#B!TCH (#Jerk #2)

by Kat T. Masen

  He laughs, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t shortlist her, the recruiter did. Granted, she also wants some dick and told me last week, but that’s another story.”

  “Honestly, man. You got to figure your shit out. No more screwing around. You’re completely fucked right now. What the hell are you going to do? Morgan’s left you, no doubt for good, and you’re in Chicago doing what? Playing daddy to this new one coming along?”

  “I’m here trying to be mature and work something out where everyone is happy.” Noah softens his voice, remaining unusually quiet for a man who often challenges me. “No shit, I fucked up. You think I want to be in this situation? Morgan is threatening for full custody of Jessa, and Olivia is telling me she doesn’t want me around since it will confuse the baby. I have no fucking idea what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

  I don’t envy him one bit. Timing is poor on his behalf. I genuinely feel sorry for him. The night Morgan handed him divorce papers, he sought comfort in someone else. I probably would have done the same in that situation. Bottom line is, he should have been more careful, though, he claims he used a condom.

  “Glad to be married to the old ball and chain right now,” I say, faintly.

  “Speaking of ball and chain, how is Presley?”

  “I don’t know, ask me in an hour. She left work without a goodbye and things are just… tense.”

  “You mean she’s not sucking your dick, therefore… you’re tense, not her?”

  “Whatever. Listen, I need to go. I’ll see you on Friday. Oh, and by the way, Marshall’s on my back again. We’ll talk about it later.”

  I hang up the phone and take a deep breath, grabbing my things and stepping out of the car. I love my baby—my car—an SL Roadster in black with red leather seats. Presley calls it my quarter-life crisis. Call it whatever you want. She rides like a dream, much like my wife when she plays nice.

  I walk along the pebbled path toward the porch. The light is usually turned on, but this time it isn’t. Juggling my stuff in the dark, I find my keys and open the door to a dead-quiet house. The hall lamp is on, illuminating my walk toward the kitchen. The television is off, and being that it’s after nine, I’m certain Masen’s tucked in bed fast asleep until his midnight sleepwalk to our bed.

  Walking toward our bedroom, the light is peeking out from under our bathroom door. I want so desperately to open it, take her in my arms and lay her flat on our bed and make love to every inch of her body. But I know she is pissed, and it all seems like too much effort having to play Mr. Nice. I am exhausted.

  The door opens, and Presley walks out dressed in her white tank and my boxer shorts. She has this thing for borrowing my clothes at bedtime which doesn’t bother me. I’d sleep naked every night if I didn’t have the biggest cockblocker of a kid known to man.

  Her hair is out, loose, with curls falling over her shoulder. God, this woman is so beautiful I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky.

  “Oh, you’re home.”

  Her tone is anything but inviting. She hasn’t even made eye contact with me, making her way toward the dresser as she puts away some socks in some sort of order I don’t care for.

  “Oh, and hello to you, too. Were you going to tell me you were leaving to go home?”

  “I figured you were busy interviewing, so I got a lift with Maria.”

  I knew it. She’s pissed or probably jealous. Despite her stance on trusting couples and marriage vows, she has a jealous streak.

  It turns me on.

  Everything about her turns you on.

  “You mean the young blonde with the big tits?”

  She shoots me an annoyed look. “Yes, if that’s how you want to describe her.”

  With a jeering smile, I move toward where she’s standing and wrap my arms around her waist, bringing her into me and rubbing my already hard dick against her ass. She smells so fucking good like the scent of fresh lilac soap, and her skin is intoxicating, doing wild things to all my senses.

  “Oh, baby, you jealous?”

  A sigh releases, her shoulders slumping with relief as she turns around. Playfully slapping my chest, she laces her hands around my tie and begins to unknot it.

  “You’re a jerk. Thanks for taking my mug.”

  “I needed coffee.”

  “That’s my mug.”

  “You said what’s mine is yours.”

  “No! Not when it’s my mug.”

  “Wait, so have we moved on from big titties?” I question, kissing the side of her neck and running the tip of my tongue along her delicate skin. Fuck, she tastes so damn good.

  Presley slaps me again. “You’re an insensitive ass. I bet you were getting hard looking at her vagina!”

  “Pussy, honey, no one calls it a vagina. And trust me, I wasn’t hard over her. I was hard over you being a little tease in that white dress you wore today.”

  She smiles, coyly. “Well, you know Mase is asleep, right?”

  I bury my face once again into her neck, kissing her skin as my hands wander into her shorts, cupping her nice perky ass. I press against her wanting to take her right now.

  “I should have come home earlier.”

  “Yes, you should have. By now, you would have gotten the full pleasure treatment, including blow job and anal.”

  “Wow, now you’re just being a tease.”

  We move toward the bed. Driven by her teasing words, I push her onto the mattress, admiring her sexy body waiting for me. I’m so fucking turned on, leaving no time to do anything but get myself inside her. Laying my body on top of hers, my lips slam against her mouth while my hands wander into her shorts, instantly rubbing her clit. Fuck me. She’s soaking wet, desperately begging me to get between her legs and eat the shit out of her beautiful pussy.

  She sucks in a breath, releasing a long-winded moan while unbuttoning my pants at the same time.

  I quickly kick my shoes off, cautious of wasting time.

  Pulling my cock out, she begins to stroke from the base to the tip, making me groan beneath her touch.

  “Seriously, why didn’t you come home sooner?”

  I kiss her mouth. “Because Marshall… fucker.”

  She stops, mid-kiss, pushing my chest to create distance. “Wait, what did Marshall want?”

  “I don’t know… stuff.”

  I position myself, ready to enter her in desperate need to cure the throbbing pain from the blue balls that have built up over the past week.

  “What stuff? Tell me? He wouldn’t be calling you unless this was huge,” Presley expresses with trepidation.

  “Can we talk about this later?” My fingers slide between the walls of her drenched pussy. “I need to fuck you like yesterday. I don’t want to discuss work.”

  She pushes me back, again. “No, now. What did he say?”

  Frustrated, I roll on my back and rub my face, aware my dick is standing hard in the middle of the room. Maybe, if I make her shut the fuck up, I can get two minutes inside that pussy of hers.

  “He wants our bestselling authors to co-write. Cross-genre. Romance and sci-fi type thing.”

  “Oh my God, that’s a fantastic idea. In fact, I know some great pairings who happen to be good friends. I think they will jump straight on this. I’m really excited!”

  Her enthusiasm for work should be the red flag. Now, she’ll be thinking about this rather than focusing on me.

  “Great. Can we get back to me sticking my dick inside you?”

  There’s a creak in the floor, a familiar creak that I hear every night. Presley’s eyes widen, and with the quickest of bolts, there’s no time to zip my pants without running to the bathroom where I stub my toe on the edge of the wall, tumbling inside quick enough to slam the door just in time. The pain ricochets throughout me, forcing me to walk it off inside the small confinement of our master bath.

  Fuck me, muthafucker, this shit hurts.

  I’m seeing stars—yellow, black, and now just one big giant blur.

>   “Mommy, I hear Daddy.”

  “Daddy’s just taking a shower. C’mon let’s go back to your bed.”

  “No. I want Daddy. Daddy promised he’d tell me the story about how the Yankees won the World Series.”

  “Of course, he did,” Presley grits.

  I turn on the shower, knowing full well our night of pleasure has ended. With a kid on the other side of the door and a tense night, I didn’t even have time to release. Fuck my life.

  By the time I finish my shower and try to get my dick to deflate, I brush my teeth and wrap a towel around my waist, opening the door to our bedroom.

  Masen is sitting upright in Presley’s spot and waiting, wide awake, with the biggest of smiles.

  Presley is nowhere to be seen.

  “Daddy!”

  “Hey, buddy. What are you doing awake in my bed?”

  I quickly duck to our walk-in-closet grabbing a tee and boxers. Putting them on, I dump the towel on the floor.

  “You said you would tell me the story about the Yankees winning the World Series.”

  I climb into bed, smothered by Masen’s hug as he tackles me. Okay, this kid has some sort of spell over me. I’ll admit that and call defeat.

  “Hmm… I guess I did say that, but I also remember having to tell you a story about the tickle monster.”

  Masen giggles, throwing the blanket over his face. “No, Daddy. We finished the story of the tickle monster. He’s gone now, far away to heaven because he died. Remember, no more, he’s gone?”

  “I don’t know about that…” I wiggle my fingers the same time Masen removes the blanket, only for him to squeal. “The tickle monster is hungry, and he’s after a naughty little boy who doesn’t sleep in his own bed.”

  Masen pushes my hands away, giggling so loud until I finally stop, knowing full well I shouldn’t be riling this kid up.

  “Okay, no tickle monster.”

  “No, tickle monster, Daddy.”

  Placing my arm around him, I glance toward the bedside table as my cell lights up. It’s a text from Presley simply saying good night. I know her well enough to know she is currently sitting in our home office, wide awake with a thousand ideas on this stupid co-writing bullshit.

  And this is what our marriage has become. A battle of us against parenting. And the sucky part—Masen always wins. It is impossible to say no.

  “Okay, you ready?”

  “I’m ready, Daddy.”

  “Well, it was two-thousand-and nine…”

  #BITCH

  I couldn’t sleep.

  Haden’s announcement mid-foreplay sent my brain into overdrive. I thrive on this stuff—a co-written cross-genre piece by our best-selling authors. The possibilities are endless.

  It’s just after midnight, and although sleep should be my priority since last night barely saw any, I am running on adrenaline ready with my list of ideas to fire off at Haden the moment we step in the office.

  Quickly checking my calendar, I clear some time to book him in since it is almost impossible to get his attention these days. I shift two other meetings I had scheduled to the afternoon until I see another item pop up in my calendar.

  Reminder: Birth Control due to expire

  Great, this is the last thing I need. Ironic, since birth control is often used to prevent pregnancy which is caused by people having sex.

  I rest my elbows on the desk, my shoulders curl as I bury my face into my hands. The last time my birth control needed renewal, and Haden found out, he demanded I don’t bother, and we try for another baby.

  That was one year ago when Masen turned three and finally left the terrible two’s stage behind. Haden doesn’t want Masen to be an only child, but I don’t see more kids in our future, at least not anytime soon. It is hard enough juggling work and only one child. How will I be able to juggle two? Not to mention the sleepless nights, teething, and oh, wait… the uncomfortable nine months of being pregnant.

  I explained this, tirelessly, to a man who just doesn’t understand. It erupted into a huge fight between us, countless nights of Haden on the couch and me next to Masen in our bed. At work, things got heated, and Haden was in an awful mood all the time. Then Haden’s mother, Elizabeth, found out she had breast cancer which thankfully was caught in time. Between Haden flying back and forth, and his mother surviving what was a difficult time for the whole family, he apologized for being an asshole, and the whole subject was placed on the backburner.

  But somehow, someway, I will need to sneak an appointment with the doctor to get a new prescription without him knowing. Another item to add onto my ever-growing list of things to do and worry about.

  My eyes begin to weigh heavy, the tiredness slowly seeping in as my body follows suit. I turn the small lamp off and shut down the laptop before leaving the dark room and slowly walking to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

  As I make my way to our room, I peek my head through the door and see Haden and Masen fast asleep. Haden is lying on the edge of the bed, no duvet or sheets covering him as Masen’s stolen it all. Masen, of course, is lying across the bed, horizontally, with no room for me to rest my weary self. Letting out a yawn, I quietly walk over and turn off the lamp on the nightstand until Haden stirs.

  “Are you coming to bed now?” he mumbles, half asleep.

  “I’ll go sleep on the couch. There’s no room for me,” I whisper, leaning in and kissing his lips. “Good night. I love you.”

  “I love you, too…”

  The lamp clicks, turning off the light, and with a spare blanket and pillow in hand, I make my way to the sofa and try my best to get comfortable.

  Family life—who would have thought it would be this hard?

  I often question how my good friend, Charlie Edwards, and her husband, Lex, manage to raise three girls. Much like Haden, Lex is barely home running his empire, and Charlie has her own law practice. I make a mental note to schedule lunch sometime with her this week. Maybe I need some girl time to simply unwind.

  Soon, my eyelids become too heavy, and I fall into a deep sleep.

  The smell of coffee lingers through the house, instantly catching my attention as I attempt to move my stiff neck from the crappy position I’ve found myself in. A cup of coffee is brought to the table beside me, and Haden is standing over me dressed nicely in his charcoal pants and a crisp white shirt.

  “Thank you.” I yawn.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I was comfortable. We really need to invest in a better couch.”

  “We had a nice couch before someone decided it was a trampoline.”

  I sit up, rubbing my eyes to break the sleep. “Speaking of that someone. Where is he? He’s awfully quiet, and when he’s quiet, he’s usually up to something.”

  With my mug in hand, I blow the steam away and take a sip before venturing off to Masen’s room. The door is open, and he’s lying on his bed quietly playing with his cars. He is running them up and down his pillow, void of the usual burst of energy he wakes up to in the mornings.

  “Morning, sweetie. You’re awfully quiet for someone going to pre-school today.”

  “Momma, I don’t feel well.”

  On closer inspection, he looks rather pale with gray circles under his normally vibrant hazel eyes. I sit beside him and place my hand on his cheek—he is burning hot.

  I yell for Haden to come, and then yell again for him to bring the thermometer. Haden races to the room, handing me the thermometer which I gently place in Masen’s ear.

  “What’s wrong, buddy?”

  “I don’t feel well, Daddy.”

  I’ve seen this face before, it’s the face of a child who is just about to…

  I push Haden out of the way as Masen falls forward, vomiting on the floor as he cries out loud.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” I soothe him while directing Haden to grab cleaning products from the laundry.

  “I… I sorry, Momma,” Masen cries, again.

 
Picking him up in my arms, I take him to the bathroom, stripping off his vomit-stained clothes and running the shower so I can clean him off. His sickly demeanor and small cries continue to break my heart. I know he needs me today, and that means staying home and taking him to the doctor. I think, for a moment, of asking Gemma to help but the guilt begins to eat away at me.

  The meetings and work have to wait—my son needs me.

  Making my way back to the bedroom to grab a t-shirt, shorts, and fresh underwear, Haden has cleaned up the mess in Masen’s room and is in the kitchen packing his laptop.

  “So, I guess you’re staying home with him?”

  His tone, unapologetic, strikes a nerve with me. “Yes, well, you certainly won’t?”

  “Don’t do this.” He shakes his head, refusing to make eye contact with me. “I don’t like seeing my son sick, but I have shareholder meetings that I’m expected to lead. I can’t play hooky and stay home, okay?”

  “Play hooky? Your son is sick,” I vent, tired and irritated. “You know what…” I wave my hands around, “… not worth the argument. Just go to work.”

  I leave the room without a kiss goodbye or an ‘I love you.’

  That brief moment is a glimpse into what our life has become. Me, taking all the responsibility for Masen, and Haden continuing to do what he does best, be a jerk.

  The morning is spent with Masen on the sofa, blanket laying on top and his favorite program on the television. He has managed to drink some water and eat some toast, but the victory was short-lived when he vomited it back up shortly after. Thankfully, I had placed a bucket beside him, and my fancy rug was spared the dry-cleaning expense.

  Rosa came over, and the moment she saw Masen curled into a ball on the sofa, she demanded he drink some homemade remedy she concocted from boiled water and toast scrapings. It was rather questionable, but I was tired and willing to try anything. We have a doctor’s appointment scheduled at lunchtime, and I’m hoping he will be strong enough to hold the contents of his stomach in so we can attend.

  Rosa hands me a coffee like she can read my mind.