Page 21 of The Blacksmith in My Tavern: Tales of Bleakness

A price is agreed upon.

One month later, once the deeds are drawn, and the proprietor has collected his personal effects, we take ownership of the Tavern.

As we stand in the empty bar area, my mind is whirling with everything I want to do: a lick of paint here, some flower boxesout the front, and renovations to the guest rooms so we can make the best of the passing trade. The staff working here are excellent; all have advised us they wish to stay on.

“Sign is up!” The local joiner says, poking his head in the front door.

We hasten outside to admire our new sign.

“It’s perfect,” I say, grinning at the sign hanging above the door—a gnarly old green man with curved green lettering beneath: The Green Man.

“Aye,” Heath agrees. “Happen Tim would be proud.”

Heath still has contact with members of the rebellion, and our new home and tavern will always be a safe place for those fighting the cause against the warring Blighten.

We thank the joiner, who accepts his payment, and packs his tool bag.

We head back inside.

Heath wraps his arms around my waist and smiles down at me. “I can already see the cogs turning. I’m the novice here when it comes to managing a tavern. But I’m hard working, and you can teach me the ropes.”

Before I can answer, the barman, Pete, strides in with a fresh barrel of ale, followed by the barmaid, Sally, with a tray full of clean tankards.

“Don’t mind us,” Pete calls as he strides past. He winks at Sally. “Newlyweds, eh?”

Heath chuckles and scoops me up into his arms with a distinctly lascivious smirk. “Just going to have a quick word with my wife upstairs. Be down in time for opening.”

“Heath,” I gasp, fighting my laughter as he heads out the back with me still in his arms. He cuts left at the end of the corridor, taking the stairs for our quarters above the tavern.

“Quiet, woman,” he mutters, not even winded by the effort of carrying me. “We both know pregnancy makes you needy. You’ll never get through the day unless I settle you down now.”

Heath

She giggles as I make it as far as the lounge. “Fuck it,” I say. I have her spread out on the rug before the unlit fire, her skirt is thrust up, and her panties are tugged to the side.

“Oh, Heath!”

Her breathy gasp accompanies me getting my mouth on her pussy and filling my big hands with her ample tits. Her fingers spear my hair, tugging me where she wants.

She is drenched and ready, making those sweet, breathy moans as I eat her out. I swear if I live to a hundred, I will never get enough of her pleasure sounds. My dick is already fighting to get out and threatening to blow. What this damn woman does to me with her mere existence.

“Come for me, wife,” I growl against her pussy. Calling her that is guaranteed to get her off in record time.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Her fingers tighten, making me wince even as I double down. My reward is a flood over my waiting tongue as she comes for me.

I nearly fucking come myself. My hands are at my buckle before I even lift my head. By the time I surge above her and lodge my cock head in her entrance, I am so primed it is a battle of sheer will to get inside her before I spill.

“Fuck!” I thrust deeply once, twice, three times, and then I unload with a grunt.

When I recover enough to open my eyes, I find my wife smirking up at me, pretty hair spread out over the rug, and cheeks flushed. The damn brat loves it when I lose control.

I wiggle my brows and begin to thrust at a more leisurely pace, my eyes lowering to where her tits jiggle about. “Never fear, the sight of my young, beautiful wife, her belly soon to grow ripe with my child, and stuffed full of my cock, has me hard again in no time.”

And it does.

Every time.

She cups my cheek, and I lean down to kiss her as I take her slow and easy, letting the pleasure build this time.

“I love you, Heath,” she whispers against my cheek.

“I love you, too, Betsy. Now, take it like a good girl lest we never get down to the customers in our new tavern.”

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