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Oh, hell no.
Then the boy-man spoke. “We have to be quick. My mother will be home soon.”
“Ariana?” she asked.
Ignoring her question, he said, “Kiss me,” in his boy-man voice.
She stepped toward him and started to kiss him when he reared back.
“Not on the lips,” he said with disgust. “On the forehead.”
M’kay.
So she kissed him. On the forehead. Wondering what the hell was going on.
His voice turned disturbingly high again. “I’ve been a bad boy. You said you were going to spank me the next time I was bad.”
And then, he preceded to unbutton his pants, pull them down, and lean over the bed.
“What the fuck, Errol?”
“Do it,” he said, his voice muffled by the Spiderman bedspread.
Birdie stared in disbelief and then raised her eyes to the ceiling, thinking this could be worse, and moved closer to his side.
“Hard. You said you’d do it harder next time.”
Birdie rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, reared back, and smacked him. With shocking force.
Errol groaned in a way that made her want to heave. Of all the things she thought she’d be doing in the room, which she had expected to be utterly revolting, this, hands down, wasn’t it.
“Harder. More,” he groaned.
She stood, shrugged, and walloped him with an open hand, like his ass was a punching bag. However, the whole process proved far more disturbing than satisfying.
Her heart seized in her throat as the door to the bedroom swung open, Shelby Wellborn-style.
There, dressed in a 1920s pink satin peignoir, was Ariana, clutching her pearls— literally —and huffing in horror at the scene before her.
“What do you think you’re doing to my son?”
Birdie stood looking at Errol’s bare ass and then his mother. “Spanking him?”
“You harlot!” she accused, flipping the peignoir to the side with considerable flair, stalking over to Errol, who was now sobbing with the most shocking display of overacting that Birdie had ever witnessed.
And that included the movie where Colin Farrell played Alexander the Great…with an Irish accent.
As if rehearsed, Errol pulled his pants up, still crying while he scooted to the side, allowing room for Ariana to lie down beside him and gather her sobbing child in her arms.
“There…there,” she cooed, rocking him, his face lodged between the exposed swell of her breasts. “Mommy’s here now.”
She kissed him on the forehead, shushing him and rocking him like…a freaking baby.
“I’ll just…” Birdie said, pointing toward the door. “Be leaving now.”
“I should say so,” Ariana huffed with an indignant glare.
Birdie closed the door behind her and stood staring at the wood panel, her hand covering her mouth.
