Ego Maniac

by Vi Keeland

  “Oh, God.” The window was so cold, and my body was on fire.

  Drew sucked along my shoulder, working his way up my neck, eventually reaching my ear. “Spread for me, Em.”

  I would have jumped out the window if he’d instructed me to at that point. I widened my stance, opening my legs, and Drew wrapped one arm around my waist, hitching my ass up toward him and forcing my back to arch while my breasts stayed pressed against the glass. Then he grabbed his cock, sheathed it, and dipped down to gently guide himself into me.

  He pushed in and out a few times, each thrust going deeper until he was fully inside. I’d never been with a man who was so thick, and each stroke coaxed my body to wrap around him like a glove.

  “Fuck. You feel so good. Your tight little pussy is squeezing me so hard. You want me to fill you up, don’t you? Your body wants to suck the cum from my cock.”

  Jesus, I loved his dirty mouth. I moaned and pushed back against him, taking him even deeper. “Yes. Drew. Please.”

  The apartment was quiet except for the noise of our wet bodies slapping against each other. It seemed to echo all around us. The exquisite sound must have made him as frenzied as it made me, because Drew began to thrust harder and deeper. Each grunt he made as he slammed into me sent my body closer to the edge. My eyes had been closed as I lost myself in the pleasure of my body, but when I opened them, they locked with Drew’s in the reflection, and that pushed me over. I came long and hard, never breaking eye contact as I moaned through it.

  “Fuck. You’re beautiful,” Drew muttered as he gave one last deep thrust, and then I felt a pulsating sensation inside of me as he spurted hot cum and told me over and over how beautiful I was.

  He slowed to a languid pace after that, eventually pulling out of me so he could deal with the condom. When he returned, I was still stuck in place at the window, and he surprised me by scooping me up into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to bed.”

  I lolled my head against his shoulder. “I am exhausted.”

  Drew smirked. “I’m not talking about going to sleep. I’m talking about fucking you properly next time.”

  “Properly?” I croaked out.

  “Yeah. I need about ten minutes. But I can’t wait to take my time and watch your face as you come undone in my bed.”

  “Ten minutes?” I might have needed a few hours myself.

  Drew chuckled and kissed my forehead. “We’ll take a bath after round two. How does that sound?”

  Heavenly. “You’re going to withhold that bathtub if I’m too exhausted for round two?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do all the work. You can just lie back, enjoy my tongue, and dream about that bath.”

  “And to think, I said no to all of this yesterday.”

  “That’ll be the last time you say no to me.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You bet your damn ass. Now that I know how good we are together, you can say no, but I won’t be taking it for an answer.”

  “I left a mark.” Drew cupped a handful of warm water and let it dribble down in big drops onto my protruding nipple. I was nestled between his legs as we soaked in the bathtub together.

  “Where?”

  “Here.” He pointed to a red mark I hadn’t noticed on my breast.

  “That’s okay. Probably no one will see it.”

  He stiffened. “Probably?”

  “I mean it will be covered by my bra, so even if I undress for someone, like in a fitting room or at the doctor, they probably won’t see it anyway.”

  “So you’re not planning on fucking someone else before it wears off?”

  I tilted my head to look up at him. “Is this more than a one-time thing?”

  Drew searched my eyes. “It is.”

  “Okay, then. No one else will be seeing my marked skin, so we don’t have to worry about it.”

  His jaw relaxed. “Good. Because that’s not the only mark I left.”

  “What? Where else?”

  “Here.” He touched a spot on my collarbone. “Here.” He pointed to a spot just below my ear. “And I’m pretty sure you’re gonna find a few more on the inside of your thighs.”

  I laughed. “Those I definitely didn’t mind. But you can’t leave hickeys on my neck where patients can see them. Most of them are going through a hard time in their relationships, and they shouldn’t have to stare at proof that I’m out having a good time at night.”

  “Got it. I’ll limit my marking to your tits, thighs, pussy, and ass.”

  “You have a dirty mouth, you know that?”

  He pinched my nipple. “You didn’t seem to mind it when I was inside of you.”

  “Yeah, well…” I had nothing to say since he was right. I also felt my cheeks heating.

  Drew chuckled. “You’ve ridden my face, and my saying tits and pussy still makes you blush.”

  “Shut up.” I splashed water up at him.

  Drew flicked on the jets, and I relaxed into his arms, enjoying the water massage. The whirling sound was white noise and had a calming effect on me. Although, I’d had something on my mind the last hour, and I couldn’t shake it.

  After a while, the jets powered down, and I got up my nerve. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Your ass is pressed up against my balls. I’m guessing it’s not a question I’m going to want to answer if you waited until now to ask it.”

  Such a wiseass. I asked anyway. “What happened in your marriage that you wound up divorced?”

  He sighed. “You’re already getting pruney. Sure you want to hear it? You might look ninety by the time I’m done unloading all the shit that went down with Alexa.”

  Alexa. I hated her already, just from her name. “Give me the short version.”

  “Met her my last year in college. Got pregnant after three months of sleeping together.”

  He has a child? “Wow. So you got married?”

  “Yeah. Wasn’t the smartest decision, in retrospect. But she seemed sweet and was going to have my baby. She’d also lived a very different lifestyle than I had growing up with money, so I wanted to provide for her and my child.”

  “That’s very noble of you.”

  “I think you’re confusing noble with naïve.”

  “Not at all. I think it’s incredible that you wanted to make sure they had a good life.”

  “Yeah, well…long story short, she wasn’t the sweet person she pretended to be in the beginning. But I kept trying for a long time.”

  “What finally pushed you to end it?”

  Drew was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice cracked. “It ended the night she got into an accident with my son in the car.”

  Drew, New Year’s Eve, Three years ago

  I stared at the cross on my son’s wall. It had inspired me to pray exactly a year ago. The crib I’d hung it over was gone, upgraded to a plastic toddler bed in the shape of a racecar. But I’d rehung the cross after God dropped me an early hint that I was shit out of luck wishing for my dad’s health. He died three days ago.

  After the service this morning, a few people had come back to our place for lunch. I was grateful they were all gone now—I needed the silence. I also wanted to have a few drinks in peace. I swirled amber liquid around in my glass.

  The door creaked open, but I didn’t bother to turn around. Arms wrapped around my waist from behind and hands clasped together, covering my belt buckle in the front.

  “What are you doing in here? Beck is at Play Place with the sitter. He won’t be back for another hour or two.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come out to the living room. Let me rub your shoulders.”

  The last year between Alexa and me had been tough. It’s not that we argued that much, but the novelty had long since worn off of our relationship. We had three things in common: We both liked sex. Money—I earned it; she spent it. And our son. But when you’re working ten hours a day, and then
nights and weekends you’re taking care of your father who is literally dying before your eyes, even sex takes a back seat.

  Before my father started to decline so fast, I’d tried to take an interest in my wife’s new hobbies, give us something more in common. But other than attending a play one of her classes was putting on, it wasn’t easy. I ran lines with her, but she told me I didn’t put enough heart into my acting. That was probably because I wasn’t a damn actor. I went to watch her play practices, and she told me my presence made her think too much about her performance. Eventually, I gave up trying. Though the last few days, she’d been absolutely incredible.

  I turned around and held my wife, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah. Let’s go. My shoulders are knotted. I’d like that.”

  After about fifteen minutes, I’d started to relax—until Alexa brought the tension back into my neck.

  “We should go to Sage’s party tonight.”

  “I buried my father two hours ago. The only parent I had, considering my mother took off with her boyfriend when I was only a little older than our son. I’m not really in the mood for a party.”

  “But it’s our anniversary. And it’s New Year’s Eve.”

  “Alexa, I’m not going to a fucking party tonight. Alright?”

  She stopped rubbing. “You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

  I sat up. “A jerk? You expect me to go to a party on the day of my father’s funeral? I don’t think I’m the one acting like a jerk.”

  My wife huffed. Our five-year age difference felt more like twenty sometimes. “I need a party. The last few months have been depressing.”

  It wasn’t like she’d helped me with my father or anything. Every weekend while I was taking care of him, she was out with her friends, usually shopping or having lunch God knows where. Her selfishness had finally gotten to me.

  “Which part of the last few months was depressing? Living on Park Avenue and spending thousands on shopping every week? Or maybe it was the nanny who watched our son so you could take acting classes and go out to lunch? How about the three week-long trips you took back to Atlanta to visit your immature friends—the ones where you flew first-class and stayed at the St. Regis downtown instead of your brother’s double wide in the sticks? That must have been depressing.”

  “My friends are not immature.”

  I scoffed and went to reply, but decided I’d rather have another drink than continue this conversation. Out of everything I’d said, what hurt her feelings was that her friends were immature? She had a warped fucking sense of priority. I walked to the kitchen, which was open to the living room where she still sat, and poured myself another drink.

  “Go to the party by yourself, Alexa.”

  The sun was setting by the time I opened my eyes. Alexa had taken Beck to the mall to shop for yet another new dress, and I’d passed out on the couch after finishing my drink and the argument with her. Sitting up, I ran my fingers through my hair. I shouldn’t have been surprised that Alexa had planned to go to a party tonight. God forbid she miss a party, especially New Year’s Eve. I’d given her more credit than she deserved in the selflessness department, apparently.

  My stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually eaten. Yesterday, maybe? Dinner at that Italian place in between the morning and afternoon wake sessions at the funeral parlor, I think. Rummaging through the refrigerator, I took out the platter we’d ordered for this morning and picked at the antipasto with my fingers. As I was stuffing my face, my cell phone started to ring, and at first, I ignored it. But after it immediately began ringing again, I reached over to check the caller ID. It was a local number—one that was very familiar. By the third ring, my brain had searched my internal phonebook and finally recalled why I knew it.

  I’d dialed it off and on for the last few months, each time my father’s health took a turn for the worse. Lenox Hill Hospital was calling.

  The cab driver screamed at me as I bolted toward the emergency room entrance. Apparently, I’d gotten out in such a rush, I’d forgotten to close the car door.

  “My wife and son were in a car accident. They were brought in by ambulance,” I yelled through a round hole to the woman behind thick Plexiglas.

  “Last name?”

  “Jagger.”

  She looked up and perked one eyebrow. “Those lips, I have to ask. Any relation to Mick?”

  “No.”

  She made a face, but pointed at a door to my left. “Room 1A. I’ll buzz you back.”

  Blunt abdominal trauma. That’s what the doctor had told us two hours ago. Alexa had needed a few stitches in her head, but Beck wasn’t as lucky. His car seat had felt the full impact of the collision when a floral delivery van lost its brakes and ran a red light into moving crosstown traffic. He’d swerved to try to avoid the crash, but ended up colliding with the back driver’s side of Alexa’s car. Exactly where Beck had been sitting.

  The doctors had assured us his injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening, but an ultrasound showed there was damage to his left kidney—at least a small nick that needed to be repaired right away. I was now waiting for the nurses to bring me consent forms for surgery. Beck slept peacefully as I sat by his bedside. Alexa was getting another neurological exam in the room next to us.

  After the doctor came in and told me the risks of the procedure, the nurse brought me in a stack of forms to fill out. Medical consent, privacy act, insurance authorizations, the last form was for directed blood transfusions.

  The nurse explained that there wasn’t time before Beck’s surgery to collect blood from us, so in the off-chance he needed blood, he’d be given blood from the blood bank. However, we could donate our blood and store it for him for future use, if necessary. I filled out the form to get typed and cross-matched while we waited and asked the nurse to have Alexa sign everything next door. I didn’t want to leave Beck alone in case he woke up.

  The next few hours were hell while my son was in surgery. It took two hours for the assistant surgeon to come out and speak with us. He pulled a paper mask down.

  “Things aren’t quite as simple as we’d initially thought. The damage to your son’s kidney was more extensive than the CT showed. Right now we’re attempting to repair the laceration, but the tear is surrounding the vascular pedicle, which contains the arteries and veins that connect it to the aorta. I need you to understand that there’s a chance we won’t be able to make the repair well enough to safely leave the kidney inside your son’s body. If that’s the case, he’ll need to undergo a partial or full nephrectomy.”

  He attempted to convince us that having one kidney was perfectly fine. I knew plenty of people only had one, but if we were born with two, I wanted my son to get the benefit of both, if at all possible.

  Alexa and I had barely talked, other than my making sure she was okay. I was focused on Beck, and part of me blamed her for the accident. Not that it was her fault, but if she hadn’t been so concerned with buying another damn dress to go out tonight, none of this would have happened.

  “I saw a machine down by the elevators. You want some coffee?”

  Alexa nodded.

  When I returned with two coffees, the nurse was already talking to Alexa. “Oh, Mr. Jagger. Here’s your blood card. It has your type on it if you should ever need it. We give it to everyone we run for blood donations.”

  “Thank you. Am I a compatible donor with Beck?”

  “Let me see his chart.” She walked to the foot of the bed where a metal chart was hanging. As she flipped through pages she said, “You’re type O negative, so that means you can give blood to anyone.” She stopped at a pink page. “You’re lucky. It’s not often a stepfather is a universal donor.”

  “I’m his father, not his stepfather.”

  The nurse hung Beck’s chart back on the bed’s foot rail and returned to the clipboard she’d brought in with her. A look of bewilderment crossed her face. “You’re type O. Beckett is AB. ” She frowned. �
��You’re saying Beckett is your biological son?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked to Alexa and then to me, shaking her head. “That’s not possible. An O can’t genetically make a child with type AB blood.”

  I was exhausted from one hell of a day, between burying my father and my wife and child getting into an accident. I had to have misunderstood.

  “The lab made a mistake then?”

  The nurse shook her head. “They’re usually pretty good…” She looked back and forth between me and my wife again. “…but I’ll have them come up and draw a fresh sample.” After that, she practically ran out of the room.

  I turned to look at my wife, whose head was hanging down. “This is a mistake in the lab, right, Alexa?”

  I almost vomited when she looked up. She didn’t have to say a goddamn word for me to know.

  There was no mistake.

  No fucking mistake!

  Beck wasn’t my son.

  Emerie

  “You have a son?” I craned my neck back to look at Drew. We were still in the bathtub, and it wasn’t easy to maneuver much sitting between his legs.

  Drew nodded with his eyes closed before opening them to look at me. There was so much pain in his expression; my stomach dropped in anticipation of what was to come next. “It’s a long story. How about we get out, and I’ll make you something to eat while I explain?”

  “Okay.”

  Drew got out first to get us towels. After he dried off, including a three-second rub of the towel to his hair, he wrapped it around his waist and offered me a hand.

  His face was still contemplative, and I wanted to lighten the mood for him. Whatever he was going to tell me about his son clearly wasn’t an easy story.