His Vegas Bomb: A Menage Romance (The Cocktail Girls)

by Derek Masters

  “Honestly? Why don’t you tell me when the last time you did your hair for me was? What about the last time you put on your makeup to look good for me? You stopped doing all of that shit for me a long time ago. Even when we go out with drug reps, you pull your hair back into a ponytail, and that’s it. You’re getting more made up to go into a building full of strangers than you’ve done for me in years.”

  I was getting furious but was trying my best to keep my composure. The last thing I needed was to get upset and start crying before my first day. It would wreck my mascara.

  “I can’t do this right now, Dillon. I can’t believe you would want to do this right now.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are,” I said through gritted teeth as I stormed out of the bathroom, grabbed my things, and made my way towards the front door.

  “Try to have a good first day at work,” he yelled as I was slamming the front door behind me. I responded with a middle finger in the air that he couldn’t see unless he had developed x-ray vision.

  I had to sit in my car for a few moments before I could start it. I felt like he’d just started the fight with me in an attempt to ruin my first day. That had to be it, right? But the things he was saying, was he wrong?

  4

  Dillon

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. My penchant for fucking things up and making small matters huge was on full display that morning.

  There was no ill will or any intention of starting an argument before she left. We hadn’t had much time to talk lately, and I wanted to see her off to work since I didn’t have any morning appointments.

  My first instinct was to feel bad for upsetting her. I thought about sending her a text message since I was sure I wouldn’t be able to get her if I called her. I even picked my phone up and entered my passcode to unlock it before becoming disgusted with myself and putting it back down on my desk.

  I was tired of always being the one who had to apologize. I was sick and tired of everything being my fault. It wasn’t like anything that was coming out of my mouth was a lie. She didn’t do her hair for me anymore. She didn’t put on makeup for me like she used to. She didn’t do anything anymore.

  What was worse is that I wasn’t supposed to ever bring it up. Anytime I even hinted at the subject; she would change the topic to something completely different. She tried to be subtle about it, but I knew exactly what she was doing.

  I listened for her to start her car and leave before I left the house. I didn’t have it in me to fight anymore right then. I had a few afternoon appointments and wanted to go ahead and get into the office so I could try to clear my head. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to do that at home.

  I had three patients that afternoon, and I treated them professionally as always, but my mind was definitely on my wife and the argument at home. The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder if I hadn’t been wrong all along.

  Maybe I really was an asshole. She’d been staying at home for our entire marriage, cooking and cleaning an almost constantly empty house. I thought women loved a hard worker, but I also understood the concept of being lonely. Maybe getting out of the house and working would be good for her. It would give her some human interaction and allow her to talk to people instead of sitting alone all day.

  It was bizarre walking into a dark, empty house. Usually, Kayla would have her music playing, and the aroma of whatever she was cooking would hit my nose before I even made it through the door that connected the house to the garage.

  The feeling was almost surreal as I placed my keys in the small glass bowl that we kept on a tiny table next to the door and they clinked off the bowl instead of falling on top of hers. The sound echoed throughout the house.

  I hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and I was starving. I was debating between pizza and Chinese when I opened the door to grab a beer and saw a large dish inside with a note on top of it. I grabbed the piece of paper and opened it up.

  Sweetheart,

  I know that you don’t like the idea of me going back to work and I just wanted to thank you for not giving me a hard time about it. I know you’re used to dinner being on the table when you get home and although this isn’t quite on the table, I hope it gets the job done. Throw this in the oven for 20 minutes at 350 degrees. There’s some of that cheese garlic bread that you like in the freezer. I hope you had a great day at work. See you tonight.

  Love always,

  Kayla

  I pulled back the foil and saw that she’d made lasagna, my favorite dish. If I wasn’t already feeling like a schmuck before, I sure as shit was after reading that. I never denied the fact that Kayla was an amazing woman. On her first day of work, she got up early, prepped and cooked an entire lasagna just so I’d have dinner when I came home.

  Sighing, I grabbed a beer, turned the oven on and sat down on the couch. I really was a lucky man. Sure, she and I hadn’t been on the same page for quite a while, but we still loved each other. At least I thought we did. I know that I loved her, but was she still feeling the same about me, especially after the fight that morning? The note said love always, but I couldn’t really remember the last time she told me she loved me without me saying it first.

  I had another beer once I popped the lasagna into the oven and grabbed one to have with dinner once it was done. Kayla hated it when I drank beer with dinner. I could almost hear her telling me how unsophisticated it was as she grabbed a bottle of wine like she had done during countless dinners over the years.

  What the hell, I thought to myself before walking over to the wine rack and grabbed a bottle of Rioja Crianza, a wine that my wife would describe as a medium-bodied red wine, whatever that means. I popped the cork, poured a glass and sat down to have my dinner.

  It only took one bite for me to realize what a jackass I’d been that afternoon. Here I was giving her shit over something as petty as her hair and makeup after she’d taken the time to make a lasagna for me for dinner. I made a mental note to apologize for the fight and thank her for dinner. It tasted much better than whatever take out I would have been eating otherwise.

  As I ate, I started to wonder about how Kayla’s first day of work was going. I hoped that she had been able to put our fight out of her mind and at least try to have a good day. It would suck if her first day ended up being shitty because of my stupid insecurities.

  When I finished eating, I put the leftover lasagna back in the fridge so Kayla could have some when she got home, rinsed my plate and stuck it in the dishwasher, and downed the rest of my wine before putting the wine glass in with the plate.

  Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed the remote and sat down on the couch to see if there was a game on. Before I could even turn on the television, my mind went straight to Kayla. More specifically, I started thinking about the fact that she had got a job at a factory where most of the other employees were men. Men who I’m sure would have no problem flirting with a cute girl like my wife.

  I knew for a fact that my wife would never cheat on me, but that didn’t stop the jealous feelings from developing deep within my gut. I closed my eyes and could just imagine all the men introducing themselves to her. Maybe they shook her hand, or maybe they greeted her with a touch on the shoulder or arm, a touch so insignificant but carrying so much meaning. I could guarantee that they were checking out her ass as she walked away. That is one of her best features after all.

  Rubbing my eyes and shaking my head, I tried to get the images out of my mind. The last thing I needed was to let these feelings fester in my head and lead me to overreact to something that wasn’t even there. Sitting on the couch wasn’t going to help me do that.

  I looked down at my watch and saw that it was only 8:00 pm. The shift she’d been hired for was from 11:00 in the morning to 11:00 at night, so it was still going to be quite a while before she got home.

  Lately, I’ve retired to our office after dinner to jump on the computer. I�
�ve always told Kayla that I have patient files to catch up on, but it isn’t true. Since our sex life has been on life support, I’ve gone up to the office to relieve myself. Even though she has a desk and computer in the office as well, she always reads after dinner, so I never had to worry about being caught.

  I started to walk towards the stairs that lead down to our finished basement, which is where our office is located, but I realized I didn’t have to do that tonight. Instead, I grabbed my laptop and made my way to our bedroom. If the house was empty, I was going to take advantage of it.

  I made myself comfortable on the bed, opened my laptop and logged into my favorite porn website. It’s not your typical site, though. It caters to a very specific fetish. A fetish that I’ve kept to myself for the years since I’ve discovered it. A fetish that I wouldn’t dare tell anyone I was into.

  I surfed through the videos for about 15 minutes until I found one I liked. It’s not bad enough that I’m into a very specific fetish, but I also need the woman in the video to look a very specific way or else I can’t get into it.

  Once I found what I was looking for, I slid out of my pants and pulled my cock out of my boxer briefs. Watching videos like the one on my screen made me so hard. I paced myself to match the 20-minute video, only climaxing when the man pounding the woman did.

  There was something extra relaxing about being able to relieve myself in bed instead of down in my office. I put my laptop on the floor and turned on the television so I could find something to watch until Kayla got home.

  Want more?

  Share Me is available on Amazon for just $2.99 or FREE with Kindle Unlimited!

  http://a.co/fw0uG71

  Stalker Sample

  A Dark Romance Novel

  Blurb

  The moment I laid my eyes on her, I knew she was going to be mine. I also knew that I'd have to do everything I could to ensure that my past remained a secret. The trouble I'd been in shouldn't have to define my future.

  I should have known that secrets can't stay hidden forever. Now that they're out, she's as frightened of me as everyone else. She wants nothing to do with me. She's ordered me to stay far, far away. She has no idea how deep my love runs and I'm not giving up on her. She can push me away as much as she wants but she will be mine, even if it's the last thing we do.

  1

  Nick

  “A lot of people in your situation don’t get a second chance at life. We don’t want to see you back in here again. Are we clear on that?” the guard asked as he handed me a bag filled with the belongings I had when I arrived.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, not intending to ever be back as long as I could help it.

  I took the bag into a small bathroom, changed my clothes and handed my uniform to another guard, who tossed it into a huge basket to be laundered and made available to the next person who walked through those doors with a build similar to mine.

  I was ushered outside the building and into a small gated area, where I joined several other men who appeared just as eager as I was. It was hard to believe that the day had finally arrived. It sure as hell didn’t feel like I was ever going to make it.

  The first thing I did was suck in as much of the crisp morning air as my lungs would allow me to take. Sure, I’d been outside nearly every day of my stint, but the atmosphere tasted better on that morning that it had tasted in a long time. I’m sure it had something to do with the fact that in just moments, I’d be walking out of those prison gates as a free man. The only thing separating me from my freedom was a guard checking each ID was last time to ensure that the only men leaving were the ones who were actually supposed to go.

  If I had one regret at the moment, it was that I didn’t think to pack any clothes in the event that I was released anytime other than summer, which was when I was sentenced and began my sentence.

  I was a wearing a pair of jeans and a white, thin cotton t-shirt that provided zero resistance to the cold, wintery wind that was attempting to cut straight through my body. My muscles flexed involuntarily, making me feel like I was being chilled to the bone.

  I’d made a name for myself in prison with my hard demeanor. I never caused any trouble, but that was because I never needed to. My size was enough to keep most people at bay and the ones who looked like they wanted to take a shot at me? I made it clear that it wouldn’t be a very good idea.

  Now my touch demeanor was about to deteriorate all because my body wanted to be an asshole. I tried to fight it off but I couldn’t. I started shivering like a damn child, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering together.

  The clothes on my back didn't even fit properly. My t-shirt strained against my skin and my jeans, which were relaxed fit when I entered, were far too tight. I attempted to shove my hands in my pockets to keep them warm, but it wasn’t happening. I was able to get them in as far as the knuckles, but there was no room for my hands after that.

  I watched in awe as the gates slowly rolled open. Freedom had finally arrived. Almost as if on cue, the former inmates, most of whom had been relatively quiet, began running their mouths at the guards as they walked by. I found it funny how they’d had nothing to say inside but were undoubtedly turning into tough guys. I heard every curse word and insult in their arsenal, but I wasn’t going to take part in any of it. That wasn’t me.

  Focusing my eyes on the pavement, I quickly made my way out, distancing myself away from the idiots. I looked around and watched as they all made their way into the arms of people who cared for them. Wives, girlfriends, parents, relatives. With few exceptions, someone was waiting for them. It was a luxury that I didn’t have. All I could do is walk away. Alone.

  It was strange to be unnoticed, especially considering my size and stature. Standing at 6’4” and weighing close to 260 pounds, the majority of which was solid muscle. I’ve never been a small guy. In my life, I’ve always preferred to jobs that kept me outside doing hard, manual labor. Sitting behind a desk or pushing papers are things that would never work for me.

  During my prison sentence, the only thing I had was time. Thinking all the time drove me crazy, so I chose to workout instead. If I had free time, I was working out. It helped me stay out of trouble. I already had a pretty solid form when I went to jail, but I came out cut and chiseled. I was easily in the best shape of my life.

  When I got sent to prison, I thought I was going to be like all of those other prisoners when it was time to be released. I had people who loved and cared for me as well. At least, I thought I did. The people I always thought would be there for me, turned their backs on me when I was inside. I noticed it happening when letters weren’t being returned, and phone calls weren’t being answered. I tried to tell myself that people get busy, but after a while, it became obvious what was happening. They were still living their lives and had no time for a fuck up like me.

  Since I didn’t have anyone to pick me up in their warm car, I was left to walk. I didn’t know what my future had in store for me. All I knew was what I was doing that night. Everything else would be taken day by day.

  I was confident of one thing and one thing only. After so many shitty prison trays, I needed to get a real meal in my stomach. If I had things my way, the next meal I ate would consist of a huge steak and a much-needed shot of Jack Daniels.

  The only things I had to my name were the clothes on my back, a bag with a change of clothes that weren’t going to fit me any better than what I was already wearing, and a bit of cash that was leftover from my prison account. I didn’t buy much from commissary because I knew I’d need every penny I could get when I got out.

  Everything else was going to be for me to figure out. While everyone I knew and cared about had forgotten all about me, I was fortunate to have one friend who didn’t care what anyone else thought and stood by my side from the beginning. A true friend that was willing to give me a bed to sleep in and a job at the construction company he owned. All I had to do was get to him.

  In a world where every
thing else seemed dark and bleak for me, I was grateful to have at least one person in life who refused to turn his back on me. I’d never had any real family. Having grown up in a series of foster homes which made it no secret that I was only there so they could collect a check, I never knew what it was like to have a real family connection.

  The only time a foster family honestly gave a shit was on my 18th birthday, and that was only because they wouldn’t be able to collect any more money from the government for taking care of me. They couldn’t get me out the door fast enough.

  I don’t like to use it as an excuse because as a man, I realize I am responsible for my own actions, but I can’t help but feel that my upbringing had a lot to do with the bad choices I’ve made in life. Those bad decisions were followed up by even worse choices. What could have been different? What if I had been raised by loving parents who could have raised me better. Would I have still ended up in prison? Maybe, but I think it would have been a lot less likely.

  Instead, I followed a dark path that saw me spend my days working at whatever construction site would have me and my evenings sitting in bars, getting wasted and seeing what kind of trouble I could get myself into.

  Unfortunately, trouble found me one night when I wasn’t even looking for it. I’d had a bad day at work, and this asshole at the bar would not stop running his mouth. I ignored it as long as I could, but eventually, I couldn’t take his constant tirade, and I snapped. The end result of me losing my temper was five years in the state pen.

  All I wanted to do was shut the guy’s mouth. I never intended to put him in a coma. It was just a fight at the bar. There was no malice on my part, but that didn’t stop the state prosecutor’s from charging me with attempted murder.