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Nadia: Sigh. You just spilled the secret out to the millions of people that are watching.
Chase: Actually I think the number was close to 1 billion people tuned in to see the finale of The Biggest Licker.
Nadia: Wow. All those people saw how Megan basically said fuck you to the producers and the crazy situation they had set up and chose love huh?
Chase: Well, the official line is audience, that love won. Megan didn’t win. Well, I guess she did. But more than anything, love won. It’s not about who lost. It’s about who won.
Nadia: Wait, isn’t it about who lost?
Chase: No, because think about it. Everyone who in some way touched The Biggest Licker or experienced any part of it came out the winner. Even if they got just a little bit of enjoyment from it. Whether they stayed for the whole thing or part way, they won. And that’s what we want. A lot of winners.
Nadia: I know. We don’t like losers.
Chasers: So audience, thank you for following us this season. We look forward to further pleasing you in the future. This has been a Naughty Angel Production!
Nadia: Ciao, everyone! Be sure to watch out for us! We might pop in throughout other stories just to say hello!
Chase: Until next time, this is…
Voiceover: THE BIGGEST LICKER!!!!!
Jailbait
A Secret Baby Bad Boy Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2016 by Alexis Angel
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Alexis Angel
Kerri
The house is quiet. I place my keys on the dining table and walk through the living room. It's dark, but I hear the steady hum of a fan. He must have left it on and then got called into work because I don't hear him, I think to myself. But then I hear a noise coming from an upstairs bedroom. Was that a giggle or a cough, or maybe something else? I can't tell. The sound is too far away.
I slowly make my way up the stairs. "Hello?" I call out. But I don't receive a response. Maybe Jonathan is home and taking a shower. I approach our bedroom. The door is closed but there is a light on. I turn the knob and push the door open. The stereo is on and I hear our familiar song playing its soulful melody:
"If the stars don't shine, if the moon won't rise, if I never see the setting sun again, you won't hear me cry, this I testify, please believe me, boy, you know I won't lie, you and me, you and me…"
I blink back the light of the room as my eyes adjust. At first nothing seems amiss. I notice our rumpled white comforter on the bed and it's moving rhythmically. "Jonathan?" I ask. But before I hear anything else, I now know what I'm looking at, and I'm having a hard time believing it. My eyes burn, and I blink, but when I open them again, I know everything is now changed. My life is irrevocably altered.
"Babe, what are you doing home? I thought you were working?" Jonathan stammers, holding the comforter up to his chin.
At first, I'm too stunned to say anything. And then I scream, and once I open my mouth, I can't stop. Words spill out of my mouth like water from a fire hose. "Get out! You bastard, get out! Now! Just get out!" Hot tears are spilling out of my eyes, and I hate myself for crying. I should be stronger than this. My strong-willed mother raised me, and if she were here right now, she'd tell me to be tougher than this. I can almost hear her voice in my ear, with its deep, serious tone, telling me that this man doesn't deserve me. He isn't worth crying about. But I'm devastated—there is no question about it—and the hurt that's coursing through me drowns that all out.
"We can work this out," Jonathan pleads. He's getting out of our bed, naked, and holding a pillow in front of his erect cock. His hair is a mess and he runs his fingers through it. His face is flush; he seems scared, but he's forcing his mouth into a smile, and I can't help but look at his rows of perfectly white, straight teeth. I used to think they were a thing of beauty, and now I think they make him look fake, like a real-life talking mannequin, which reminds me of a horror movie. He extends his hand to mine, but I don't let him touch me. I swat it away and turn my body before crossing my arms defensively.
Before this moment, I thought he was the perfect man, even the man of my dreams. I believed that the fairy tale was possible—I bought into the Disney dream that said everyone had their soul mate—their hero on a white horse would come along, so long as you waited for him. I pictured us in this house with kids. I pictured the w
edding. I even found myself day dreaming about what kind of flowers I'd use for our arrangements. Hell, I even thought we'd eventually have the mini-van and the weekday soccer practices. It was such a clear picture.
"I made a mistake," he pleads. "I swear this'll never happen again." I snatch his pillow and throw it across the room. I want him to feel just as exposed and vulnerable as I do in this moment.
