Attainment (The Temptation Series) (11 page)

“My baby doll.”

“Oh.” I don’t really know what to say to that.

Unbuttoning his little blue onesie, I soon become horrifyingly
aware that yes, the wind he not long ago broke, was not wind at all. Instead,
what is filling his nappy and spilling out over the sides, is my worst
nightmare.

“Aw, Brayden...what the crap, buddy.”

I lift his legs out of his onesie only to find the mushy
shit has found its way down them as well.
Aah, shit! It just keeps getting
worse.

Charlotte spots the poo-splosion and takes a step back.
“That’s just gross.”

 “Tell me about it,” I agree whole-heartedly.

Attempting to free his arms as well, his little hands clench
the sleeves, preventing my efforts.
Why are these stupid onesies called
Wondersuits? There’s nothing fucking wonderful about them.

“Brayden, let go,” I laugh at him with frustration, as I
gently try to pry his fingers apart.

He does as he’s told—well...technically not—and I get him
free from his suit. Except now, I have to tackle the singlet...which I’m pretty
fucking sure was white when Alexis put it on him this morning. Now looking at
it, it’s a yellowish brown and stuck to his skin.
Why do babies have to wear
so much bloody clothing?

“Shit!” I curse to myself, now beginning to stress out.

“Don’t swear,” Charlotte says from behind.

I twist around to find her inconspicuously taking steps
backward toward the door. “Where are you going?”
Don’t you bloody abandon me
now.

“To my room.”

“You said you wanted to help.”

“That was before I saw that,” she says, pointing to
Brayden’s nappy.

“You can’t leave. I need all hands on deck...Nate!” I shout,
hoping for an extra set of them.

Within seconds, Nate comes into the room looking worried.
“What?”

“I have a situation with you brother,” I explain as calmly
as possible.

“Don’t do it, Nate,” Charlotte warns. “Don’t go any closer.”

“What’s wrong? What’s that smel—“

“That smell is what Brayden is covered in and no doubt soon
to be covering me.”

I hate to admit it, but I cannot see any way out of becoming
victim to his mess.

“Right. And what do you want me to do about it?” Nate asks,
now stepping back to where Charlotte is standing.

“Pass me things.”

“What things?”

Good fucking question.

“Um...wipes. I need wipes! But first get one of those smelly
bag thingies.”

“I’ll get the bag,” Charlotte pipes up.

Nate moves to my side. “I’m on the wipes.”

“Good. Let’s get this
shit
sorted.”

“Don’t swear,” Charli says again.

“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling a little less overwhelmed.

Cringing like a God damn pansy, I peel Brayden’s singlet
from his tiny chest, lifting it over his head and accidently wiping some of the
shit on his cheek.
Fuck! Sorry, little mate.

“Ew, you just wiped poo on his face,” Charlotte complains.

“Shhh, I didn’t mean it. Don’t tell your mum,” I plead like
an idiot. “Hold the bag out.”

She holds the bag out and I drop the singlet in it.

“Wipe!” I command, now sounding somewhat like an army
sergeant. “On second thought, Nate, make that a few wipes.”

He hands me a whole bunch of them, and I wipe the shit off
Brayden’s cheek then tackle his back and tummy. Soon, we seem to have the
situation under control, the mushy poo smeared nappy and clothing in a bag.

Looking down at Brayden’s Mr. Doodle—
Bloody hell! Alexis
and her stupid nicknames
—I fret for the smallest of seconds after
discovering I don’t have it covered. The last thing I need after cleaning him
up is having piss everywhere.

Quickly, I grab a nappy and place it over the top of his
unpredictable little fella, and then sigh with relief. “Okay, Nate, grab
another singlet and suit, please,” I say, and wait for the fresh items of
clothing.

“What do I do with this?” Charlotte asks, standing like a
statue and still holding the bag with the poo-covered clothes and nappy in it.

“Rubbish bin.”

“Mum won’t be happy if you throw his clothes away.”

“Don’t be silly. We can’t keep those, they are covered in
shit.”

“Don’t swear.”

“Where has this ‘don’t swear’ shit come from?”

“Don’t swear. And Nanny told me to say it. She said you and
Mummy swear a lot.”

I chuckle to myself.
Bloody, Maryann.

Nate hands me the clean clothing and another wipe even
though I don’t need one. “She’s right, Mum won’t be happy if she finds out you
threw away Brayden’s clothes.”

“Thanks, Mate. But I don’t need any more wipes.”

“Yes, you do. You have poo on your head and arm.”

Looking at my arm and now becoming acutely aware of a smear
on my head, I shudder and wipe both spots. “Thanks. Okay, baby boy, let’s get
you dressed.”

I place a clean nappy under his bottom and go to secure it.

“You need to put some of that white cream on his bottom,”
Charli reminds me.

“Yes, yes I do.”

Thankful for my little helpers, I take the nappy rash cream
Charlotte is holding out for me and wipe a bit on Brayden’s bum. Now happily
content that I have covered all bases where this nappy change debacle is
concerned, I reclothe Brayden and pick him up, holding him in the air just like
Simba in the
Lion King
.

He smiles at me.

Hold the fuck on...he just smiled at me.

“He’s smiling,” Nate says with a laugh while pointing to his
baby brother.

 Leaning in closer for a better look, I smile back. “He is,
isn’t he?”

Despite the past hour and the nightmare he was the cause of,
his smile fills my heart with happiness—he is my pride and joy.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Do it again,” I probe, pulling ridiculous faces at Brayden.
“Come on, smile for Daddy.”

“It was just wind, Bryce,” Alexis deadpans from the sofa.

Lying on my side on the floor next to Brayden, I desperately
try to get him to smile like he had before. “No, it wasn’t, he smiled. Nate,
tell your Mum he smiled.”

“Yeah, Mum, he did. Right after he did the biggest poo in
history. It was disgusting.”

Alexis laughs and looks at me sympathetically. Her hair is
now shorter; much shorter, sitting just lower than her shoulders. She looks
incredibly cute in a sexy way.

“He will only be four weeks old tomorrow. I think it’s too
early for him to smile,” she says with empathy while flipping the page of her
magazine.

“He smiled,” I reaffirm, not having it any other way.

Alexis puts down her magazine and looks toward the kids. “So
what’s for dinner, ratbags?”

“McDonalds,” they both chant.

Shit! I hate McDonalds.

I look up at Alexis and shoot her a you’ll-pay-for-this
look. She innocently bites her bottom lip and smiles. There’s no way I can
fight that smile and she knows it, it’s her ultimate weapon. That, and the one
between her legs.

Compassionately patting me on the thigh like I’m some
elderly frail man, she offers me an out. “It’s okay, I’ll go get it.”

God! I’m pathetic.
“No. I’ll get it,” I say, shaking
my head and rolling my eyes at her as if to say that I’m quite capable of going
to the horrid place and that it doesn’t faze me in the slightest. When truth be
told, it does; it fucking fazes me immensely. I hate with a vengeance having to
go anywhere near Ronald McFucking Donald with his bright red scary hair, yellow
fucktard suit, pasty white powdery skin, and obscenely high eyebrows. How the
hell he doesn’t bother every person on this planet mystifies me.

“Charli-Bear,” Alexis says, clasping Charlotte’s hand in
hers while making it extremely obvious that she is trying to keep a straight
face. “I think you should go with Bryce,” she suggests while raising an eyebrow
at Charlotte, hinting I need someone to hold my hand.

I know what she’s doing and she thinks she is funny. She
also thinks she is going to get away with, but she’s not. No. Way. In. Hell.

Charlotte looks over at me and nods her head as though I’m
her knew found charity case. My balls basically evaporate.

“Come on then, Charlotte,” I say as I get up off the ground.

Charli walks over to the door and waits while Alexis swaps
places with me. As Alexis bends down on her knees, I lean in to kiss her neck
and gently whisper in her ear. “I like your hair. I like it so much that I’m
going to grab a fist full of it tonight while I fuck you into the next
century.”

I walk toward the door and briefly look back, finding Alexis
still on her hands and knees, watching me with hungry eyes and a salacious
grin. Her arse is perfectly poised in the air, and if it weren’t for the three
children in the room, I wouldn’t hesitate in yanking down her jeans, ripping
her underwear to shreds, and planting my cock so fucking deep inside her pussy,
I’d me more than balls deep.

Lingering probably just a little too long on her rear-end, I
click my neck to the side and clench my fist, taking a second to get my shit
back together before focussing on my trip to McFucking Hell.

***

“Why are you scared of clowns?” Charlotte asks as we walk
through the Entertainment Precinct.

 “Mr. Clark,” one of my security team acknowledges as we
pass by.

I nod back at him then answer Charli. “Because they are
weird looking.”

“Are you scared of ET?”

“No. Why?” I ask, a little perplexed by her randomness.

“Because he’s weird looking, too.”

Huh, she has a point.

“Are you scared of sloths?”

I have to think for a second about what a sloth actually
looks like. “No, I don’t think so.”

“They are REALLY weird looking.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Charli.”

We turn the corner, and once again I’m greeted with the evil
statue, sitting on the park bench styled seat like he owns the fucking joint.
Newsflash
McFuckhead, I own it.

I purposely keep my distance as I approach the counter.
Charli, however, decides to take a seat next to him.

It makes me cringe with disgust.

“Bryce, come sit with me,” she proposes, smiling sweetly at
me.

“Nope, I’m good. What do you want, Charlotte? A Happy Meal?”
I ask, wanting to get this McShit ordered so I can get the McHell out of here.

All of a sudden Charlotte bursts into pretend tears. And I
mean
really
bursts into pretend tears, howling loudly like she is
auditioning for the cowardly lion in
The Wizard of Oz.

I look around slightly dumbfounded, noticing others looking
her way as well.

“Charlotte, what are you doing?” I whisper under my breath.

Her howl gains a few decibels.

Feeling uncomfortable as it is—by having to be here in the
first place—I am now in the equivalent to hell, taking in bystanders giving me
dirty looks. I realise it’s because I’m just standing here while an innocent
little girl is crying.

Bloody Hell!

“Charlotte, come here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“No,” she faux sobs while peeking through her finger covered
face. “You come here.”

You cheeky little shit! You are just like you mother.
I’m both furious and impressed with her efforts to get me closer to the statue
of Satan.

An elderly lady touches me on the arm. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” I reassure the nosey woman then begrudgingly
make my way over to Charlotte. I kneel in front of her and ignore the statue
with every fibre in me. “You’re making a scene, Charli—“

She drops her hands from her face with lightning speed and
clasps mine which I’ve placed on her knees. Her eyes are wide like saucers,
wide and dry; completely tear free.

“He’s not real,” she whispers, focussing intently on my
face.

I feel her lift my hand and move it toward the statue.
What.
The. Fuck?

I go to pull my hand away but she secures it with her other
hand, now having both hands wrapped around mine. Intrigued by the determination
in her face—because let’s face it, I could lift her up and out of this seat
with my pinky finger—I play along for a second.

“I’m not touching the statue,” I say with stern words.

“Yes, you are. You need to,” she retorts, just as sternly.

“Charlotte. I. Am. Not. Touching. That. Statue,” I say
again, placing her hand back on her knee.

She doesn’t let go of mine, and this time her faux sadness
becomes real. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

In this moment, my heart fills with love. “Sweetheart, I
don’t want to be either. But I can’t help it.”

“But Bryce, look at him. He is just paint and...” she knocks
on his leg. “Plastic?”

I drop my head, knowing she’s right—apart from the
plastic—technically, he’s fibreglass.

Breathing in deeply and drawing on every bit of will power I
own, I look up and place my hand on Ronald’s knee. “Is that better?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she says with a tear filled
smile.

So much like her mother.

I stand, pulling her up with me and placing her on my hip.
Then I lie. “Yeah, much better.”

***

Later that night after the kids are in bed and Brayden is
asleep for what we hope is at least six hours, I walk into the ensuite to the
sound of the shower running and Alexis humming what I soon make out is Cold
Chisel’s “Flame Trees”.

Propping myself against the door frame, I watch as she soaps
her body. She has her back to me which I’m thankful for, because it affords me
a little extra time to take in the curved silky body that rocks my world.

Grabbing my t-shirt from behind, I pull it over my head and
drop it to the floor, quiet so that I don’t alert her to my presence—I want to
surprise her. I unbutton my jeans then pull them down over my already hard
dick. And taking myself in my hand, I slowly palm my length to ease the intense
throbbing that has surfaced.

I’m eager to touch every inch of her, so make way into the
shower and secure her from behind, cupping her pussy with one hand and placing
the other on her neck. She jolts in surprise for the split second it takes her
to realise I am the one holding her captive.

“It’s been 27 days since I’ve been inside you, Alexis. 27
fucking agonizing days,” I whisper harshly into her ear.

My finger flexes and massages the soft skin of her clit,
while my other hand firmly clenches her neck but not enough to make her feel
uncomfortable.

She moans and her legs weaken, but being so attuned to her
body, I predict this movement and support her waning frame.

“Can you feel my cock on your arse?” I question, nipping at
her ear before running my tongue along the back of her neck. “How hard I am?”

An indistinct word is mumbled from her mouth as I press my
finger deeper into her wet skin. Alexis begins to rock her hips against my
hand, and her head falls back onto my shoulder, baring her neck. I loosen my
grip and lightly trail my hand up and down her neckline.

“Please tell me I can fuck you.”

With her eyes still closed and water streaming down her
chest, she licks her lips. “You can.”

I let out a growl, something I do often when around this
woman. “That’s not what I asked you to say.”

I want her to tell me I can fuck her; hear those dirty
little words beg for it.

Alexis tilts her head to face me, grabs a handful of my
hair, and brings my mouth to hers, all the while forcing my finger inside her
pussy. “You can fuck me,” she mumbles, aggressively.

My body responds to her request, tensing and magnetising to
her soft wet skin. I slide my finger in and out of her and join it with a
second, gently stretching her in preparation for my cock. The last thing I want
to do is hurt her, after all, it’s only been four weeks since she gave birth.

“Does that feel good?” I ask her, making sure she is
enjoying what I’m doing.

Her body indicates that she does, but I want to hear her say
it...purr it.

“Yes, it feels...so good,” she moans.

I press my mouth to hers again and stroke her tongue with my
own, tasting all she has to offer. She is my delicacy; my desired flavour.

Alexis breaks away from my mouth and bends forward, placing
her palms flat against the tiled wall and widening her stance. Dropping my hand
from her throat, I glide it down in between her breasts only to rest it upon
her hip.

With a delectable moan slowly pouring out of her mouth, she
presses her arse against the crown of my dick, allowing me to glide and swirl
it around her opening.

“Fuck,” I ground out, now desperate to feel her pussy walls
clenching around my cock.

Slowly, I press into her, closing my eyes with the superb
sensation of her warmth which has been 27 days in waiting. The air surrounding
her mouth is sharply inhaled, and it worries me for a split second that she
isn’t quite ready like she says she is.

Just as I am about to withdraw, she lets out the most erotic
sounding moan with enough ardour to rival the steam in the shower.

“Oh God, Bryce. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed this.

“I’ve missed you too, Hunny, more than you’ll ever know.”

Encouraged by her gratification and obvious euphoria, I
proceed to hold her hips and drive into her with timed precision, my glide effortless—she’s
so wet and primed for me.

When I’m feeling this fucking ravenous and alive with pent
up sexual tension, I need to remind myself to be careful and not get carried
aware for fear of hurting her. So I pull out and spin her around to face me which
always brings me back to a safer momentum.

Lifting her back up onto my cock, I impale her and press her
against the wall, my sudden change of position forcing her to gasp. With her lips
now parted, I ravage her mouth, seeking out her tongue with my own as I
continue to drive into her, relishing the feel of her body once again joined
with mine. I realise just how much I have missed being inside her, holding her,
hearing the raw, carnal noises reverberate from within—I’ve simply missed
making love to the woman I love.

Okay, so I realise this can be seen as ridiculous. In
hindsight, it has only being less than a month since last having sex with her. The
thing is, the power of addiction is a force to be reckoned with; a dependence that
can only be cured with fortitude. And where Alexis is concerned, my resolve is
non-existent.

Feeling the build-up of pressure at the head of my dick, I
explode into her like Mount Fucking Vesuvius and growl like a God damn
barbarian, my release too long in waiting.

***

Following our love making from the night before, you’d think
I’d be one happy, relaxed, and fully sated man. But I’m not, not completely
anyway. Yes, my balls now feel a little more like the billiard variety and a
lot less like the bowling variety, I can’t dispute that. The thing is, today
I’m anxious for an entirely different reason, for today is Gareth’s birthday
and I can’t seem to get him out of my mind; out of my conscience.

Sitting here at my desk, I replay the final conversation I
had with him on the morning his psychotic DID alter, Scott, held Alexis hostage
and nearly killed her. I’d been so wrapped up and absorbed in my own life, I
had not paid attention to Gareth’s state of mind and body language, completely
failing to see just how out of control his condition really was. I’d fooled
myself into believing that he was taking his meds because I’d asked him to do
so, never having thought to check that the pills he was actually taking were,
in fact, the prescribed ones—apparently, he had been popping vitamins in my
presence.