by Max Monroe
He sat up, took in my distraught face, and became instantly alarmed. “Cass? What’s wrong?”
“You,” I wailed.
“Me?”
I nodded. “Yeah. You’re too fucking swoony.”
He grinned at that. “You’re crying because I’m too swoony?”
I nodded again. “You’re stupid. And I’m stupid because I love you so goddamn much, you idiot.”
He took the plate out of my hands gently, turning just his upper body and setting it on the nightstand. When he shifted back, his hands gripped both of my cheeks and he leaned forward, rubbing his nose against mine. “I love you too, Crazy.”
It only made me cry harder.
He chuckled softly and kissed my tear-and-jelly-stained lips.
“I feel like I’ve turned into Georgia,” I whined. “All fudging emotional and fluffing ridiculous. Mother of marshmallows and soup, what is wrong with me?”
“You’re pregnant, honey.”
“Oh? That’s what this is?” I asked in a sarcastic tone and slapped his chest. He just laughed and rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. “I’m pregnant? Well, son of a sausage biscuit, when did that happen?”
He pressed a soft kiss to my lips, and his warm gaze searched mine. “You’re so beautiful, Cass. You take my breath away.”
My tear ducts made their presence known and forced more tears to spill from my eyes. “This isn’t a game! Stop saying shi-sneakers like that to make me cry!”
“Sneakers?”
“Shut your fucking mouth. I’ve yet to find a good replacement for shit.”
He grinned and ran a hand through his hair, but his fingers only made it halfway before they got stuck in the strands coated in PB and J. “Is there food in my hair?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
In true Thatch fashion, he just took it in stride, seemingly more concerned with how my shirt-covered boobs were now pressed against his bare chest than the fact that I had managed to shower him in spit and jelly.
“Goddamn, honeys, did you get bigger overnight?” he asked my tits. And then without warning, he flipped me onto my back and slid the top of my nightshirt down and grabbed both breasts with his big hands, squeezing and groaning his approval. “You did get bigger, my beautiful ladies. You got bigger and softer and, fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He licked across the top of one and then softly sucked my nipple into his mouth.
I couldn’t hide my moan, and he smirked in satisfaction. The conversations he held with my breasts were absurd and insane, but I secretly got off on them in a big way. Especially since they usually ended like this.
His devious tongue moved across to the other nipple and showed it the same appreciation.
My pussy throbbed and my nipples hardened, and I fought the urge to slide my hand into his boxer briefs. “Aren’t you tired?” I asked, hiding the breathiness in my voice. “It’s like two in the morning. We should probably get some sleep.”
“We both know you don’t want to sleep right now.” He grinned up at me as one big hand skimmed down my belly and into my underwear. His thick finger slid through my arousal until it made its way inside of me. “What time is your flight tomorrow?” His thumb brushed against my clit, and my hips jerked in response.
“Huh?”
He pumped his finger into me deeper. “Your flight? What time is it?”
Flight? He had to be talking about flying his Supercock into my tunnel.
I moaned and started rotating my hips against his hand. “Yes. Put your cock inside me. Fantastic idea.”
He smirked. “That’s not what I asked, Crazy.”
I could have sworn he did, but if he said he didn’t, I’d have to take his word for it—and let him know to fucking get where I needed him to go quicker. “Obviously, you’re asking the wrong questions.”
“You want my cock?” His thumb circled my clit again and applied the perfect amount of pressure to make my toes curl.
My eyes rolled back in my head. “Why are your boxers still on?”
“Are we in the same conversation right now?”
“One of us is having the right conversation. The other one is babbling.”
He didn’t let up with his magic hands. “Babbling?”
“Thatch,” I groaned in frustration, grinding myself against his hand. “Boxers off. Cock inside me. Now.”
He chuckled and flipped me over onto my belly. One hard slap to my ass urged a squeal from my lips. Before I could offer a snappy retort, he was pulling my panties off my legs and nipping at my ass with his teeth. “My dirty, dirty girl. You’ll wait until I’m ready.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
His hands spread my ass cheeks apart as his perfect fucking mouth ate at my pussy from behind. Holy hell. His tongue, his lips, his teeth, he wasn’t holding anything back. He moaned against me, tasting every single inch he could reach, and I came hard and fast.
He didn’t give me time to come down from climax, flipping me onto my back and spreading my legs wide as he pushed his thick cock inside of me. “Fuck yes,” he groaned. “Goddamn, your pussy is gripping me tight.”
“Don’t stop,” I whimpered. “Don’t ever fucking stop fucking me, or I swear I will fucking strangle you.”
He stopped his momentum and grinned down at me. “And here I thought you had that whole cursing habit kicked.”
“Thatch.” I glared at him.
“What?” he asked, ironically feigning innocence at the same time my pussy was cradling his dick.
“I swear to God—” I started to say, but my ability to speak coherently came to a quick halt when Thatch kneeled on the bed and lifted me onto his lap, impaling me on his hard and ready Supercock. I straddled his muscular thighs while his big hands gripped my ass.
He thrust his hips up, fast and deep. “This what you want, honey?”
I wanted to mock him by saying no, but my mouth refused to form any words other than, “God, yes.”
Stars danced behind my eyelids as he smirked and started a punishing rhythm. “I think you mean, Thatch, yes, honey.”
Normally, I would’ve snapped back a sarcastic response, but I was too busy coming all over his cock.
My brain wanted my heart to be angry, but much like in the early stages of our relationship, she completely disagreed.
I love him.
Six, as in six o’fucking clock, came way too early the next morning, and I groaned my disapproval as the alarm blared its annoying reminder that I couldn’t let the ungodly hour pass peacefully during REM sleep. Still, old habits die hard.
After I hit snooze for the third time, and blind avoidance was no longer an option, I was lifted out of bed and carried into the bathroom.
“What the hell?” I muttered when the blinding lights of the bathroom had me covering my eyes with both hands.
“Sorry, honey, but you have to get moving if you want to make your flight.” Thatch set me down on the bathroom counter and left his warm hands at my hips.
I groaned again. “I’ll catch the next flight.”
He laughed and reached up slowly, moving my hands away from my eyes with a gentleness I never personally possessed. “Here,” he said as he placed a hot mug into my hands. “It’s half-caf so you can drink another cup of coffee on the plane.”
I lifted the cup to my nose and inhaled my favorite morning aroma while Thatch turned on the shower.
“It’s a long way to San Diego. Can I drink two more cups on the plane?”
He turned to me with narrowed eyes. That was his way of saying no without actually saying no. Apparently, I responded better to indirect orders.
I scrunched my nose, but otherwise, put up no more fight. I knew I didn’t need to have more than one more cup, and he knew I knew it. I couldn’t even throw it in his face that he got to eat and drink whatever he wanted because it wasn’t true. Sure, he could have, but he didn’t. When I couldn’t have something, he didn’t have it either. Sometimes I wondered if he was real.
&nb
sp; Steam wisped and weaved above the glass doors, signaling the water was nice and warm. He made his way back to the counter and took the mug from my hands, setting it down and lifting me to my feet. His hands made quick work of my sleep shirt and panties, and before I knew it, he was helping me into the shower.
But when I turned back to put my lips to his, he wasn’t there.
“What do you want for breakfast, honey? Eggs and bacon sound good?” he asked, moving toward the bathroom closet.
I just stared at him through the glass and watched him set a towel out for me.
His head tilted to the side. “You okay?”
I opened the shower door and gripped him by the boxer briefs, yanking him off-balance and into the shower with me.
“What the—?”
I wrapped both arms around him and held him tight. “I love you.”
His hands found their way into my wet hair, gripping the strands and gently tilting my head back to meet his eyes. He searched my gaze with warmth and love. “I love you too, honey.”
Tears pricked my eyes as I buried my face into his chest. “Thank you for being so goddamn sweet.”
He chuckled softly. “I’d do anything for you.”
I lifted my head. He showed me every fucking day that the words he spoke were true, but I asked anyway. “Anything?”
He nodded, and the little flecks of gold in the center of his chocolate brown eyes bounced and glittered under the bathroom lights. “Anything.”
“Fuck me in the shower?”
“I don’t want to make you late for your flight, honey, and the things I’m picturing take a whole lot of time.” His words said no, but his cock was definitely saying hell yes against my belly.
“I guess you better speed them up, then,” I responded as I pushed his wet boxer briefs down his legs and started stroking him with my hand.
He smirked, but he didn’t resist, lifting me up by my ass and wrapping my legs around his waist. My back was pressed against the tile, and his cock was inside of me between one breath and the next.
The memory of this would stay with me, almost as clear as if he were with me himself, all the way to San Diego and back.
“Where are you?” Kline asked, without prompting or greeting, as I put the phone to my ear.
“Your mom’s house.”
The answer came on instinct and without any planning. Jokes and jabs were where I really excelled, and amiable insults sometimes felt easier than breathing. But my mind wasn’t really there, on the unexpected phone call with one of my best friends.
In reality, I could feel the cheap Berber of hotel carpet under my feet, and the sun reflected just slightly off the building across the street. The tinted floor-to-ceiling windows of my room kept it from piercing my eyes like it would have if I’d been outside in it directly, though, and my beard was longer than I’d ever let it get. It was like I was one of those Special Forces guys, highly trained to blend into my surroundings even if it meant acclimating to a completely different culture and becoming a longhair. Except, it was actually nothing like that, and the fact that my brain even came up with that analogy just proved how motherfucking insane I was becoming.
“Maureen would be nothing less than disgusted with you right now.”
I shook off my self-loathing and focused on the voice in my ear.
“Hey, I didn’t mean Maur any disrespect, and I think she knows me well enough to understand that.”
He laughed a little, but it was more than an auditory display of mirth. Sort of, Ha-ha, that Thatch, what a ridiculous fuck. And really, right now, I agreed with him.
“Trust me, she doesn’t.”
“Well, fuck. Do I need to worry about Bob hunting me down?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
Kline breathed the sigh of the beleaguered. “I was calling to see if you wanted to have lunch. But now I don’t think I want to have lunch with you.”
“Well, then,” I said through a laugh. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not in town then, huh?”
“You’re not in town?” I could practically see his eyebrows snapping together in my head. No statement was simple where he was concerned, and frankly, he was right. There was always deeper meaning. He was just better at mining for it than anyone else I knew. “Where the hell are you?”
“Business,” I answered as I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and trained them on the building across the street. Then I shook my eyes to clear them when I realized I was too close to need binoculars and set them back on the table to my right.
“Business?” Kline asked, skeptical. “How incredibly fucking vague. I was actually after a location. You know, a state, a country, maybe even a city on Planet Earth.”
“I’m busy, okay?” I told him honestly. I didn’t plan to tell him much else since I’d pretty much lost my goddamn mind, but I liked Kline. He deserved at least a little tiny crumb of truth.
“Busy doing what?” he pushed, and then I sighed.
My impatience was about to peak in an all-out musical crescendo.
She was supposed to have been there by now. I’d wanted to follow her the whole way. From her hotel to the supply pickup to the actual shoot, but I’d managed to talk myself out of going full-on paparazzi. That’s what made celebrities get into car accidents all the time, and well, that would completely defeat the entire point of everything I’d sunk so low to do.
“I have to go,” I told him, and I did. I didn’t particularly feel like weeping while I was on the phone with him, and the longer it took Cassie to arrive, the more scenarios of death and carnage and blood passed through my not-well mind. Seriously, this was probably the early stages of a psychotic break, and not at all in keeping with everything I hoped I’d be as a father.
Namely, not a fucking stalker.
Yes, stalking. I’m stalking the soon-to-be mother of my child.
Don’t say a goddamn word. I know, okay? I know.
“What’s going on?” Kline asked again, in that annoying as fuck voice that said he knew everything, and anything he didn’t know, he’d find out. Goddammit. The cliff above Lose-Your-Fucking-Mind-Burg was already steep, my huge tree-trunk legs walking right along the edge, and he wasn’t helping.
“It’s nothing, okay?”
“What’s nothing? You said it was business,” the clever bastard continued, chipping away at me one clue at a time. Next thing I knew, he’d be telling me it was Colonel Thatcher, in the hotel room, with the binoculars.
People shuffled along the busy sidewalk, but I knew she was supposed to arrive by car, and I knew she was supposed to text me upon her arrival. I’d managed to ask her the details of her shoot and convince her to give me that peace of mind without tipping my hand. Because, trust me, when she got a load of my crazy fucking cards, she wasn’t going to be happy. That’s why I needed to make sure she never figured it out.
You know, like an honest to God stalker.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“It is business,” I lied.
His voice was a growl when he asked, “You’re not cheating on Cassie, are you? Because I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands.”
Yeah, right. Maybe with a cleverly crafted tool and the element of surprise, but not his bare hands. Still.
“No!” Jesus. “No, I’m not cheating on her, okay? I promise, I am not cheating on Cassie. I love her.” I lowered my voice and muttered under my breath, “Obviously, too much.”
“Then, what the hell is—”
My vision tunneled and my ears completely closed to all conversation as a car with Cassie’s beautiful dark locks behind the wheel came to a screeching stop across the street.
“Gotta go!” I managed to snap out before hitting the end button and tossing my phone to the love seat off to my left.
Pressing myself to the windows like a leech, I watched closely as Cassie climbed from the car, a smile on her face and fire in her pretty blue eyes. I couldn’t actually see them from this distance, but just from the plum
p of her cheek, I could tell. I knew everything there was to know about every expression in her arsenal, and this one was all Cassie—sassy, happy, sarcastic as fuck, and everything I’d fallen so hard for in one appealing package.
“God, you fucking animal,” I muttered to myself as I watched her lazy fuck of an assistant get out of the car on the other side without a single thing in hand. She’d had to get a new one after firing that cunt, Olivia. Cassie didn’t look like she was struggling as she lifted the camera bag over her shoulder, but that didn’t matter. I was point five seconds away from homicide. And in my opinion, it was justified.
Cassie spoke highly of the guy, and sure, he looked innocent enough with his button-up shirt and glasses and alarmingly friendly smile, but he wasn’t helping a pregnant woman carry shit. So, basically, he was right up there with Lee Harvey Oswald, if you asked me.
Leaning down, Cassie reached into the car, and I caught a glimpse of heaven—or the top swells of her sweet breasts. To me, the two were interchangeable, both mystical wonders created for good little boys by God himself.
But I couldn’t concentrate on that like I wanted to because she was reaching into the car for even more things to carry, and it took everything I had not to shoot some sort of Spiderman web out of my hand and bust through the fucking hotel window to swing my way down there.
It’s only, like, twenty-five pounds of stuff, max, I tried to remind myself. She’s not going to drop dead on the sidewalk from lifting less than thirty pounds of camera gear. The baby’s fine, she’s fine, everyone is fucking fine except for you because you’re a goddamn psychopath who can’t shake this pessimistic doomsday outlook about Cassie’s completely healthy pregnancy.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I’d been shot up with all kinds of hormones of my own. I wasn’t sure which ones, but they were the kind that made you ripe with paranoia, I guess.
As she disappeared inside the building, I shoved my feet in my shoes sans socks, grabbed my keycard off the table and my phone off the love seat, and jogged for the door.
I’d have to get creative, now that she was actually inside the shoot. Thanks to some careful investigation, done primarily during the middle of sex so her mind would be on other, more cock-like things, I knew the majority of the pictures were to be taken in an outdoor pool. And since I’d scouted the location earlier, I knew there was a restaurant around the back, a block over, with a rooftop deck where said pool was visible. Sure, I wouldn’t be in range to do more than dial 911 if she slipped and hit her head and fell into the water and started drowning, but at least I would know.