“There’s a lot I can do on my own. In fact, I was just at a job interview and I got the job.”
“If she has people around her who actually support her, she can do anything she sets her mind to,” Bernard says. “And she won’t be homeless or desolate, because she can stay with me as long as she wants or needs.”
I look at him in shock. He’ll let me move in with him? I was worried how I would be able to move out of my parents’ house right away. It takes time to save up enough money to move out. I want to cry again, but this time from happiness. I hold back the tears though. I don’t want my father to see how surprised and elated I am about Bernard’s offer.
My dad storms off, pissed. As soon as he’s gone, I throw myself into Bernard’s arms, wrapping him in a smothering hug. “Thank you so much,” I tell him.
When he kisses me, Trevor makes gagging noises and my son joins in, though I doubt he knows why he’s doing it. They start to crack up laughing after. It’s adorable that he looks up to Trevor. I can’t help but think that they would be great brothers.
Epilogue
Bernard
Pippa stands in the kitchen of our house, cutting up lettuce for the salad while I prepare the steaks and make the mashed potatoes for dinner. She is the designated salad maker because her cooking skills are less of a skill than they are a weapon. I love to tease her about it, and it’s cute that she tries, but we both agree that I’ll be doing all the cooking in this household.
She’s been living with me for three months now and we couldn’t be happier. My place is big enough for the boys to have their own rooms and our new baby, when she arrives, to have her own room as well.
Pippa is just starting to show. She’s wearing a tight tank top that shows just the hint of a pregnant pooch. She’s already glowing and I can’t wait until she’s big and round with our child. Every time I look at her my heart swells … and so does my cock. There’s something about her being pregnant and radiant that turns me on. I walk up behind her and start to kiss the back of her neck. She makes a content sigh and leans back against me.
It’s a good thing the boys are with my parents tonight, because I want her so bad right now there’s no way I can stop myself.
“I got you something,” I tell her and reach over to the drawer and pull out a bag of chocolate Easter eggs. She laughs when I hand them to her. “Your favorite.”
“You know me so well,” she says and opens one, popping it into her mouth.
When I kiss her again she tastes like chocolate and I’m transported back to that first day in the confessional booth when I ate the chocolate from her pink little pussy.
I kiss her long and deep, touching her belly as I do. Her carrying my child makes me wildly possessive and protective of her. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love Pippa. A ring sits in the top drawer of my dresser, and I’m waiting for the perfect time to propose. Today might be that day. I’m going to make her my wife and we’ll have our perfect family.
“I love you so fucking much,” I say to her when we break away from our kiss.
She stares into my eyes with longing. “I love you too.”
I take her hand and lead her out of the kitchen to our bedroom. We’re alone in the house, but there’s something about being in our room that makes me feel like I have her all to myself. She sits on the bed and pulls me down with her so that we’re laying on our sides, staring into each other’s eyes. She leans into me and we kiss. Not the kind of kiss you give someone before a quick fuck, but a kiss that lingers and is full of emotion. It’s more than just lips and tongue. It’s a promise, it’s trust. It starts off as just a kiss, but then I’m pulling off her shirt and unleashing her bra to release her heavy breasts. Still, this isn’t about fucking. We do plenty of that. Fucking is fun and exciting, but right now, with her, this is about us. It’s about connecting in a way we can’t when the boys are around, when we have a million other things going on in our lives.
She sighs as I explore every inch of her supple flesh, and when she kisses me again there’s a smile on her face.
She removes my clothes with such care that’s it’s almost torturous how slow she goes. She knows what she’s doing to me and the smile never leaves her face because under all that sweetness and innocents, the girl is a masochist in bed. She loves to see me squirm and beg for her. Once my clothes have been tossed onto the floor, she presses her lips to the side of my neck and kisses her way down to my body until her mouth has engulfed my cock. I feel myself swelling inside of her, bigger and wider each time her tongue brushes the underside and swirls around the head.
I could explode right now if I let myself, but I hold back. I want this feeling to last. When I come, I want it to leach out every bit of energy so I know I gave her my all.
I watch as her pink mouth works its magic. She looks up at me with those electric eyes. She likes to watch my face and my reactions when she’s sucking me off. She likes to take me right to the edge then take it away before I find release.
Pippa might own my heart and wield the power to either make me the happiest man alive, or the most miserable if she wanted to break my heart, but in the bedroom I hold all the power.
I take her by the back of the hair. She makes an excited yelp. She likes things a little rough. Then I slowly push her down onto me. My cock snakes down her throat, making a suction sound as is goes down then comes back up. I can see the shape of it on the outside of her neck each time she swallows me down.
I pull out of her and she gasps for air before sinking down on me again. Damn, I don’t know how long I can hold on if we continue. Next time I pull out, it’s for good. One more second in her warm mouth and I will definitely lose it.
I flip her over onto her stomach. Soon I won’t be able to do that when her belly is too big. I need to do all the things I love doing to her while she is still capable of doing them.
I strip her naked until her perfect bare ass is splayed before me, a ripe peach, a perfect heart. Never has an ass looked so lovely as hers. I touch it softly and she makes little whimpering moans as my fingers move toward her crack, taunting her with the things I might do.
Leaning over, I bite one of her cheeks then soothe it with a kiss. Her skin is soft and smooth as cream. I could sit here all day just taking in her perfection, but my cock would never allow that. It stands at attention, demanding we move this along. And if I don’t want an incredible case of blue balls later, I best listen.
I spread her legs, and the view of her pussy from behind combined with her ass is hypnotic. If I don’t blow my load the moment I enter her, I will be shocked.
I push a finger into the wet cushion of her beautiful pussy, swollen with arousal. She moans and lifts her ass up to me. I enter a second finger and her hips start to rotate.
“That’s my girl,” I tell her as I massage her ridged g-spot. “Work it for me.”
She rises onto her hands and knees, spreading herself open for me. Now her perfect little asshole is on display for me as well as every fold of her pussy and I can’t wait any longer. I guide my cock into her and feel its warmth surround me.
I have to look away from her and squeeze my eyes closed in order to last longer than a second. It takes several seconds before I’m able to control myself. I keep my breathing even and force myself to not start pounding into her. Finally, I find a rhythm that is both pleasurable and that won’t make me come instantly. I refuse to be a two-pump chump with my girl. I always make sure she’s the first to get off. Always.
I hold her by the hips and push into her. The sound of her moans become insistent. She’s always turned on now that she’s pregnant—not that she wasn’t before—but there’s something about the hormones that seem to drive her mad.
“Fuck me,” she demands, and I listen.
I’m drilling into her until she’s screaming and bucking. The wetness between her legs has thickened and I know she’s already had her first orgasm, but she doesn’t slow down to recover from it.
She’s ready to go again.
I flip her onto her back because I want to see her face when she comes again. Her large breasts bounce and I take one in my mouth, sucking and biting the nipple between my lips and teeth. Her nipples are extra sensitive lately and she comes again, her eyes rolling in the back of her head.
That’s it. That does it for me and I release my load into her. We curl up in our post coital bliss. If her being pregnant is this fun, I plan to keep her this way.
I wrap my arms around her waist and rub her baby bump. That’s my child in there and the woman carrying her is just as precious to me. My life couldn’t get any better than it is this very moment.
“I love you and our children more than anything in this world,” I whisper into her ear.
She makes a happy little sigh. “I know you do, and we love you.”
For a good time call...
That's what the number on the wall said.
Why did I dial it? I blame two things-- the cheap raspberry cocktails at the hotel bar...
And the fact I'd signed my divorce papers an hour ago.
One click GOOD TIME DOCTOR now!
* * *
Chapter 1
“Another?” The bartender grins at me. Her smile widens when I groan and shove my now-empty glass toward her across the bar top.
“Make it a double.”
“Celebrating something?” She arches a brow, and I wish I could shrink away from her gaze. What does she see when she looks at me? Someone to pity? If she does, she’s too nice to say it, at least. “Or mourning?”
“The latter,” I mumble, as she slides a brand new double vodka soda back to me. I tip the glass at her in salute, and she pours herself a shot too.
“To better days ahead, sis,” she says, tapping her glass against mine.
“Amen to that.” I take a long drink, then glance at my bag. At the manila envelope peeking out the front pocket of it. Inside is the contract I signed earlier tonight. The one all my friends will be telling me “I told you so” over for years to come.
They were right. I should have listened. But I thought it was real.
I thought it was love.
I take another drink, longer than my last, while the bartender drifts away to nurse some more of her ailing customers. There’s plenty of us in here. I checked in to the largest, fanciest hotel I could find downtown for exactly this reason. Because the only people you find in places like this are the other dregs of society. People like me with nowhere else to go. No plans on a rainy Thursday evening like this one. People in transit—here on business trips or passing through on their way from point A to point B.
I thought I was done with this life. The single life, bar-hopping, the cesspool that is dating in the modern era. All of it. I figured, when I met Kevin, I was done with all that.
From the get-go, he seemed perfect. Well-adjusted, a totally normal guy. Okay, so our first and last date was at a Starbucks. And okay, after I moved in with him a month later, we pretty much stopped leaving our house entirely, and only saw our friends whenever they showed up on our doorstep to forcibly drag us out to events. But that was normal, I thought. That’s what couples do. When you find Mr. Right, you don’t need to bother with fake romantic stuff or going out on expensive dates. You just… settled into life together.
That’s why we got engaged after just four months together. Then we eloped a few months after that.
My friends all told me it was too soon. They told me to be patient, give it time. It’s not like we were planning some big church wedding, so what did it matter if we went down to the Justice of the Peace a year or two later, instead of right then?
But, exactly, I argued with them. We weren’t planning some big wedding, so why not tie the knot now? It was love—or so I told myself. We cohabitated, we got along okay. Plus Kevin had already pointed out to me how much money it would save us on our taxes.
Well. How much it would save him. He was the one with the high-paying job as the director of an investment firm. Me, I was just the behind-the-counter girl at the local florist shop, who enjoyed spending her days arranging bouquets for other people’s weddings, and other people’s Valentine’s Days, and other people’s anniversaries.
He used to joke that all that exposure to romance in my day job must make me immune to it in my own life. I agreed. But now, I wonder if I wasn’t just agreeing because I wished that were true. Not because it actually was.
How did I not see this coming?
I swirl my vodka soda on the bar and take another deep swallow. I mean, I knew Kevin had his flaws. Sure. Don’t we all. I knew he wasn’t into romance; I knew he hated any ‘unnecessary’ expenses (which included birthday or Christmas gifts, too, apparently). I knew he liked to keep everything in his life neatly categorized and organized. But I figured, that was the price of marriage. You compromise. You learn to live with each other’s quirks.
My friends tried to warn me. I didn’t want to listen. I just wanted to be done with the dating game. I wanted to move on to the next step in life, and he was… well. He was there.
Until two weeks ago. Just 6 months into our marriage. When I stopped by his office for a spontaneous visit (another thing he hated) to bring him his favorite lunch (a chicken sandwich, no toppings, and side salad, no dressing). His secretary told me he was busy, but I ignored the guy.
“I’m just going to drop this off and then I’ll be out of your hair,” I promised the secretary.
Stupid me. I should have recognized the look of panic on the dude’s face. I should have put two and two together, and realized it wasn’t business that was detaining my brand new husband.
Instead, like an idiot, I walked into his office, completely oblivious, only to find him half naked, with a girl who looked barely old enough to be out of college—probably an intern at his company too, the sleazeball—on her knees, her lips around his dick.
Fucker.
I threw the chicken sandwich in his face. He just stood there, while the poor girl leapt away and tried to collect herself. He didn’t even bother to pull up his pants.
“Don’t be so hysterical,” he told me. “I thought you were a logical person, Naomi. You know things like this happen.”
In that moment, I wished I’d had more than just a sandwich to throw at his stupid head.
I marched straight home, collected all of my things, and stormed out of his apartment. It didn’t take long. He had his place organized to his liking. He barely let me bring anything when I moved in—most of my stuff had to go into my friends’ houses or storage.
“It ruins the feng shui of the place,” he told me when I said I wanted to keep some of my own furniture.
Well, fuck his feng shui. I might have “accidentally” broken a few bottles of red wine all over his marble backsplash and lovely new hardwood floors on my way out of the door. Whoops.
I thought that this week, when I finally got a contract drawn up by my lawyer—a friend of a friend who I called in a favor with, since I’d never be able to afford the kind of expensive lawyer I’d need to take on Kevin properly in court—I’d feel some kind of catharsis. I stormed into his office one last time and served him the divorce papers to his face (thankfully, this time avoiding a scene with any questionably-of-age interns being exploited by their director).
But even slamming those papers onto his desktop and demanding he sign them right now didn’t feel satisfying. Because he just shrugged and smirked at me.
“You’ll regret this rash decision when you realize how much money my future wife is going to have at my side.”
“Trust me,” I spat in response, “you couldn’t pay me enough money to put up with you for one more minute.” I glared until he finished signing, and snatched up the paperwork before he could keep his grubby hands on it for one more second. “Good luck hiring whatever gold digger you buy as a trophy wife next,” I snapped over my shoulder while I stormed out.
It’s a crappy settlement. My lawyer even admitted
that to my face. “You’ve only been married for 6 months, and your prenup was pretty specific about how little you’d get in this event,” he told me.
“I don’t care,” I said. Which was true. I really didn’t care, not about the money. Not even though I needed to find a new apartment now, and fast, because I was burning through my savings, crashing at this fancy hotel.
You owe yourself this much, I reminded myself. Just a few weeks here to get back onto my feet. To find a decent spot to rent again. And, of course, to find a job to replace the one Kevin talked me into leaving when we tied the knot.
But none of that really matters. I’m doing the right thing. I’ve never been surer of that in my life. What stings, though? Is how little fucks he seemed to give. Not to mention how embarrassed I am to face my friends again. None of them will rub it in my face, which only makes it worse.
They tried to warn me. Why didn’t I listen?
Love makes us all act like idiots, I guess.
But could you even call this love, really?
I polished off the vodka soda, my third of the evening, in an attempt to silence my inner demons. Or at least to get them to stop arguing with one another.
“One more?” The bartender flashes me that sympathetic smile of hers, but I shake my head, grimacing. The last thing I need to do is start running up a tab in here every night. Besides, I’ve had enough to take the edge off and more by this point.
The bar sways a little as I climb off the stool and scoop up my purse with the counter-signed divorce papers in it, all notarized and filed as of this morning. I’m a single woman again, I think to myself. Except, that’s not entirely true. I’ll still have to check the divorced box on my taxes from now on. An eternal reminder of my idiocy. Of me leaping into a bad situation without bothering to check myself in any way.
I groan as I reach the lobby. My room is only a short elevator ride away, but I don’t think I have the energy to make it all the way up there. Suddenly, my bladder is clamoring for urgent attention. At least for the price I’m paying, I know the lobby bathroom is clean and well-maintained. It’s just one of those all-gender handicap-accessible bathrooms, one stall, but it’s always empty around this time of night.
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