The town square was alive. Bunting of red, white, and blue curled around light poles and storefronts. Booths lined Main Street—grilled corn, funnel cake, lemonade, hand-carved crafts. Laughter echoed across the green where kids ran with sparklers and old-timers tuned guitars on folding chairs. Smoke from grills mixed with the scent of pine and firecrackers.
Jack and Vivienne walked together—his broad frame in a faded black tee and jeans, hers in a white summer dress that clung to her curves like second skin. Her hair was up, loose strands tumbling down her neck, and the sunlight played on her collarbones like it was trying to seduce her itself.
People watched them. Smiled. Nodded. Jack was a legend here. Vivienne was still a mystery.
But something about her posture had changed. She didn’t look like a runaway anymore. She walked like she belonged—next to him, beside him, not behind. And Jack? Jack walked like a man who knew what was his.
And would never let it go.
Midafternoon — The Stranger Arrives
They were near the pie contest when it happened.
A sleek black SUV pulled up slow, too shiny, too big-city for a town like this. A man stepped out. Tall. Tan. Late forties. Designer sunglasses, tailored navy shirt, loafers that had never touched real dirt. His smile was fake. His posture screamed entitlement.
Vivienne saw him first.
She froze.
Her nails dug into Jack’s forearm. Not in warning. In recognition.
“Trent,” she breathed. Her voice low. Cold. “That’s my ex-husband.”
Jack turned slowly. Saw the man walking toward them like he owned the road.
“You left me, Viv,” Trent called. Loud enough to draw attention. “Now you’re playing house with a mountain savage?”
Jack moved then. Stepped in front of her. His stance wide. Calm. Immovable.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Jack said, voice flat as steel.
Trent laughed. “You think she’s yours now? I made her.”
Jack didn’t blink. “No. You bought her. And then tried to break her. That doesn’t make her yours. That makes you small.”
People were starting to gather. Festivalgoers fell silent, sensing something real in the air—tension sharper than any firework.
Trent took a step closer. “You think you’re some kind of hero? This town trash—”
Jack hit him.
A single, devastating punch.
Trent flew back, crashing into a display of wooden flag signs. People gasped. A vendor dropped his lemonade. The sheriff’s deputy started toward them—then stopped when Jack turned.
“Stay back,” Jack said, his voice cutting through everything. “He came looking for trouble. He found it.”
Trent groaned, nose bleeding, suit dusty, pride shattered.
Jack leaned over him. Quiet. Intimate. Dangerous.
“You come back here again, you’ll leave in pieces. She’s not yours anymore. She’s mine. And no one touches what’s mine.”
Then Jack stood and walked away—Vivienne at his side, his arm around her waist, shielding her from every eye, every whisper, every past ghost that still thought it had claws in her.
The crowd parted.
No one stopped them.
No one dared.
Fireworks Show — Nightfall
The town gathered on the open hill at the edge of the woods. Blankets spread. Music played low. Kids fell asleep on shoulders. Couples kissed in the glow of the concession tents.
Jack and Vivienne didn’t sit with the crowd.
He led her, hand in hers, through the tree line just behind the hill—far enough to watch the sky explode but close enough that the flashes would still light her skin.
She was quiet, still shaken. But there was something else in her now—relief. A weight lifted. A new identity taking hold. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as they stood among the trees, fireflies dancing low between ferns.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For not hesitating.”
Jack turned her to face him.
“I saw him,” he said. “And I saw you. And I knew he didn’t deserve one more second of your breath.”
Vivienne trembled. “You don’t even know all the things he—”
“I don’t need to.” Jack cupped her jaw, rough thumb brushing her cheek. “I’ve known enough women who’ve been broken. But none of them fought their way here. You did.”
Her lips parted.
And then the first firework screamed into the sky.
BOOM.
Red light spilled across the trees.
Jack pressed her back against the nearest trunk, his mouth claiming hers. Hard. Deep. Possessive.
She gasped, arms winding around his shoulders as the next firework burst overhead.
BOOM.
Blue this time.
He kissed her harder. One hand sliding down, grabbing the back of her thigh, lifting it. She wrapped it around his waist, moaning into his mouth.
He ground against her. She felt his arousal through his jeans—thick, hot, urgent. Her hands slipped under his shirt, clawing at his stomach, nails dragging down until he hissed.
“Jack,” she whimpered. “Here?”
He looked down at her with fire in his eyes.
“This whole town just watched me claim you,” he growled. “Now I’m gonna remind you what that means.”
BOOM.
White light lit the woods.
He hiked her dress up to her hips. No panties.
“You did this on purpose,” he muttered, cock swelling as he slid his fingers between her thighs.
She was soaked.
Her breath hitched. “I wanted to feel alive.”
Jack undid his jeans with one hand. Freed himself. Thick and hard and glistening.
“Then come alive for me.”
He hoisted her up, pinned her to the tree, and slid inside her in one smooth, primal thrust.
Vivienne cried out—the sound swallowed by the crackle of fireworks and the roar of desire.
He fucked her there, against the bark, surrounded by pine and shadow and light from a sky set on fire. Her legs locked around him. Her dress bunched between them. Her moans getting louder—desperate.
Every time she gasped, a firework exploded.
Every time she came close, he slowed—teased her.
“You’re not his,” Jack whispered against her throat. “Say it.”
“I’m not his,” she moaned.
“Say whose you are.”
“I’m yours, Jack—God—yes—yours.”
He slammed into her then. Over and over. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her climax tore through her like shrapnel—violent, unstoppable.
And he followed with a deep, guttural groan, filling her completely as the finale lit the sky—bursts of gold, red, blue. A sky in orgasm. A forest echoing with the raw sound of dominance, protection, and rebirth.
After the Smoke
They stood there afterward—her legs still trembling, his cock softening inside her, both of them breathless.
Vivienne looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes wide.
“What now?”
Jack tucked her hair behind her ear. Kissed her forehead.
“Now,” he said, “you stop running.”
She nodded slowly.
And for the first time in years—maybe ever—she believed it.
Jack’s Page