additional layer of lust on top of my already teeming hunger for her.
I’m trying to get this incredible angel pregnant.
Fuck. How am I this lucky?
How did she choose me?
Five years later, I still feel like I’m dreaming. Maybe that’s why I pin her down nightly and rampage like it’s going to be the last time. I’m trying to reassure myself that she’s real.
Grace reaches me now and I know damn well she would plaster herself up against me, even though I’m dripping in sweat. I need that contact from her. At all times. But somehow I manage to remain one inch away, because I don’t want to ruin this dress that makes her eyes look like twin tropical pools. The lack of touch makes me throb everywhere, my heart twisting in protest, so when I speak, my voice is threadbare. “Beauty.” I lean down and kiss her soft lips, searching her face for signs of distress. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong.” Those beloved blue eyes catalogue my chest. My abdomen. The color in her cheeks deepens and I can practically feel her panties getting wet. It’s no secret my body turns her on. And I figure that’s only fair since everything about her turns me into an animal. Her cherry cola scent, the bras she leaves hanging in the bathroom, the way she giggles when I tickle her, the way she cries happy tears when people win big on game shows. Her shape, her texture, her taste, her voice, her hugs, her kisses. That whip-tight pussy.
So yeah, thank Christ she likes my muscles.
Thank Christ for giving them to me so I can make her horny. So I can protect her. Make a living in the ring. I owe my maker a whole lot of gratitude.
“Did you just come to say hi?” I notice some of the other fighters trying to get a covert look at Grace and I shoot them a glance that promises death if they don’t keep their eyes to themselves. Mine. “I can shower up and take you for lunch.”
“No, actually, we don’t have a lot of time. Um…” She crooks her finger at me and I bend forward so she can whisper in my ear. “I’m ovulating.”
My cock was already hard, it’s never anything but stiff around my wife, but now? Hearing she’s extra fertile in this moment? It lifts in my shorts like a fucking crane, my balls starting to pulse with heat. With purpose. And when I notice Grace’s hard nipples, the urgency and excitement in her blue eyes, I’m inundated with lust so thick it can’t be reasoned with.
“Should we go to your car?” she whispers.
“I’m not fucking you in my car. Not in broad daylight.” We’re in a busy section of town, right by the train stop. “If someone saw any part of your body, I’d lose my shit.”
She nods, because she knows that’s the truth. “It has to be here, then?”
If I had my way, if we had time, I’d bring her home and do this right. Or I’d splurge on a fancy hotel room, lick champagne off her belly, off her mouth and tits. I’d spoil her rotten. But right now, there is only sowing my seed. That’s all that exists for both of us. We’re breathing erratically, looking for any dark corner, so I can breed her.
That’s what this is, to a degree.
We want a baby to complete our family.
But there’s an element of wickedness to what we’ve been doing.
Daddy breeding his little girl.
We discovered our penchant for these roles all the way back in high school and we thrive in them now. They’ve become like a second layer of skin—and that skin is greedy and unrelenting and hungry at all times. We stopped questioning a long time ago whether or not it was right to fulfill our mutual kink and jumped in with both feet. And it’s a damn good thing, because we crave what we do and say in the dark. How we behave. The parental slant of my relationship with Grace only makes us burn hotter, wilder, dirtier.
“There’s a back room, but it’s not worthy of you,” I rasp, unlacing my gloves and dropping them to the ground so I can touch the fragile lines of her face. “Nowhere is.”
She gives me a nose wrinkle, as if to say I’m being silly. “Take me there.”
My loins tighten, my fingers threading through those of her right hand. And I start to lead her through the exercise equipment, the groups of fighters taking breaks. I dare every single one of them to check her out and lucky for them, they all keep their eyes downcast as we pass on the way to the rear of the boxing gym. “They all know what we’re doing,” I say through my teeth. “They know I’m bringing you back here to fuck.”
“I know that should bother me, but I can’t…I can’t think of anything but…”
I stop just in front of the door leading to the back room, turning to look down into the beautifully flushed face of my wife. “What, Gracie?”
“I just want to be filled up.” Her eyelids flutter, her teeth chewing on that bottom lip. Horny. Needy. Perfect. Mine. “This is the best time to soak you in and, um…I need that. To soak it all up,” she finishes in a whisper. “I need you.”
That sense of purpose I get when fighting?
It’s nothing compared to this. The drive that roars to life inside of me in the face of my wife’s requirements. It eclipses my irritation over having to fuck my sweet, classy wife in a dingy back room at the boxing gym. All she wants is this cock right now. She’ll get it any way she can and she’s making that clear by pushing open the back door and marching inside into the rear of the gym. It’s more like a storage area back here, full of boxes and equipment in need of repair. However, I’ve only got eyes for that tight, married ass as it twitches ahead of me in the darkness, covered in periwinkle pleats.
I’ve closed the door behind us, so the sounds of the sparring area are muffled, along with the music pumping through the speakers. Grace is going to walk out of here with wobbly legs and a swollen mouth, but at least they shouldn’t be able to hear us.
We reach the back wall and I spin Grace around, sealing my lips over the most delicious mouth in the world. The way it flutters open on a gasp, accepting my tongue, as if it’s our first kiss all over again. That’s how it feels. Every time we touch, every time I enter her body, it’s urgent and anxious and sweaty as our first time together. Today is no exception.
That tongue of hers. I abuse it. I lick it with mine and suck it roughly, turning her thighs all restless, the fronts of them writhing against mine.
There is something slightly different about her today. More primal.
I’m the aggressor in this relationship and that’s how we like it, but hell if it doesn’t make me insanely hot when she bites my lips, mewling, her fingers twisting in my hair. Letting me know exactly how she wants to be taken. Hard. Demanding it.
Look how bad she wants to give me a kid.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I’m going to blow her sky high when I come.
Grace breaks the kiss, leaving me dazed. Aching like a motherfucker between my legs. I watch through a fog of desire as she rakes her hands down my sweaty chest. Then she takes those sweaty palms and slides them into the bodice of her dress, covering her naked tits in my sweat. Jesus. Christ. I’m on the verge of coming when she does it again, collecting my sweat in her hands and painting her luscious thighs in it. Moaning while she does it. As if my sweat on her skin is an aphrodisiac—and hell, maybe it is. There isn’t much between us that isn’t consuming, drugging, overwhelming.
“Goddammit, Gracie,” I pant against her mouth, my hands finding the waistband of her panties and yanking them down, my fingers immediately returning up to her pussy, delving between her bare folds, moisture running down my digits into my palm. Oh my God. The perfection of her response is never less than humbling. Heaven. She is fucking heaven on earth. “Soaked. Always soaked and ready for a good hard fuck, huh, baby?”
“Yes,” she sobs, pushing down my shorts eagerly, gasping at the sight of my erection when it springs out, huge and long. Landscaped for her, trimmed exactly how she likes it. “Oh my God, North.” Her eyes close momentarily, as if she’s saying a prayer. “I can’t…I can’t believe it’s gotten even bigger.”
I take her hand and wrap it around my dick, helping her stroke me, absorbed by the dazed expression on her face, the way she leaves teeth marks in her lip. “Love the way you whine and wiggle all over it, beauty. Same way you did back in high school. Still can barely handle it, can you?”
“It handles me,” she whispers.
“Fucking right, it does.” Her breath catches when I boost her up, her legs latching around my hips. “Tell me what you came all the way down here for,” I demand against her mouth, already guiding my cock to her entrance, rubbing it there in the excess wetness.
“Daddy’s come,” she says haltingly, whimpering when I press the bulbous head inside of her, leaving her one thrust away from being plowed full. And she holds her breath, thighs trembling with excitement around me. Anticipation. “I want it, I want it.”
I catch her by the throat and slam her up against the wall, pounding home.
The loud sound of rattling metal is unexpected.
My eyes cut through the darkness to find I haven’t backed Grace up against one of the cinderblock walls, but rather up against the rolling metal door. Involuntarily, I thrust again, harder, and the rattle is almost deafening, along with her moan of my name.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her mouth open in an O shape. “Don’t stop, Daddy.”
The rattle is even louder this time, continuing in quick succession when I obey the urges of our bodies and bang her fast and rough and deep, my cock slamming in and out of her tight, wet hole, the metal door shaking violently behind her. And Jesus Christ, maybe there is even an alpha animal section of my brain that likes this. Likes everyone in the boxing gym knowing that my wife came here to get fucked and I’m delivering, every stroke of my shaft making her moan, making her call me Daddy so loud, they can probably hear it on the fucking street.
Normally this would make me insane—anyone being privy to our sex life.
But they’ve been coveting what’s mine for a while now. Maybe this is necessary. Letting them know this absolute stunner of a girl is getting dick so hot she fiends for it in the afternoon.
“Louder, baby,” I growl into her neck, pumping faster, clutching her ass cheeks in my hands to hold her steady. “What do you want from me?”
“Pregnant,” she whines, planting kisses all over my face, my mouth. “I want to be pregnant by you. Now. Now. Please.”
God help me. God help me.
I crowd her even tighter, my hips pressing open her splayed thighs.
I get so deep, I go fucking blind from the intense squeeze of her feminine muscles.
The clenching.
The clawing of her nails.
“Tell me you love me,” I beg brokenly between kisses, my heart in a vise along with my balls. This girl. My wife. She owns me so completely, my entire body is locked up, hinging on every bat of her eyelash, every word out of her precious mouth. Every breath she takes. I’m held in her thrall even while battering her sweet body, fucking her like a depraved brute. One tiny hint of pain from her could tear me down the middle. One frown. One hiccup. I’m so attuned to her that I’d be on my knees in an instant. Thank God there is only pleasure on her face, thank God she only encourages me to go deeper, harder, faster.
“I love you, I love you,” she chants—and the men on the other side of the door hearing her declaration of love satisfies me most of all. Mine. It’s crazy, but she’s mine. It doesn’t seem real, but she’s my wife. My world. And I’m hers.
“Baby,” I rasp, that single world strangled. The crash of her ass against the metal is ridiculous now. It rattles in time with my drives, which are wild and savage, turning her into a scratching, straining, horny little girl, her pussy drenched beyond belief. Our mouths move on top of each other’s, fevered, panting. “I’m going to come.”
She moans, excited. Wanting my seed. “Get it deep,” she breathes, burying her nails in the breadth of my back and dragging them down, leaving marks. I know she is. Marks everyone will see. Visible proof of my wife’s pleasure. “Make it hurt if you have to.”
There’s something inside of me that knows this is the time.
This is the moment she becomes pregnant.
I slam deep and look her in the eye, taking my right hand from her ass so I can play with her clit, rubbing and rubbing until her pussy starts to clench, her breath coming faster and faster until she screams, those muscles spasming around me, squeezing and releasing with intense sexual gratification. And I rear back my hips and fuck right into them again, again, again, againagainagain, grinding our foreheads together, savoring the tremble of her thighs around my hips, the tears of pleasure rolling down her cheeks, her whimpers of my name, interspersed with the word Daddy. Daddy.
“We’re making a baby right now,” I growl, finally allowing the hot load of seed to climb my cock and release into her tight little channel, filling her up as she milks me, still lost in the throes of her orgasm, eyes glazed with wonder. “Those pretty tits are going to fill up with milk. This pussy is going to be ripe and horny, belly swollen, your dresses tight in new places. And I’m going to fucking worship you, mother of my child. Protect you and spoil you and love you so much it breaks me. Break me now, Gracie. Break me.”
She nuzzles her forehead to mine, our wet mouths dragging together, laboring for air. “You’re my love, my life, my breath. My forever.”
The impact of emotion in my chest sends me stumbling into her, broken, her lifelong hero and lover and best friend. Everything in between. And we melt together, two joining as one, indistinguishable from one another. Grace and North. North and Grace.
Nothing can tear us apart.
Not for a second.
In that moment, I believe it with every drop of blood in my veins.
Fate has a funny way of testing us, though…
