THAT MAN 8 Page 4

  “Were you a good boy for Daddy?”

  I felt every aching muscle in my body bunch up as I lumbered over to the bar to pour myself a shot of Scotch. I rarely drank so early in the day. Make that never. I knocked back the drink in a single gulp and poured myself another. This damn dog was driving me to drink! By this evening, I could be a raging alcoholic.

  With my shot glass in hand, I joined Jen, plopping down onto one of the oversized chairs flanking the couch. Taking another chug of my drink, I stretched my long, crampy legs on the coffee table. Though I regularly did the challenging Santa Monica steps and worked out at my gym, this out of control dog had worn me out.

  Wearing her glasses, Jen finally turned her attention to me. Your adoring husband, remember? “So, how did he do on his first walk?”

  He was a total nightmare! The dog from hell! The holy terror ran away and I had to chase after him like a madman on the Pier. He cost me a parking ticket and almost gave me a heart attack.

  I took another long swig of my drink. The alcohol burned my throat and was doing little to relax me. I felt my jaw clench as I lied through my teeth. “He was awesome! He did a nice pee and a big poop.”

  Jen’s smile widened. She bent down and kissed Scout’s head, showering him with praise and love. “What a good boy, Scout! I’m so proud of you!”

  I gulped down more of my Scotch. If you only knew! Holding my tongue back, I switched the subject. “So what have you been up to?”

  “I put all of Scout’s things away. All his food is in the pantry and his toys are in a basket.” She pointed to the large wicker basket in the corner. Close by was the large dog pillow we’d purchased.

  “Where’s his bed?”

  “In our room. Next to ours. Being separated from his first family, he shouldn’t sleep alone his first night here.”

  Silently, I bristled. That was way too close for comfort. He sure as hell better not come into our bed. And mind his own business when we fucked each other senseless. Tonight was going to be his first test. And possibly the beginning of two new commands: OFF! And GET LOST! I made a mental note to download the Google Translator app and find out how to say these words in a variety of languages in case the stupid dog didn’t understand English. In the worst-case scenario, there was always a loud and clear NO! Every living thing understood that word, right?

  Jen cut my mental ramblings short. “And Blake, while you were gone, I did a lot of research on Black Labs. They’re super-loving and loyal, make great family pets, and are very intelligent. Oh, and they’re also very rambunctious and need a lot of exercise.”

  Yeah, this one needs to run a marathon. A one-way trip to Hell! “Did any of the articles you read talk about obedience?”

  Jen nodded. “Yes. They’re easy to train because they’re so smart.”

  I had a feeling this one was as stupid as stupid could be. It must be those unknown “mixed” genes that were bringing his IQ down by intervals. With his gangly body, long skinny tail, and narrow muzzle, he was far from being a pure pedigree Lab.

  “And look what else I found online!” Excitement filled her voice and her face lit up as she flipped her computer around to face me.

  “A SpongeBob doggie raincoat with a matching leash and collar! And even booties!!”

  “Nice,” I mumbled, staring at a shaggy dog that was dressed in the ridiculous bright-yellow ensemble. My wife was SpongeBob obsessed.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered the whole set. From Chewy.com. It’s such a great site.” She cradled Scout’s muzzle. “Oh baby boy, you’re going to look so cute in your rain outfit!”

  Yeah, and I just can’t wait to walk you in the pouring rain and chase after you in the bloody mud. My tiger was too focused on Scout to notice the scowl on my face. I chugged the rest of my drink. Two down. I’d better stop before I got smashed.

  “So, birthday girl, what do you want to do this afternoon?” We had plans to go out for dinner to celebrate with her best friends, Libby, Chaz, and Jeffrey, but I was hoping we could get a nice birthday fuck in before then. In addition to the bauble, I’d bought my tiger a new sex toy and I was eager to play with it.

  “I think we should stay in and hang out with Scout. We can start teaching him some basic commands. You know like . . . sit, stay, and come.”

  The only living creature I wanted to order to come was my wife. That clearly wasn’t happening. Damn this dog!

  I mentally growled.

  Chapter 10

  Jennifer

  “Blake, maybe we should cancel the dinner,” I said as I shrugged on my slinky black dress. It was one of Chaz’s designer samples—something he bestowed upon me often. “We can do it another time. I’m worried about leaving Scout alone on his first night here.”

  My husband was sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping on his Italian leather loafers. Sockless as usual. He looked sexy as sin in his casually elegant Brioni sports coat, crisp, open-collar white shirt, and a pair of ridiculously expensive designer jeans.

  “Jen, baby, relax. He’s going to be fine. He’s done well so far. I think he likes it here.”

  I reflected on his words. They seemed rushed. Like he was eager to leave. Yet truthfully, Scout had done well. He had mastered a few commands—well at least, when I said them—and he was happy with all his toys. Right now as we got ready for my birthday celebration, he was resting in the living room on the large pillow we’d bought him, after having eaten his dinner and taken an evening walk. He seemed worn out from today’s events. I couldn’t blame him; so many adjustments! The poor baby!

  “Blake, are you sure?” Uncertainty laced my voice.

  “One hundred percent positive.” My husband stood up as I struggled with the back zipper of my dress. “Let me help you.”

  As I studied myself in our full-length armoire mirror, I could see him swagger up to me. His eyes hooded, that cocky smirk curled on his gorgeous face.

  A few heartbeats later, he was perched right behind me and I watched as he wrapped his arms around my waist and blew a hot breath on the back of my neck. I was wearing my contact lenses though Blake preferred me to wear my tortoiseshell eyeglasses, no matter what the occasion. They turned him on. He kissed me again.

  “How do I look?” I managed as he fluttered butterfly kisses across my shoulders.

  “Mmm. Very fuckable.”

  The hairs on the nape of my neck stood up and goosebumps popped along my bare arms. A blissful moan escaped as his warm hands sailed down my spine and reached my bottom. He squeezed my cheeks in his palms, his hard length pressed against me.

  “God, baby! I so want to fuck you. Any way I can.”

  Then I let out a yelp as he slid a finger into my freshly showered backdoor entrance. His long, deft finger began to pump into me. Driving me to ecstasy.

  My back arched and I met his finger thrusts, squeezing my muscles around his digit, longing to come. The thrusts came harder and faster, and I felt myself fall apart. And sag against him.

  “Happy Birthday, tiger,” Blake breathed into my ear as he withdrew his finger and slowly slid up the zipper. The metallic hiss sent another round of goosebumps to my skin. After another kiss on my neck, he took my hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

  “Wait one sec,” I said as Blake led me into the living room. He shot me a puzzled look as I broke free of his grip.

  Balancing on my heels, I bent down and kissed Scout who was curled up sound asleep. “Don’t worry, baby boy, we’ll be back soon! Be a good boy for Mommy and Daddy.”

  CATCH was one of the hottest restaurants in LA. It took months to get a reservation there, but Chaz and his fiancé Jeffrey with all their connections had managed to score one. We were seated at a prime table in the breathtaking main dining room, feasting on jumbo shrimp and truffle sashimi and drinking Dom Pérignon. I hadn’t seen them—or Chaz’s twin sister Libby, my BFF—since our weeklong trip to Scotland. The conversation was lively, with my two dear gay friends wanting to know everything.
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  I zipped out my cell phone from my purse and showed them photos of our trip. Many of them were of Blake and me wearing our matching kilts.

  “Oooh, Blakey, you look so cute in a skirt!” cooed Chaz.

  “Nice legs,” added Libby with a snicker.

  “What did you wear underneath?” asked Jeffrey.

  My husband blushed with embarrassment. The truth is, he went commando! And we fucked like Scottish bunnies. Sparing him from responding, I reached under the table and retrieved three small shopping bags.

  “We brought you guys back presents.” I handed each of my friends a bag and they simultaneously reached inside them. Whoots and thank yous all around. Each of them had gotten a beautiful tartan wool scarf, which we’d purchased at a charming shop in Edinburgh. While they likely wouldn’t get much use in Los Angeles, my trio of friends traveled regularly for business to colder climates throughout the year. And would appreciate them.

  “So, what did Blake get you for your birthday?” asked a tipsy Libby, with her scarf draped around her neck and guzzling her second glass of champagne. Libby had a tendency to drink a lot and become loose-lipped.

  “This!” Picking up my phone again, I scrolled through my photos until an adorable picture of Scout popped onto the screen. I’d taken a ton of photos of him in the afternoon, including selfies of the two of us, after he’d mastered the sit and stay commands. I handed the phone to Libby, who shared it with Chaz and Jeffrey, seated on either side of her. As they scrolled through the pics, they squealed, their rapid-fire comments overlapping.

  “Oh my God! You got a dog!”

  “He’s so cute!”

  “Where did you get him?”

  “The West LA Animal Shelter.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Scout.”

  “Like in Boy Scout?” asked Libby.

  “Yes!” I winked at my husband. “Now, I have a real Boy Scout, right Blake?”

  “Yeah, right.” His voice flat, my husband did not seem amused by my little pun. He constantly told me he had once been a Boy Scout. Scout’s honor. But he could never prove it and hence I didn’t believe him.

  A waiter came by and took our entrée orders. And not before long, we were feasting on a spread of delicious small-plated main dishes, ranging from Maryland crab cakes to New Zealand green mussels, plus a whole, grilled wild-caught branzino that we shared. Libby took it upon herself to order a second bottle of champagne, followed by a third one, and we all indulged. As to be expected, Chaz insisted we play a game. It was our ritual.

  “Not truth or dare!” I begged, not wanting to play the blindfolded kissing game that had brought Blake and me together.

  “No, but it does require a blindfold. These fabulous scarves will be perfect!”

  Two minutes later I, the birthday girl, had Chaz’s new plaid scarf wrapped around my eyes and my wrists bound behind my back with Jeffrey’s. I was standing up and couldn’t see or touch a thing. The game was called Sit ’n Snort, and it was simple. After being spun around a few times, I had to walk around the table and then sit on someone. Except before I started circling, my companions would exchange seats (or not) and place their chair cushions on their laps. It was my job to sit on one of their laps and when I did, they would snort, and I’d have to guess whose lap I was sitting on. Easy peasy, right? Wrong!

  I was already feeling lightheaded from the champagne, and being the spaz I was, I almost tripped a few times. Moreover, everyone was already snorting like pigs, which made it hard not to laugh and tumble over. The sooner I sat on someone’s lap the better. After a few more awkward, blindfolded steps, I gingerly lowered myself onto a cushion, hoping I wouldn’t land on the floor on my butt.

  A single snort. Hmm. Who could it be? I honestly couldn’t tell if it was one of the guys or Libby. Snort, snort again. Then, I felt a pair of strong knees bounce me.

  Blake! I knew it and shouted out his name. On my next breath, the scarf around my eyes was swept off and before I could blink them open, a fierce passionate kiss smacked my lips. Oh, That Man!

  Whoots from my friends filled my ears.

  “Jenny-Poo! You won!” shouted Chaz. “Now, it’s Blake’s turn.”

  To be honest, I’d had enough of this silly game—I’d gotten my “prize”—and was eager to get home to check on Scout. Fingers crossed he was okay.

  Then suddenly without warning, a harmonic rendition of “Happy Birthday” played in my ears. Still sitting on Blake’s lap, I glimpsed a group of singing waiters coming our way with a lit up birthday cake. They set the cake down on the table in front of me.

  “Close your eyes and make a wish, baby,” urged Blake.

  His arms wrapped around my waist, I did as he asked and blew out all the candles in a single breath.

  There was only one thing I could wish for.

  A baby.

  Chapter 11

  Blake

  Holding a giant shopping bag filled with my tiger’s presents—a new cocktail dress from Chaz, an elegant silver picture frame from Jeffrey that she planned to use for a Scout photo, and the board game Sexopoly, a gag gift from Libby,—I was about to unlock the door to our condo. Jen’s best presents were yet to come. First, my own version of Sexopoly. This greedy bastard was going to own every inch of her being. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every cell. Every bit of prime real estate. Her lips. Her tits. Her clit. Her pussy. I was going to fuck her into tomorrow. My cock flexed beneath my jeans as I inserted the key into the hole. I chuckled silently. A poetic metaphor.

  “Blake, don’t you think it’s weird that Scout’s not barking or scratching at the door?” asked Jen as I fumbled with the double lock. The stupid lock had always been a pain in the ass, and being somewhat plastered didn’t help.

  “Nah. He had a big day. I bet he’s outside on the terrace taking a snooze.”

  “That’s not possible. I kept the sliding doors to the terrace locked. We need to dog-proof it before we can let him go outside by himself.”

  For a second, the image of him leaping off the terrace like Krypto the Superdog flashed in my head. It instantly faded as the safety bolt unlocked. Cranking the handle, I kicked the door open with my foot and we stepped inside the condo. The shopping bag dropped to the floor as my eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

  “Holy fucking shit!”

  “Oh my God!” shrieked Jen.

  We’d stepped into a full-on blizzard in our living room.

  No, not snowflakes, but a flurry of snow-white feathers swirling in the air everywhere. Scout had destroyed every one of our down-filled pillows, the tattered remnants scattered on the floor. Including the one Jen had bought me in Scotland with the words: It ain’t easy being king.

  Rage surged inside me. I was not going to let this dog royally screw with me. It was time to show him once and for all who was—make that is—king of this house. Who was the alpha. Swiping at the feathers, I scoured the room, looking for the bastard. Where the hell was he? Calling out his name several times, I looked left; I looked right. He was nowhere in sight. My hands clenched by my sides, I stormed out of the living room and marched toward our bedroom, my tiger trailing close behind me.

  The bedroom was even a bigger disaster area than the living room. A total whiteout! All six pillows on our bed had been obliterated along with the goose down comforter. We were in a war zone!

  “I’m going to teach that dog a lesson he’ll never forget!”

  Jen reached for my elbow, holding me back.

  “Blake, please. Don’t hurt him. He’s only a puppy!” A mixture of desperation and fear laced her voice. She knew my adrenaline rivaled my testosterone. I was on a mission and nothing—I repeat NOTHING—was going to stop me.

  You can run, but you can’t hide, I gritted silently, clenching my teeth. Narrowing, my eyes circled the room as the endless feathers bombarded me. Almost blinding me. The beast was still nowhere in sight.

  “I’ll check your office and the guest bathroom,” off
ered Jen, skirting off and leaving me alone.

  I checked under the bed. Inside the walk-in closets. Behind the curtains. No Scout.

  After checking our ensuite bathroom with no luck, I returned to the bedroom, surveying the mess. All my après dinner plans were in ruins. The king-size bed was no longer fit for a king, let alone a pauper. I’d conjured coming home to an epic session of making love with her new toy and then after a few orgasms, surprising her with the bauble I’d bought in Scotland. Before we went out, I’d hidden it under her stuffed white tiger. A gift to my wife on our first Christmas together, the plush animal was a permanent fixture on our bed. A symbol of our love. Surrounding it, every down-filled pillow was in shambles. The cases torn, the feathers leaking out. Limp as ragdoll sacks. But to my amazement, the tiger was intact, except for having fallen over. A sliver of relief sliced through my rage as I picked it up. The dainty little box was there, but not as I left it. The lid was off, pitted with teeth marks and missing the decorative stick-on bow. The velvet cushion inside the box was gone too, replaced by a bed of tiny feathers. Panicky, I picked up the ravaged box and shook it upside down, emptying the handful of feathers. Nothing was inside! I repeat: NOTHING. The bauble was gone! G-O-N-E. GONE!

  My heart almost stopped, then it began to gallop. It had to be here! It had to! I flung all the deflated pillows along with the saggy comforter on the floor and searched the bed. Blindly feeling for a small metal object. Patting every inch of the mattress pad. Fuck. It wasn’t here. Hopping off the mattress, I dropped to my knees and frantically began to crawl on the floor. Looking under the bed, turning everything upside down, shaking out shoes, and digging through the blanket of feathers. Nothing. Fucking nada unless you counted a dead spider. In a nano second, my focus went from where was the dog to where was my bauble. My throat constricted, my chest clenched.

  And then Jen’s voice resonated in my ears. “Blake, I found him! He was hiding in the guest bathroom and is fine.”