Page 8 of Bred Mate
He smirks at me. “I guess I just never found anyone I want to breed this bad before. You’re it, baby, and I am going to make you swell.”
He rubs his hand over my lower belly suggestively. I feel a little tingle of excitement, and another pang of something like fear. This is pure insanity, but I can’t help it. Right now, I’m filled with his seed. It’s already starting to drip out of me, making a mess of his pants.
“Fine. I’ll see you in a month if this doesn’t work.”
“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere. You need me to stop that logging? You need to be available to me for fucking.”
“You stop the logging today.”
“I’ll not only stop the logging, I’ll make those bastards put the trees back,” Karl promises me, pressing his mouth to my neck, and kissing me roughly under the earlobe.
He’s an asshole, but I think I believe him.
“Alright,” I say. “You need to come with me now, then.”
“Wait,” he says.
“What?”
“I need to know your name.”
“Ellie,” I say.
“Ellie…” He draws it out, as if waiting for a last name. I don’t have one. Humans have last names. I’m lucky to have a first one.
“Ellie,” I repeat.
He nods.
We go.
CHAPTER 3
Ellie
The drive out to the middle of nowhere takes the better part of a day. The closer I get to home, the more excited I get. The more excited I get, the more I worry that I shouldn’t be excited at all. We have been looking for a solution for so long, since we woke up one day to the sound of falling timber and the certainty that the only home we’ve ever known would be erased.
My pussy is aching and I am struggling with myself. I hate having to come to someone like this for help. I hate that my whole life is falling apart and coming down to what’s between my legs.
“So, what did happen to your face?” I decide to make some small talk.
He frowns at me for a second, then he seems to remember he has a scar.
“None of your business,” he says.
I don’t say anything back. I feel a little chastised, but I know it was kind of a rude question. Whatever happened to his face, it was nasty and cruel. Something he didn’t deserve probably, because it looks old.
“My father threw an axe at me when I was fifteen,” he says after a couple of minutes of silence.
“The fuck? Why? Was it an accident?”
“He was trying to kill me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He shrugs. “I deserved it.”
“What the hell could you have done at fifteen to deserve an axe to the face?”
