Mother Fluffer (Billionaire Bad Boys 3.6)

I didn’t know if I’d call her nice…but, yeah. Me and my little clones weren’t exactly easy to deal with, so I understood at least partially where she was coming from.

“It’s going to be fine. You have me. And who knows how to deal with someone like me better than me?”

Her tears stopped, and a small smile formed a crease between her eyebrows. “Well…that’s true. I guess I’m used to you too.”

“Exactly!” I encouraged.

Her face turned determined. “If they get out of line, I’ll just threaten to punch them in their little peckers.”

The smile slid off my face, and my dick throbbed in sympathy. “What? No. No, no, no. That could…I don’t know…stunt their growth or something. Do you really want to be the reason our sons have nothing more than a roll of quarters to offer?”

“What? Then they’d be just like their father,” she taunted shamelessly.

“Whoa. You just hurt the Supercock’s feelings, honey. He knows you’re a dirty, rotten liar, but still…he was just inside you doing some of his best work, and that’s the way you thank him?”

She started to smile and move toward me again, a sensuously predatory gleam in her eye, but then she caught a glimpse of the clock and did a double take. “Shi—neakers!” she yelled. “It’s already eight?”

I had no clue what time it was—it was a Sunday—but when someone asks what time it is, you look at the clock.

I should have known that would be when she attacked. With my head turned and my defenses down, she shoved me back so hard that I lost my balance and teetered until I fell off the edge of the bed, ass first, cock out, and abandoned.

“I have to go!” she shouted over her shoulder, a blur of her disappearing into the bathroom attached to our bedroom.

As always, I was prepared to argue, but before I could say anything, another pounding knock came at the door. “Yo!” Ace yelled. “I want juice!”

Fucking hell. Now I didn’t even have time to jerk it.

Today was going to be a long fucking day. I’d planned to give Cassie her Mother’s Day surprise this morning, but I wouldn’t have time now. Immediately, I started rearranging my plans in my head. Four hours, carry the two, switch it with six, eliminate the one…

Yeah, I’m fucking with you. But it’s a surprise. I can’t give you all the details now, for shit’s sake.

“Hold on, son!”

Apologizing profusely to the Supercock and balls for their sore mistreatment and swearing to see that it didn’t happen again, I tucked them back into my boxer briefs, walked to my closet to grab some shorts and a tee, and pulled them on.

I did a quick sweep of the surfaces of our bedroom to ensure no vibrators or cock rings or condoms or lube were out in plain sight and headed for the door to let our son in.

He flew in like a tornado as soon as I cracked it. In and around the bed, he ran and squealed, climbing up onto our comforter to do a log roll before ascending to his feet to jump.

His toothy grin was half mine, half Cassie, and every time I saw it, a warm, jellylike happiness spread from one end of my big body to the other. Even with him being the little cockblocker he was, I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.

I strolled to the bed in a few quick steps and tucked him under my arm like a newspaper. He was a lot squirmier and giggled a hell of a lot more than the news, though. “Gooooood morning, Acehole.”

Yeah, I know. Cassie doesn’t like that nickname for him either.

“Crazy,” I called out to get her attention. When she didn’t answer, I tucked a hand under my toddler package to secure it and moved us both to the bathroom. Cassie was just pulling a loose-fitting T-shirt over her uncontained tits. Reason #570,000 I’d married her. Though, if I were going in priority order, her motherfluffing perfect chest would be a lot closer to the top.

“Are you going to be home before we head to dinner at Wes and Winnie’s, or are you meeting us there?” I asked.

“I’ll be home in plenty of time for us to go together.”

Smiling, she moved to us, kissing Ace’s forehead before pushing up on her toes to touch her lips to mine. The tip of her tongue touched mine, and my whole fucking body, all six foot five inches of it, started to tingle.

I’d never tire of her. Not fucking ever.

With my free hand, I reached up to stop her retreat, encasing her tiny jaw in my palm. “I love you. Happy Mother’s Day, honey.”

“I love you too,” she responded immediately, her face softening in a way that it only ever did for me. My woman was hard and fast, but her heart—the part I’d claimed as my own—was all warm and squishy through and through.

She was everything. And I couldn’t imagine a time when I’d ever feel differently.

The moment was so special, so poignant for the two of us smartasses, it was almost unbelievable.

But the four-year-old little asshole we’d created didn’t have any trouble ruining it, and that wasn’t a surprise at all. In one smooth motion, Ace’s arm shot forward and connected with my already abused balls. All of the air in my lungs left in a rush.

“Oh, fuu—fluff. Christ in a tourniquet, mother—”

Ace fell safely to his feet as I released him, and he shot out of the room. And of course, right on cue, Cassie smiled. As always, it was part evil, part irresistible. “Don’t worry, T-bag. I’ll do my best to make the little guy feel better tonight.”

“Hey,” I coughed past the pain as she skirted around me and out the bathroom door to leave. “Fluffing little guy, my as—” God, some of these mock curse words were hard to come up with in the moment.

She turned back at the door to our room and waved, mischief and love swirling in her eyes like the perfect cocktail.

“See you later, T.”

“You bet your sweet titties, you will.” You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.

One hour into this photo shoot in Manhattan with seven hunky versions of Snow White’s dwarfs and my lower back screamed for relief. Taking pictures of half-naked muscly men wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when you were seven months pregnant and crabby from missing your daily orgasm quota.

“Cristiano, move a little to the left,” I instructed as I simultaneously moved myself—and my giant belly housing a fetus—a little to the right.

He took three steps, but his million-dollar model smirk never faltered. “Like this?” he asked once the perfect amount of sunlight started to beam across the smooth and firm muscles of his shoulder blades.

“Perfect.”

Well, he was perfect. I was just uncomfortable trying to navigate around my stomach and modify my normal shot positions. Before I got knocked up, it wasn’t abnormal for me to be lying on the ground and using my camera to snap amazing photos from below.

But now, if I lay on the ground, there was a chance I’d need one of those Life Alert bracelets. Help me, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

Pregnancy was a motherfluffing bitch.

Well, I wouldn’t say it was always a bitch, but when you were seven months pregnant with the Jolly Green Giant’s baby and you had to run around on a set for a last-minute, but very important photo shoot, it really was a motherfluffing bitch.

I already know what you’re thinking.

You’re having another baby? Another baby with Thatcher?

Yes, I’m aware that procreating with a man that size is pushing the limit, and procreating with him more than once is downright crazy.

More crazy than me, to be honest.

Don’t worry, I’ve been forcing Georgia and Winnie to have prayer circles for my vagina every Tuesday night at eight p.m.

Seriously. Keep her in your thoughts and prayers?

Both of us would really appreciate it.

Did I mention I was a little crabby today?

No orgasms make Cassie an annoyed girl.

I adjusted my position on the ground, pulling my legs forward and up so that I could rest my camera on the tops of my knees. Instantly, I groaned, and my lower back screamed its disdain. The pain was sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and I decided it would be better to take a quick break to regroup before I started getting bitchy with Cristiano.

“Let’s take five, guys,” I announced to the set and slowly—and with a lot of determination—I got myself off the ground and headed toward the snack table.

If there was one thing that could help ease my frustration, it was a motherfluffing donut. Plus, it wasn’t like anyone on this set would be eating the glazed and gooey goodness besides me. The majority of these models were on diets that had more don’ts than dos. No processed sugar, no simple carbs, no gluten, no dairy… I often wondered what it was they actually ate. Chia seeds, I decided. They must survive on nothing more than chia seeds.

With a donut in my hand and my back against the exposed brick wall of our quiet alleyway in Midtown, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent Thatch a quick text.

If there was one person on the planet who could pull me out of this funk, it was my husband.

The man knew when to push my buttons, but he also knew when I needed something soft and sweet around the edges. He was my rock in all things. Plus, considering how the morning went, I figured he’d be in a mood too. Misery loves company and all that.