THAT MAN 8

by Nelle L’Amour

  We left not a morsel on our plates, wiping them clean with chunks of the challah Grandma had also brought. My eyes stayed fixed on Jen as she stood up with her plate and utensils in hand. “Blake, hand me yours. I’ll put everything in the dishwasher.”

  God, my high-powered wife was cute when she was in domestic mode. But she was even cuter when she was on the floor under me.

  “Put everything down. It can wait. And besides, I’m still ravenous.”

  She set her plate back down on the table. “Do you want more? Should I heat up the soup?”

  I silently chortled. Yeah, I wanted more, but not another slab of brisket. Or some fluffy dough balls. When it came to my wife, I had my own set of balls and a very hearty appetite. My cock twitched and a new little plan of attack formulated in my head.

  “On second thought, baby, let’s put things away and call it a night.”

  “Sure. That works for me. I’m beat!”

  With a hidden smile, I placed my fork and knife on my plate, but as I was about to give them to her, the utensils “accidentally” fell onto the floor. I bent over to reach for them and then groaned, making a pained face.

  “Aagh! My back! I think I pulled a muscle!”

  Alarm filled my tiger’s glittering emerald eyes as I silently snickered. I was such a good actor. Seriously, I deserved an award.

  “Oh my God, Blake! Don’t move! I’ll pick them up.” She leaped up from her seat and rounded the table to retrieve the utensils, squatting down just as I anticipated. Perfection! I sprung up from my chair, Mr. Burns springing up with me, and joined my wife on the floor, kneeling behind her.

  “Blake! What are you doing?”

  “Get down on your hands and knees,” I ordered.

  Obediently, without a word, she did as she was told, her gorgeous heart-shaped ass high in the air. Not wasting a second, I yanked down her boxer shorts and managed to slide them past her ankles. Then, I curled a finger under her, caressing her tender swells until they were all slick and wet.

  “Oh God, Blake,” she moaned as I moved my finger to her clit, rubbing it vigorously. She moaned again, arching her back like a stretching cat. She was ready. I was ready . . . to pummel my pussy from behind. Doggy style!

  Planting my hands on the floor on either side of her narrow hips, I spread her legs and then wedged Mr. Burns inside her. My big, thick cock slid in with ease, taking her to the hilt, and then I began to pound her. Pumping in and out harder and faster as she met my thrusts.

  More moans. Whimpers. Pants. And grunts on my part. It was an intense wordless fuck. Truthfully, most of them were like that. I’d read some of the steamy romance novels that Jen had made into movies and could never understand all the banter that transpired between the amorous couples during their most intimate times. Hell, I couldn’t even think straight let alone get coherent words out. At most some garbled dirty talk. Three letter Boggle words limited to “hot,” “wet,” and “yes.” A few expletives and then, “Come for me, tiger.” Or, “Baby, I’m gonna come!”

  And boy, was I. It was a little premature for me, but who knew what effect tonight’s traumatic events and jet lag had on me. I was ready to let go. Explode!

  With one more forceful thrust and a feral grunt, I emptied inside her, feeling my tiger’s own explosive orgasm chasing mine. As she combusted around me, she roared out my name, so loudly the Highlanders we’d met in Scotland likely heard her.

  I gripped her abdomen before she sank to the floor.

  Still folded over, she exhaled a loud breath and then muttered:

  “Blake, we need to get a dog.”

  Chapter 4

  Blake

  It was Saturday. Usually, I got up early to climb the Santa Monica stairs, but today I slept in. It was almost ten a.m., which was really late for me, and as I rolled out of bed, the alluring smell of fresh coffee wafted from the kitchen. Jen was already up and must have made it. The strong aroma brought me to my senses, and I remembered it was my wife’s birthday. Her twenty-sixth. I had plans to make her day special. Make that very special. And those plans included a romp in the sack with Mr. Burns after I gave her the bauble I’d secretly bought in Scotland.

  After doing my morning business, I joined her at the kitchen bar, which overlooked the living room and dining area. Seated on a counter stool, she was hunched over her laptop, a mug of coffee beside her.

  “Happy Birthday, baby,” I said cheerfully, before making myself a cup of coffee. The way I liked it—lots of cream and two sugars.

  It was almost as if she didn’t hear me. “Oh my God, they’re all so cute!” she gushed as I headed her way.

  “What’s so cute?” I gave her a kiss on the nape of her neck and then sat down next to her, carefully setting my hot coffee on the counter. She’d better not be referring to any hot looking guys!

  “These doggies!” Her eyes glued to the screen, she scrolled down. “Take a look!” She angled the computer in my direction, myriad photos of dogs facing me on the screen. There were all different types, some small, some big, and a wide variety of breeds, ranging from purebreds to mutts.

  Jen took a sip of her coffee. “Blake, I want all of them! And they all need good homes!”

  Jen had mentioned that she wanted a dog after we fucked last night, but in all honesty, I hadn’t thought much about it. I figured it was just a random thought, but I guess I was wrong.

  I slid the laptop back her way. “What site are you on?”

  “Adopt-a-Pet. There are literally hundreds of dogs you can adopt.” She took another sip of her steamy brew. “Blake, did you ever have a dog growing up?”

  I told her we’d had a half dozen. All of them yappy white miniature poodles that my socialite mother had flown in from a top East Coast breeder. Every one of them had a French name—Monique, Brigitte, Gigi—to name a few. My mother fawned over them, spoiling them with gourmet meals our cooks prepared, designer accessories and outfits she had custom-made in Paris, and canopied beds that were miniature copies of the regal one she and my father slept in. My father let her have her way with the dogs—even let her take them on vacations—as long as they didn’t sleep in their bed. That’s where he put his foot down.

  Jennifer’s face lit up. “Oh, Blake, they sound so adorable. I bet you must have loved them!”

  I scrunched my brows, making a face. “Loathed them is more like it.” Jen’s brows shot up as I explained. “They were total pains in the ass. The spoiled brats peed all over the house and chewed up lots of shit, including my treasured baseball card collection. Plus, thanks to my sister being a bookworm and obsessed with getting into an Ivy-League college, I got saddled with the job of taking them for a walk after school. My father thought it was a great idea for his slacker son to have a responsible job and he even paid me five dollars per walk. Luckily, I figured out quickly that the gardener wanted the five bucks more than I did and secretly got him to give the dogs their daily afternoon walk.

  I smiled at the memory of my achievement. Pass the buck was a life-lesson I taught myself. And it still worked.

  Jen was not amused by my cleverness. Her face grew pensive, borderline worried. “Blake, does that mean you don’t like dogs?”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “No. It just means I’m not a dog person.”

  A glimmer of hope twinkled in her eyes. It was followed by a long beat of silence. She turned to face me, holding my gaze fiercely in hers.

  “Blake, I was serious about what I said last night. I really want us to get a dog. Not a sappy little poodle, but one that can protect me when you’re away. I’d feel so much safer that way.”

  “Baby, we don’t need a dog. We live in a super-secure doorman building. We both work long hours and won’t be able to walk it. Plus, we don’t even have a yard!”

  “But we have a terrace!”

  She had a point. Her look of disappointment was getting to me. I had to appease her. “Why don’t we wait until we buy a house, and then we can reconsider getting a d
og.” Hahaha! We’re NEVER getting a dog!

  Jen’s eyes watered. She looked away from me, setting her eyes back on her computer screen and the photos of the rescue dogs. A tear escaped and fell onto her keyboard. Then another and another until she was a full-blown blubbering mess.

  “All these poor adorable dogs with no homes! How could you feel that way, Blake?”

  There was nothing that gutted me more than seeing my wife cry. I attempted to brush away her tears, but she wouldn’t let me.

  “Don’t touch me!” The tears kept falling. We were having a fight. On her birthday, as she ruefully reminded me.

  A half-hour later, we were pulling into the parking lot of the West LA Animal Shelter in my sparkling new black Porsche convertible.

  Chapter 5

  Jennifer

  Unlike Blake, I’d never had a dog growing up. As much as I coveted one, being the sheltered, home-schooled, only child I was, it wasn’t possible. My parents, as much as they loved me, refused to let me have one. I had a lot allergies (most of which I outgrew) and because they had me late in life, they were germaphobes and overprotective.

  Finally, my lifelong dream of having a dog was about to come true. Or so I hoped. I had guarded optimism as Blake and I walked side by side through the animal shelter, led by a young, attractive volunteer named Tessa. My heart was breaking! God, there were so many dogs that needed good homes! And seeing their sad faces behind bars only made me feel worse.

  “Can’t we go any faster?” Blake’s patience level was thin. He seemed disgruntled. Eager to leave. “Let’s go out for a birthday brunch.”

  “But, baby, we just got here. There are so many more dogs to see.”

  I heard him grumble under his breath and reluctantly, he kept up with Tessa and me, dragging his feet behind him.

  The shelter also housed other animals. Cats, bunnies, hamsters, and even a few birds. But most were dogs, the majority of them older pit bulls. Honestly, with their silky fawn gray coats and expressive light brown eyes, they were beautiful, but Blake had made it loud and clear that he didn’t want one.

  “It’s imperative the dog we adopt is good with kids,” he told Tessa.

  At least that made me feel good. Our desire to have children was a challenging one on account of my partial hysterectomy, but my beloved husband hadn’t lost hope. On that page, we were united.

  “We’d also like a young dog, no older than a year,” he added.

  “Why?” I asked, thinking about all the needy older dogs that might face euthanasia. Though this place prided itself as a no kill shelter, it still had limitations as to how long a dog could remain.

  “Because it’ll live longer and be easier to train,” he answered matter-of-factly. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “That’s not necessarily true,” countered Tessa. “You’d be surprised by what an old dog can learn.”

  I sided with our guide but said nothing. At least Blake expressed an interest in engaging with our potential fur baby. Growing more and more impatient, he excused himself to use the men’s room. I continued to walk up and down the aisles with Tessa, passing by all the dogs up for adoption.

  My heart was getting heavier by the second, and the antiseptic smell of disinfectant combined with the cacophony of yelping dogs was making me queasy. No dog, no matter what the breed or age, belonged in a cage behind bars. Without a home. Without love. In my heart, I could hear each and every one of them crying out to me: Please take me home! Make me your forever fur baby! I felt tears verging as my pace slowed to a trudge.

  “Are you okay, Jennifer?” asked Tessa, picking up on my growing gloom.

  “Kind of. It just makes me feel so sad seeing all these poor abandoned dogs in cages.” My gaze took in a particularly sad, overweight Bassett Hound, his ears as droopy as both his eyes and his gut. “How do you manage to hold it together? I don’t think I could ever work here.”

  Reaching inside the pocket of the aqua smock she was wearing, she stopped in front of the cage. “Here, Bosco,” she said, slipping a bone-shaped biscuit inside it. The dog immediately cheered up. Wagging his tail, he gobbled up the treat.

  “Good boy!” My lovely dark-haired companion smiled. “It’s not as hard as you think. We are a no kill shelter and 99% of our rescues find a good home. I live in a building that prohibits dogs so I derive a lot of joy spending time with them here. They are all so sweet, and I’m so happy I can give them love and attention until they find a new forever home. And it’s a two-way street. They give me love back. This ‘job’ is so much more rewarding than my normal day job as a cashier—which I only do to make money. I’m trying to save up so I can one day go back to school and become a veterinarian.”

  Her words warmed my heart and I instantly felt better. “That’s so awesome you want to become a vet. I hope your dream comes true.”

  At that moment, Blake returned. He looked constipated. Not one bit happy.

  “Jen, we should go. We can come back and check out the dogs in a few weeks.”

  I felt his eagerness to leave in my bones, but I refused to oblige. I came here with a purpose, and that purpose was to go home with a dog. In my heart of hearts, I knew he—or she—was here waiting for me. I would recognize my dog when I saw it.

  “Blake, you can go home, but I’m not leaving until I’ve seen all the dogs. I just know our fur baby is here.”

  “Fine.” He hurled the word at me as Tessa led us to the last row of kennels.

  And there he was! Inside the very last cage! Inky black, muscled, his expressive face glued to the bars. His big, beautiful chocolate brown eyes latched onto mine.

  “Oh my goodness!” I gasped. “Who’s this?”

  “Scout,” replied Tessa. “He just came in this morning.”

  “Really?”

  “He’s an eight-month-old Lab mix.”

  “Oh, he’s just a baby!”

  Tessa laughed. “A big baby! He weighs sixty pounds, but he shouldn’t get too much bigger.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “He comes from a very nice family with two young kids.”

  “Blake, did you hear that? He’s good with children!”

  My love furrowed his brows, suspicion etched in the crease between them. “Why did they give him up?”

  “The husband is being transferred to a country abroad that won’t allow canine pets to be brought in. He’s been well taken care of, neutered, micro-chipped, and is up to date on all his shots. I was also told he’s housebroken.”

  He was sounding more and more perfect with each word. Plus with his sleek shorthaired coat, he’d likely not require a lot of grooming. Or shed much. Excitement surged inside me.

  “Hi, Scout!” Our eyes stayed locked and then he began to wag his tail. Followed by a sweet whimper as if he was saying hi back, his big pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. It reminded me of the strawberry taffy my parents used to buy me whenever we went on vacation to Lake Michigan. Such sweet memories.

  “Tessa, can I spend a little one-on-one time with him?”

  “Of course.” She bent down to unlock the ground-level kennel to let Scout out.

  A few moments later, I was on my knees, hugging Scout as he licked my face. Oh God, this velvety, sixty-pound bundle of sweetness was giving me kisses! Delicious wet kisses! This was my dog! Our fur baby!

  I knew it.

  “Blake, I’m so in love with him! Please let’s make him ours!”

  My husband pinched his lips, then blew out a sharp, resigned breath from his nose. His nostrils flared.

  “Fine. Let’s fill out the paperwork.”

  A half-hour later we were back in Blake’s Porsche. The top down. Scout squeezed next to me in the front seat. His head tilted back, his snout catching the wind, and enjoying every minute of the ride.

  “Blake, this is the best birthday present ever!”

  “Don’t thank me.” His voice flat, my husband kept his eyes on the road.

  I didn�
�t read too much into his words and instead hugged Scout, happiness soaring inside me.

  “Scout, sweetie, I’m your new mommy!”

  How wonderful it felt to say that word.

  Mommy.

  Chapter 6

  Blake

  Anyone who knew me knew I loved to shop. I was a veritable shopaholic. Heaven to me was visiting a beauty supply store and stocking up on every moisturizer known to mankind. And don’t even get me started on going to the Westfield mall in Century City or walking down Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. I could spend hours in the Apple Store or Best Buy and walk out with all kinds of crap I didn’t really need, and drop an easy fifty grand on a half-dozen new custom-made Brioni suits and matching accessories.

  But, let me tell you, shopping at Petco was not my idea of heaven. It was more like hell. Jen had insisted we stop at the one in Westwood before we drove home to pick up a few things for Scout. Reluctantly, I agreed, thinking we’d be in and out quickly. To pick up a bag of kibble and some bowls for his food and water. Boy, was I wrong!

  We’d already been in the pet emporium for over an hour. I was charged with walking Scout on the leash the shelter had given us as we strolled down the aisles, Jen pushing a large red shopping cart, me trying to hold the dog back every time he saw a fellow canine. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to play with them or attack them. All I knew was that the sixty-pound beast was strong as an ox, and despite what good shape I was in, it took all my effort to hold him back. Worry gnawed at me. God knows what damage he could cause if he got loose. From tearing up the store to tearing off someone’s leg. My mother always said there’s no such thing as a bad dog, but I knew this was not true. Just think about Cujo! Need I say more?

  My wife was not the shopaholic I was, but I swear she was like a kid in a candy store, grabbing everything in sight. Our cart was filled to the gill, the items including two twenty-pound bags of kibble, several giant bottles of puppy vitamins, a variety of treats (Jen wanted to experiment), a large dog bed, an even larger pillow he could rest on, a red felt dog coat in case the weather grew cold or we took him with us to Sun Valley (fat chance!), plus a gazillion toys, ranging from squeaky plush ones to exercise balls.