Mother Fluffer: A Billionaire Bad Boys Bonus Novella (Bad Boy Billionaires)

by Max Monroe

  “Are you sure?”

  My best friend pretended to be put out with me, but I ribbed him enough to warrant it. Right then, though, I was worried about how anxious he looked. “Yeah, dude. You okay? You look stressed.”

  “What?” he asked, looking beyond me with an expression of pure horror on his face. The repulsion in his eyes encouraged me to do the same. Ace and Julia shot by from one side of the hall to the other, both completely naked.

  “Oh, shit. Seriously, I’m on it. Go to work. We’ll see you tonight.”

  He looked torn, but finally, he gave in. “All right. Everything you need for Evie is in the diaper bag. She usually naps—”

  “When she’s sleepy. I got it, man. No worries. This is good practice since I’m about to be dealing in multiples around here.”

  “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” He winced. “Shit. I might have to turn my phone off when I go to the—”

  “It’s fine, K. Leave. Let me go get our kids dressed again before my son decides to show Julia the helicopter.”

  The helicopter dick swing was a favorite move of mine to make Cassie laugh, and well…I couldn’t be sure Ace hadn’t ever seen me. And my son tended to learn by example.

  “I’m going to regret this so much.”

  “Bye!” I said with a wave before picking up Evie’s little baby hand. “Wave bye to Daddy.” Stan, and Walter riding bitch, shot through the door as soon as I took a step farther in with Evie, nearly jerking Kline’s shoulder out of the socket with the leash until he let go.

  Good God, that dog is a fucking horse.

  I didn’t give my friend any more time to protest, instead, kicking the door closed with my foot and moving immediately down the hall to deal with the live nudes situation. And by deal with, I obviously mean get out the neon sign and start advertising.

  Relax. I’m joking. Jesus, you make one joke about naked toddlers, and everyone freaks the fluff out.

  Three kids under five, one pig, a Great Dane, and an evil cat. Come on, Thatcher. Time to parent the fuck out of this thing.

  “Just move a little to the left, Mario,” I instructed toward the group of half-naked men standing in black briefs. The New York City skyline stood loud and proud behind them, while their muscles and white-toothed grins were bound to give women, and most gay men, all the horny feels.

  After three more adjustments and another fifty shots, I pulled my camera away from my face and slowly got to my feet. Normally, I’d be buzzing around the shoot like a kid hopped up on pixie sticks and Red Bull, but I hadn’t seen days like that in over two months.

  Ace had been a big baby, but I had a feeling this baby was going to be even bigger.

  Hell, I’d been having recurrent nightmares about the baby’s head coming out Thatch-size.

  Talk about a terrifying thought. My husband was a beast of a man—tall, muscular, and size fourteen shoes. It was safe to say he was big everywhere.

  “Want to take a look at these, Cass?” Amanda called from her perch near the laptop wirelessly connected to my camera.

  “Yep,” I said with a nod and moved toward her side. My eyes scanned through the various photos in the hope we’d gotten enough amazing shots so we could put this baby to bed.

  Hot guys? Check.

  Big muscles? Check.

  Tight asses? Check.

  Cotton candy dick hidden in the background? Check. Check.

  “I think we got it,” she added with a smirk once I’d finished scrolling through the photos.

  “You bet your sweet ass, we do,” I agreed and turned toward the group of supermodel Adonises waiting for my next instructions.

  “I think that’s a wrap, guys!” I called out with a grin. “Great job, everyone. Let’s call it a day,” I added and received several happy hoots and hollers in response.

  Instantly, I was hit with nostalgic thoughts of when I was in my late twenties, not pregnant, and one of the models would lift me up onto his muscular shoulders and trot around the set. Sigh. The good old days. No way in Hades that’d happen today unless one of these models was on PCP or had an actual crane parked around the corner to lift my preggo ass.

  Obviously, I love my life. I don’t want to be anywhere else but with Thatch and our little family.

  But sometimes, a girl just needs to reminisce a little.

  Especially, when she’s seven months pregnant with her second child and her lower back feels like it’s about to snap in half and she didn’t get her morning orgasm and she can only drink decaf coffee and…did I mention the no morning orgasm?

  I’m pregnant and horny, and my handsome ogre of a husband better make it up to me tonight.

  I glanced at the time on my phone and smiled when I realized we’d managed to finish up four hours ahead of schedule. All in all, it was a great fluffing day. Well, besides this morning when Thatch decided to scare the ever-loving sneakers off of me by acting like our son was missing.

  Fluffing bastard. He should’ve known that now wasn’t the time to pull pranks on his amazing and beautiful and very pregnant wife. For one, we had a deal. And two, I was a little pissed that I hadn’t thought of pranking him out of the blue myself. And as a bonus reason, I was the miracle of life, for fudging’s sake. He should be treating me like a crystal fluffing princess.

  Me: How’s the day going?

  Thatch: Fantastic, Sweet Tits. I’ve got 2 crazy kids running around the house and a pretty little baby sound asleep in the crib in our new son’s nursery. Plus, a pig that’s sound asleep on his bed and a horse with a cat attached to his back sleeping in the nursery.

  Me: That’s three kids and three pets, Thatcher. Last time I checked, we only had one of each.

  Thatch: Technically, two kids. ;)

  Me: Yeah, but that one is still physically inside of me. You don’t have to do anything right now. You have the easiest fluffing job ever. I’m the one who has to carry our giant child around.

  Thatch: He’s not going to be bigger than Ace. And his head isn’t going to be “Thatch-size.” My manliness is like Maybelline; you’re not born with it.

  Me: Pffffffft. How would you know? You’re just the giver of the sperm. I’m the one actually growing the baby. Literally, growing life inside of me. I should get a medal.

  Thatch: I’ll give you a medal in the form of pussy pleasure.

  Me: Add it to your IOU list. And please explain the two extra children and pets in our home.

  Thatch: They’re just two little girls I adopted for us. Beautiful girls. You might have to breastfeed the one, but we know your perfect tits can handle anything. ;)

  He was so full of sneakers. No doubt, the two children he was referring to had been birthed by my best friend, Georgia. Their nanny had recently left for college, and they were still trying to find the perfect match for the girls when both Kline and Georgia had to work. So, us being the best fluffing friends in the whole world, and the fact that we now conveniently lived just down the street from them, stepped up and helped them out when we could.

  Me: When did Kline drop off Julia and Evie?

  Thatch: About two hours ago.

  Me: Why are Stan and Walter there, too? God, I hate that fluffing cat.

  Jesus. I really did hate that cat. The disdain had started way back when—before Thatch and I got together—while Georgia and Kline were on their honeymoon. We were put in charge of demon cat sitting, and…well, Thatch had lost Satan.

  And that very fact only showed how desperate Georgia and Kline must’ve been to put Thatch in charge of not only their kids, but their pets, too.

  Thatch: Apparently, Stan is attached to Evie, and well, you know how Walter is. He can’t be away from his canine lover. Remember when you lost Walter?

  Me: I didn’t lose him, numbnuts. YOU did. And are we just bringing them to dinner tonight at Winnie and Wes’s?

  Thatch: Uh-huh…pretty sure you did, honey. And yes, that’s the plan. What time do you think you’ll be done?

  I typed out I�
��m already done, but I didn’t hit send.

  As I stared down at the text and blinking cursor, a lightbulb of devious prankster motivations filled my brain, and I knew I couldn’t pass up this brilliant plan. Payback for more than one trespass against me and all in one day’s work.

  Get ready, Thatcher. The prank wars are officially on. Again.

  I tapped my finger on the back button and deleted the text, then replaced it with the perfect lie.

  Me: Not sure yet. Probably a few more hours. I’ll text you when I’m getting ready to head out.

  Thatch: Sounds good. Don’t be too hard on those guys. They can’t help it that they’re not half the man I am.

  His ego was off the charts.

  I smiled to myself over the mere idea of how huge Thatch’s ego and other delicious parts were. God, I fluffing love him… But I’m totally going to prank his cocky ass.

  Me: Love you, Daddy.

  Thatch: Fucking hell, Cass. Stop calling me that when your luscious tits aren’t in my presence. You know once my engine is running I like to motorboat.

  Me: ;)

  I grinned and slid my phone into my pocket and started to head for my car.

  It was officially half past pranking time.

  Game on, motherfluffer.

  Forty-five minutes of commute time later, I stood outside of our house with my ear pressed up against the door. The entryway was completely quiet, and I had a feeling Thatch was entertaining Julia and Ace in the playroom while Evie napped in the nursery. That little lady meant business with nap time. Like clockwork, every day around noon, she’d rub her eyes and demand a bed. I prayed to everything my second child would take after her sleeping habits.

  One quick glance through the sidelights around the door, and I saw that our entryway was a no-man’s-land.

  It’s go time.

  Slowly, I slid my key into the lock and opened it up with quiet, ninja-like movements. Once the door was shut and my back was pressed against it, I held my breath and listened for any sign that someone heard my entrance.

  My high-alert ears buzzed from the silence.

  Fantastic.

  The first floor of our house was quiet as a mouse, and there were no signs of little—or giant—feet running around in the kitchen or living room.

  I gripped my pregnant belly and slowly—in total badass stealth mode—tiptoed through the entryway, past the living room, down the hallway, and up the stairs, until I reached the nursery where I figured Thatch had laid Evie down for a nap. And since Stan had become Evie’s bodyguard, it was exactly where I needed to be.

  Farther down the hall, I could hear the rumble of Thatch’s deep voice and the sounds of giggles. They were in the playroom. Which meant I needed to haul some serious ass to pull this off.

  I glanced inside the crib to savor the adorable vision of the little beauty that was Kline and Georgia’s youngest daughter. She was sound asleep and holding her favorite little pink bunny close to her chest. Between Evie’s cute little dimples and big blue eyes, there was no denying that my best friend and Big-dick made gorgeous babies.

  Below the crib sat Stan with his big brown eyes staring up at me in curiosity. Behind him, lay Walter—aka Satan—curled into a little ball and sawing logs.

  I glanced at Evie and then back down at Stan.

  Okay, I have to be honest here. Initially, I thought I’d just sneak into the house and scare the ever-loving marshmallow fluff out of Thatch, but pregnancy has stolen a bit of my quickness.

  Then, I’d thought maybe I’d sneak Evie out of the house for a little bit—like ten minutes max—just to make Thatch feel what I’d felt when he acted like he didn’t have Ace.

  But I’d realized pretty quickly that I couldn’t be that evil. Not even pregnant and hopped up on hormones could I put my husband through even a second of that.

  Plus, there’s that whole CP&P thing. Yeah, that’s no bueno.

  So, that leaves Stan or Walter.

  Which, obviously, means Stan.

  I grabbed Stan’s leash out of Evie’s diaper bag and clipped it to his collar.

  “Walk?” I whispered to him. “Would you like to go for a walk, big guy?”

  He tilted his head to the side and stared at me for a quiet moment.

  “Come on, buddy.” I tugged on his leash and continued to whisper in hopes I wouldn’t wake up the baby or the demon cat. “Evie’s sound asleep. She’ll be just fine. Let’s go outside and play for a little bit.”

  Stan still wasn’t convinced, and I knew I had to move quickly before his evil feline boyfriend woke up and started giving his best impression of a satanic possession.

  It would only take ten seconds of that cat hissing and freaking the fluff out before Thatch would hear a commotion coming from the nursery.

  I moved toward the diaper bag again and found his third favorite thing—a neon yellow tennis ball. I gripped it in my hand and held it up for him to see. Instantly, he lumbered to his feet, and that’s when I realized that old Stan really was the size of a horse.

  Jesus. How am I going to get this giant dog out of the house without Thatch noticing? I also kind of have to pee, which I obviously can’t do here, and having ole Stan along for the ride is going to make going inside the gas station a whole lot harder too. But that doesn’t matter right now, I told myself. I can, like, give him a bag of Doritos or something while I’m performing the dreaded gas station pit stop on the way into the city.

  But now, I had to execute the hardest part of the prank: the getaway.

  Luckily, Stan appeared to be on the same page, slowly trotting his giant ass beside me as I walked toward the door of the nursery.

  “Daddio!” Ace’s voice echoed down the hallway, and I startled, stopping midstep. Stan looked up at me, and I just held my index finger to my lips and whispered, “Shh.” He tilted his doggie head but obliged. Maybe he spoke human.

  “Catch me, Daddio!” Ace shouted, Julia’s giggles trailing closely behind.

  “Catch us, Uncle T!” Julia’s little voice screamed in excitement.

  Uh-oh…

  “I’m coming for you little monsters!” Thatch boomed. “You better find the perfect hiding spots!”

  The giggles kept moving toward me, and moments later, Ace stood in the doorway of the nursery. His eyes went big, wide, and excited when he spotted me.

  “Shh,” I whispered toward him with my finger still pressed to my lips. “Don’t tell Daddio that Mommy is here, okay?”

  He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his little brow. “Funny trick on Daddio?”

  “Exactly.” I nodded and grinned. “Mommy is going to trick Daddio.”

  He grinned in a way that, quite frankly, scared me a little for the future and giggled.

  “After Mommy leaves, you still don’t tell Daddio that I was here, okay?”

  “Okay,” he whispered back, and then like a little genius, he ran back the way he came and called out, “Come on, Lia! Follow me!”

  Moments later, their giggles and Thatch’s voice were back in the playroom, and I officially had the green light for the getaway.

  God, my kid was the fluffing best.

  Obviously, he gets his pranking abilities from me.

  “Okay, guys. What do you want for lunch today?” I asked, edging on exhausted from chasing two little track stars around the house. These kids had endless energy, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was going to be closing in on forty soon. Thankfully, much like it did for me, food worked fairly effectively as a distraction.

  “What’ve ya got?” Ace asked, climbing up onto the stool in front of the counter and assisting Julia as she did the same.

  See? I’m not raising a complete animal. He’s just got a few wild tendencies, which, considering his parents, is to be expected. But he’s also a gentleman. Kline’s girls could do worse.

  Evie had been sleeping beautifully for the last hour and a half even as we yelled and caroused, the little angel. I made a mental note to check o
n her just as soon as I rustled up some food for the older hellions.

  “Well, sir, today we’ve got a fine selection of turkey and cheese sandwiches, mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, and one of the most popular items on our menu this season, the cheese quesadilla,” I listed playfully, merely a servant to my young masters.

  “Queso-deea!” Julia shouted enthusiastically.

  “All right!” I cheered. “We’ve got a winner for the lady. And for you, sir?” I asked Ace.

  “Make mine with extra cheese.”

  “Ahh, yes. A fine choice, sir.”

  Julia giggled at my theatrics, her little blond curls bouncing as she did.

  I grinned as Ace looked at her with wonder. Ah, young love. My son, the romantic.

  “Lia, let’s go get naked again!” he yelled suddenly.

  Oh Christ!

  “No. No, no, no,” I repeated. “What did Daddio say about showing each other your special parts?”

  “Not to do it,” the two of them muttered dejectedly at once.

  “That’s right. Don’t do it.” After that, though, I couldn’t come up with anything else to say.

  Fuck, maybe I really wasn’t the best person for this kind of shit. I loved special parts, and coming up with reasons not to look at them wasn’t exactly my forte.

  The two of them got over it pretty quickly, though, thanks to the short rebound time with which three- and four-year-olds were equipped, so I listened intently with a smile on my face as I sprinkled heaps of cheese on top of a couple of tortillas and then pressed a second one on the tops. I smashed them together and then popped them into the microwave to heat them up.