The Marriage Rival

“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.”