Single Dad's Bride

by Melinda Minx

  “I told you I’m just going to make you come so you can sleep.”

  “So make me come,” I say. “If you wanna’ be all badass and in charge, then ride me.”

  “We’re not really married, Coal.”

  “So you’ll blow me, but you won’t ride me? You know it would feel good.”

  I fall down onto the bed, and my cock springs up against my stomach. It’s still wet from Andrea’s mouth, and it tingles with expectation of her tight pussy riding it up and down.

  She runs her hand up and down my cock. “I’m doing it for you, not for me.”

  “Whatever you’ve gotta’ tell yourself,” I say, grabbing her and pulling her on top of me.

  “Really,” she says. “I’m just being a responsible civilian, helping a fellow civilian out so he can sleep. You’re weaker than me and need release. I’m fine either way.”

  I slap her on the ass, and pull her closer to me. The wet lips of her pussy rub against my cock, and that finally shuts her up.

  She bites her lip and looks down at me. And then—finally wordlessly—she grabs me by the base and starts to mount me.

  As her tight lips squeeze down over my wet cock, I flex my abs. My whole body tenses in exhilaration, and soon that wet tightness slides down encasing my cock inch by inch.

  I reach up and squeeze her hips and ass, and when she begins to bob up and down on top of me, her tits start bouncing up and down. I grab hold of them and squeeze her as she rides me. After a minute or two, she’s getting so deep down on me that I feel her wetness dripping onto my balls, which kicks me into full gear.

  I rise up against her as she rides me, and even though she’s on top, I grab her hips and move her up and down on me with the force of my strength. I dominate her from below, pumping in and out of her as her breasts heave gloriously above me.

  I start to finger her clit for good measure, and the moment I touch it, it’s like the secret button to blowing up a dam. Her hot pussy clenches so tight against me that I shudder, and beautiful wetness covers every square inch of my dick as it slides in and out of her.

  She moans and screams my name. I can’t help but admire the fact that she’s not just some woman riding me, she’s not even just Andrea, she’s my fucking wife, and I’m the one making her cum this hard. Her husband.

  My sore balls clench up as she gushes all over me, and soon I feel all the stress of my life and all the pressure of my world concentrating down into my balls. It stays there for an impossible moment, and then it explodes out of me. With that release, warm euphoria replaces all of the burdens of the world. It washes over me in waves, as I blast load after load deep up inside of my wife.

  Her pussy doesn’t quit even as I cum, it squeezes and milks me for all I’m worth. Andrea bounces up and down on top of me, and my hips don’t stop until my very last drop is spent.

  After we’ve both cum and after my cock is no longer twitching inside her, Andrea slides off of me and falls down beside me.

  She grabs hold of my dick and squeezes it.

  “Ahh,” I grunt. “Shit, what are you doing? I came already. No way you didn’t fucking feel that!”

  “It’s still hard,” she says.

  “Give it a minute, damn.”

  I feel her squeeze, and then she tries to rotate it. She lets out a hissing sound through her mouth, right into my ear.

  “Oh,” she says, her voice mocking. “Look, it’s going down now, just like the jack.”

  “It’s going down because you rode me so damn good,” I say. “Not because you rotated it like a damn carjack.”

  “I’m not convinced,” she says, holding my softening dick still in her hand.

  “Well,” I say, “It must at least feel good to get your hands dirty.”

  13

  Andrea

  I wake up, but this time Coal is still in the bed with me. In my bed.

  Damn it. I definitely shouldn’t have done it. I should have stuck to just giving him the hand job, which quickly turned into a blowjob, which more or less immediately became full-on fucking.

  I shake my head, as if a hand job would have really minimized any of the damage at all.

  But that’s it, I’m not doing this again. The fake marriage is consummated, and that’s that.

  He was enough of a jerk when we hadn’t done it again, and now that I gave in, he’s going to be absolutely insufferable.

  My room at my parents’ place only has one bed, but since Coal is not a fucking civilian he can sleep on the floor to show me how tough and rugged he is.

  I am tempted to just fall back asleep, but seeing Coal jolted me wide awake, and I know I won’t be able to get any sleep again.

  I get up and dressed and go downstairs to make some breakfast.

  “I’ll just make myself something,” I mutter. “I don’t want him to think I’m the kind of wife who does all the cooking and cleaning.”

  I grab one single egg from the fridge. “Not like Coal would like these supermarket eggs anyway.”

  I start the stove, put some bread into the toaster, and get ready to crack the egg into the pan.

  I hesitate, then decide to make two more eggs. He did cook breakfast for me when I stayed at his place. What kind of host would I be if I made food for myself and just shafted him? Shafted...why did I choose that word?

  Damn it! Coal and his obnoxious car jack trick. As soon as he got me to learn how to use that thing, I had all kinds of inappropriate thoughts swirling around in my head.

  Coal walks down right as the eggs are done and sniffs. “Nice, you’re cooking.”

  “I don’t think the food quality will be up to your standards, but—”

  He eyes the frying pan. “Only three eggs? How many did you have?”

  “Two are yours.”

  He laughs. “If you don’t have the quality, at least make up for it in quantity.”

  He pulls the fridge open, grabs out the carton of eggs, and cracks open three more into the pan.

  “You’re going to eat five eggs?”

  I’m taken a bit aback by the way he just rummages through the fridge as if he owns it, as if we were really married and lived here together.

  “I worked up an appetite last night,” Coal says, flashing an evil smirk at me. “One egg...I guess I must have done all the work if that’s all you’re going to eat.”

  The toaster pops up. “I made toast, too.”

  “Empty calories,” he says. “Except for the butter. You’ve got butter, right?”

  “Margarine.”

  He grabs two more eggs and cracks them into the pan.

  I laugh at him. “So because I have margarine instead of butter, you’re suddenly going to eat seven eggs?”

  “Yep,” he says, flipping the first of the eggs over onto a plate. “You sure you don’t want at least three?”

  “Are you trying to fatten me up or something?”

  “Nah,” Coal says. “But if we’re going to be having more nights like that, you’re going to need to eat more than you’re used to.”

  “That’s not happening again,” I say, my voice flat.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He flips the rest of the eggs onto a plate, then he starts rummaging through the cupboards.

  “Here,” I say, pointing.

  He opens it and grabs another plate, then flips three eggs onto it and hands it to me. “Yours.”

  “I’m not eating three eggs, the cholesterol—”

  “Oh, I forgot,” he pulls the plate back and throws a mountain of salt onto the eggs. “No one wants bland eggs.”

  I put one of the eggs back onto his plate. “Don’t penalize me because you decided to show off and cook too much. You better eat all those. I read a study that says men tend to overeat around women to show off how—”

  “I read a study that says sex burns almost as many calories as jogging.”

  “Really? When did you read a study?”

  “I just read the headlines,” Coal says. “The re
st of any study is just a bunch of boring data stuff, just give me the conclusions.”

  We eat together, and after I finish my toast and one egg, I realize I’m still very hungry. I’m glad Coal gave me the extra egg, but I leave a tiny piece of it to pretend like it was too much for me.

  Coal scarfs down his entire plate, then looks over at mine, “You going to finish that?”

  “I’m too full.”

  He reaches his fork over, stabs my tiny sliver of egg, and eats it. “If the rest of your family eats like you, I’ll have to be in charge of breakfast at your parents’ place. Otherwise everyone’s going to starve. Who’s going to be there, by the way? Did you break the news to them yet?”

  “Not yet,” I say.

  We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. I should have called them and told them what was going on before I fell asleep last night. I considered telling them the entire truth—that the marriage is fake—but then they’d probably object to Coal being there in the first place. And I don’t want them to lie for me; if they somehow had to testify to Justice Montero, I’d prefer they were able to tell what they think is the truth. That we’re married—that their daughter is foolish and makes hasty decisions without thinking things through.

  “My little sister and older brother are going to be there the whole time. My brother is married, so his wife will be there, and my little sister is chronically single, so she’ll probably be alone.”

  “She gets it from you, huh?”

  “Asshole.”

  He grabs my plate off the table, takes it to the sink and starts washing it. “Your brother cool? He someone I can do man stuff with, or—”

  “He’s a vegan,” I say, “so he’ll at least appreciate your cabin lifestyle bullshit.”

  “A vegan…” Coal says. “Half of the time I spend in those woods is shooting animals, and the other half of the time is spent eating those animals.”

  “What about your cider brewing?”

  “He’s into cider?”

  I shrug. I never know what Damien is actually into. “He probably would be.”

  “We can still eat meat right?” Coal says. “I can adapt to almost anything, but I can’t go a month without meat.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Damien and his wife are the only vegans, so they have to deal with everyone else eating real food.”

  “Good, cause if this whole arrangement falls apart and I go to prison, they at least serve meat in prison. And his name is Damien? Is he some kind of wearing-all-black poetry guy?”

  “My parents gave him that name, he didn’t choose it. Do you really think a name can define who you are? What kind of name is Coal anyway?”

  “It’s a regular name. A good one. I do think a name can define you. My name fits me, yours fits you. Yours has too many syllables, kind of a hassle to pronounce, long-winded—”

  “Yeah,” I snap. “Well, yours is dirty, hard, outdated...it’s the thing you get from Santa when you are a big asshole jerk all year—”

  “Yeah,” Coal says. “That’s me. And you’re the one who got me for Christmas, so what’s that say about you?”

  He winks at me, and I’m almost tempted to grab him right there, but I just walk away instead so that I’m not tempted to touch him.

  “Speaking of your parents,” Coal says. “You probably should call them up now.”

  “Good idea,” I say, feeling a huge weight of anxiety on my chest.

  Coal walks over and sees me just standing there looking at the floor. “Civilian procrastination?”

  “God! I’ll go call them, alright?”

  I stomp upstairs as he shouts up the stairway at me, “I don’t want your parents to hate me the moment they lay eyes on me.”

  I grab my cell and begin to summon up the courage to call them. With each second that passes, I actually lose courage, and I realize that if I wait much longer, I’ll never call them. I just hit their name on the screen before I can overthink it, and it starts to ring.

  “Hey, Andrea!” My dad picked up. Damn it. I was hoping for Mom.

  “Hey, Dad! I just wanted to give you a call before I see you.”

  “Yeah, we were hoping to hear from you soon. When you coming over?”

  “Friday sometime.”

  “Great!” I hear his voice muffled and shouting in the background, “Cynthia, Andrea’s on the line!”

  A few moments later, my Mom joins in on the call. “Hey, Andrea, any crazy surprises for us?”

  Ah! It’s like she knows, but there’s no way she’d know.

  “Nope,” I hear myself saying.

  Why did I say that? I could have told them right then...I’ll call them later and tell them.

  “Not dating anyone?” my dad asks.

  Technically I’m not dating anyone. I’m married. “Nope, not dating.”

  We talk for a few more minutes, and I hang up without so much as hinting that I’m married and bringing my husband with me to see them in less than two days.

  When I get back downstairs, Coal has cleaned all the dishes and put them away. He’s eyeing my coffee machine with skepticism, but he looks up at me and asks, “How’d they take it?”

  “Good!” I say.

  “Good? Really?”

  “Yeah, as good as you can expect, I mean.”

  “What did they say?”

  “The usual—I mean, of course they were surprised, but I told them there was a good reason we had to rush the marriage, and that we’d explain later.”

  “Ah,” Coal says, “I like how you snuck the we in there. You want my expert improvisation and charm to convince them.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Alright,” he says. “Well, I’ll start thinking of something. At least the worst is over and they know you had a surprise wedding without inviting them, by the time we see them they’ll have had some time to get over it.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Good thing.”

  It feels like my heart has died and fallen down into my stomach to rot. I’m such a coward. I’ll have to find something for Coal to do outside so I can secretly call them again and spill the beans. If I call them soon and tell them, all the stuff I just said to Coal will be retroactively true. Retroactive truth...the best kind of truth.

  Coward.

  The day slides right through my fingers. I spend way too long packing while Coal just lounges around. I ask him to go get some more eggs since he used them all, but he reminds me we’ll be at my parents’ place so long that they might go bad.

  “Go get some beer then,” I say. “Or cider, or liquor, or whatever. Most of my family likes to drink a bit.”

  “Alright,” Coal says. “You want to come with me and show me what they like?”

  “I trust your taste,” I say. “I need to stay here and finish packing.”

  “Alright.”

  When he leaves, I stare at my phone. I’ll have to tell them as soon as they answer. I start running through dozens of different ways to phrase it, and I soon realize that fifteen minutes has already passed. Men don’t take long when they go shopping. It’s not like Coal is going to take longer than half an hour—I’ll be lucky if he’s gone even another five minutes.

  I put the phone down. Actually, telling my parents right now is not much different at all than just telling them as we arrive. If I tell them over the phone, they will have a hard time believing me. If they just see Coal there with me in the flesh...they’ll have to believe that.

  Yeah, that’s the best way to handle this. For a coward like me at least.

  14

  Coal

  “I got cider, IPA, some darker beer, and vodka. Hopefully that will cover everyone.”

  “Sounds good,” Andrea says, not looking me in the eyes.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m just stressed with packing.”

  “It’s less than an hour drive, if you forget something, you can just swing back here and grab it.”

  “Just the whole act and process of packin
g stresses me out, alright?”

  “Yeah, fine, alright.”

  She’s lying about something. My guess is that her parents didn’t take the ‘Hey guys, I’m married,’ news as well as she’s claiming they did. Probably when she told them what I was like, they weren’t thrilled. I’ll just have to win them over.

  “What are your parents like?”

  “Uh, how do you mean?”

  “How did they react when you told them I was an ex-SEAL who lived in the woods?”

  “Oh,” Andrea says. “I, uh, I told them I’d surprise them. Again. I didn’t tell them what you were like, just your name. But I guess since a name can define who you are, they will have a good idea what you’re like just from your name, right?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. Something is really off with her. Ever since she called her parents, she hasn’t been insulting me or making fun of me at all. Ever since we were married, she’d been on my case the whole time, right up until she made that phone call.

  I give up trying to figure out what’s wrong. I learned a long time ago that when a woman is bullshitting you, you usually just have to wait for her to unravel herself.

  Whatever is bothering her, it’s probably going to become clear once we reach her parents’ place tomorrow morning.

  When it’s time to go to sleep, I start getting the couch ready.

  “You don’t want to sleep in the bed?” she asks me.

  “With you?”

  “I mean…”

  “Didn’t you say we weren’t going to do that again?” I ask, shoving the pillow down onto the couch.

  “You can just sleep in the bed with me. We don’t have to…do that.”

  “Nah,” I say. “I’m good on the couch.”

  “Are...are you mad at me, Coal?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not mad at you right now, but I might be in the near future, depending on what you’re hiding from me.”

  “Who said I’m hiding anything?”

  “I can hear it in your voice. It’s painted all over your face, and—”