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“Always, baby,” he teases, “Now are you ready? You’ve been a little prick tease lately, and I’m done holding back.”
I squeal beneath him, grabbing his face in my hands and bringing him in for a deep kiss.
“I’m ready, baby.”
Five
Haden
The cuffs of my shirt begin to irritate me, or perhaps it’s the goddamn heat inside this room.
Presley is always cold. She hates using the air conditioning, reverting to windows for fresh air, so it is no surprise the overbearing temperature is wreaking havoc on my patience.
I’ve been dreading this day for months. I don’t care for weddings, especially when I’m part of the wedding party. Thankfully, when Presley and I planned our wedding, it was simple without all the bullshit. She knew me well, another reason why I married her.
What makes this even worse is that it is the wedding day of my cousin. The same cousin who dated my wife. That’s right, I’ll use the word ‘date’ because every time I remember they fucked, my anger morphs into a blind rage.
Marcus met the girl of his dreams on a cruise ship. He was doing a photo shoot for a magazine and met this nerdy chick on some sort of book club holiday. The whole thing seemed ludicrous, but he claims they’re in love, and he proposed in the Bahamas the same weekend. He asked me to be his best man despite our distant relationship and my inability to forgive him for touching Presley.
This is how I ended up in this fucking suit.
Somewhere, in my drawers, sit my favorite cufflinks. They are navy blue with a silver edge and belonged to my late father.
I pull the top drawer open and shove my socks around. Nothing. I continue with each drawer and still can’t find them. I yell out for Presley, but she mumbles something I can’t understand.
I stand in the middle of our wardrobe, scanning the area. Every single thing is organized according to color and style. Even the shoes are all facing the same way. Presley’s OCD is over-the-top, so I strongly believe she knows exactly where they are sitting.
Not wanting to look foolish, I continue my hunt, the frustration mounting as I come up empty-handed. I resort to looking in Presley’s drawers. I start with her panty drawer which is probably a mistake. Pulling out a lacy white thong, my dick stirs beneath my pants. Fuck, she looked irresistible in this. I put it back only to pull out the red one. Jesus, I remember her wearing this during a role-play session.
Okay, c’mon, you’re going to be late.
My hand reaches to the back where I come across a box. Pulling it out, it appears to be a pack of condoms. What in the ever-loving fuck? My breathing begins to quicken, heat flushing through my body making this room even more unbearable. I stomp hard and heavy steps fueled by anger toward the study where she’s quickly checking her email and throw them on the table.
“Fucking explain this?” I seethe.
She glances toward the box, then shuts down her email before swiveling the chair to face me head-on. “I bought them because the pill isn’t one hundred percent effective.”
“You bought fucking condoms? For me?”
“Yes, you.” She throws her hands up in the air, groaning in frustration. “Don’t even assume it’s for someone else. I told you, I’m not ready for more kids. So, if you want to continue fucking me, you’ll wear them. Simple.”
“Simple?” I laugh. This has to be joke. This is why men get married to avoid wrapping their dicks in plastic. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”
“Why is this a problem? Honestly, Haden. You admit Masen needs a lot of attention. Do you think we can handle another child?”
“I can’t handle my dick in a raincoat!”
Presley buries her face in her hands for minutes on end while I stand next to her trying to calm myself down. I know it is hard with Masen, but he is a great kid and what’s wrong with having another baby? Presley needs to get it into her stubborn head that we don’t have forever, and Masen is already four. It would be great if he had a sibling closer in age, so they can bond.
“We have a wedding to attend…”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Well, kinda hard since you’re in the wedding party. We’ll talk about this later.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I state, grabbing the box, ready to toss it in the trash. “I’m not wearing a condom. End of story.”
I walk out of the room only to realize I still can’t find my cufflinks, and with Presley not talking to me, I have no choice but to grab another pair and head out the door not to be late.
