Mother Fluffer: A Billionaire Bad Boys Bonus Novella (Bad Boy Billionaires) Read online

  Mother Fluffer

  A Billionaire Bad Boys Bonus Novella

  Published by Max Monroe LLC © 2017, Max Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing by Silently Correcting Your Grammar

  Formatting by Champagne Formats

  Cover Design by Perfect Pear Creative

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Disclaimer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Acknowledgments

  To our hilarious and enthusiastic readers who were determined as fuck in their insistence that Thatch was worth reading about again. This one is for you guys. We love you and your persistence, and we hope this is the exact kind of crazy you wanted.

  To our beautiful mothers, Hot Mom & Bee, you’re the wind beneath our little writing wings.

  Thanks for always being there. We consider ourselves the luckiest because of you.

  We love you to the moon and back.

  To Thatch: please leave us alone for a little while.

  Disclaimer

  Max and Monroe do not condone the use of this type of prank in real life.

  Seriously, don’t try this prank at home.

  Oh, and did we mention not to attempt this prank, or any prank like this one for that matter?

  Don’t do it.

  Like, not ever.

  Not once in your whole life.

  Disclaimer for the disclaimer

  While Max and Monroe do not condone the use of this prank in real life, they strongly urge you to grab some popcorn, maybe a glass of wine, and be prepared to laugh your little ass off.

  But, please, use caution while drinking and/or eating while reading the hilarity that is about to take shape before your very eyes.

  Enjoy!

  Weren’t Sundays supposed to be a day off, a day of rest, a day of family…a day of motherfluffing fucking?

  A day of God, actually, you say? Yeah, well, close enough.

  I thought so. But as I was coming to find out, I was often wrong—even when I was right. It was like an appendix to Murphy’s Law—Murphy’s Law of Marriage. As a man, whenever you could possibly ever, ever be wrong…you were.

  “Do you really have to go to work?” I whined. And yes, it was just as obnoxious in real life as it sounded in your head, but it worked because I’m lovable.

  Cassie frowned slightly with pity and then reached down and twisted my nipple, and I let out a shriek.

  Okay, so it only partially worked because, in addition to being lovable, I’m also a pain in the ass.

  According to my wife, and pretty much all of my friends, a big one. But honestly, it was just the size of my personality. You can’t be this charming without an equally balanced vat of faults. Though, I contended that some of the things other people saw as negatives were, in fact, positives.

  “Yes,” she said with a sigh and followed it up with my favorite eye roll. My wife could pull off attitude like no one else, and hell if it didn’t drive me crazy.

  “Yes, you’re going to stay home and let me hold your tits all day?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  “Yes, I have to go to work. What, do you expect me to just hang out barefoot in the kitchen all day because I’m pregnant?”

  I scoffed right into a chortle, but the venomous arch of Cassie’s eyebrow made me regret it nearly immediately. She was seven months along with our second child—another boy according to the ultrasound—and no less of a challenge. Hell on wheels was too soft a description for the woman I’d married, and all the hormones involved with cooking a human only enhanced her natural traits. She wouldn’t be who she was if she didn’t bust my balls and make society at large a little uncomfortable. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push past the boundaries to poke the already agitated bear, so to speak.

  Oh, by the way… don’t tell her I compared her to a bear. I’m quite attached to my balls, and I’d really love to live past the age of forty. Thanks.

  “Come on, Crazy. You spend approximately zero minutes of your day in the kitchen.”

  She scoffed. “Like you’re a saint.”

  I laughed at her complete non sequitur. My rap sheet had absolutely nothing to do with the amount of time she did or didn’t—didn’t—spend in the kitchen.

  “I didn’t say anything about being a saint.”

  “That’s right! You’re fluffing not. You’re also a fluffing idiot for bringing up anything other than my tits and my pussy right now. Do you even remember that your dick is inside me?”

  I did, in fact, remember, the pseudo-argument between us making the Supercock harder by the minute.

  “I’m not the one who forgets she’s having sex and falls asleep.”

  “Take that back! It happened one time!”

  I shook my head with a laugh, the vibration of it stimulating my dick and shooting pleasure up my spine. I fucking loved when we had battles in the middle of sex. Something about the combination of the two reminded me just how much I loved right where I was—how suited we were for one another.

  “Nooo,” I corrected. “It didn’t. It happened at least twice. And after that, I’m not convinced you didn’t just figure out how to fake alertness in a sleep state.”

  Chagrined, she did her best impression of an apology.

  “Shut up, and fuck me.”

  Notoriously, her apologies tended to look a little different in the wild than someone else might be used to in the societal zoo.

  “I am,” I reminded her with a laugh. “Can’t you tell?”

  “Oh, whoops. I guess I couldn’t feel your tiny dick.”

  I guffawed, nearly shouting each bark of laughter. She covered my mouth with her hand. “Shut up! Ace is sleeping.”

  “Okay,” I agreed through a hand-muffled mumble. “But come on…a tiny dick? You’re losing your coital-quarrel sharpness.”

  I jolted my hips up under hers for emphasis, and she moaned.

  “Yeah,” I taunted. She licked her lips with a smile, and her huge, fucking shrine-worthy tits bounced before settling back on top of her pregnant swell.

  “Thank God your stomach gets bigger when you’re pregnant,” I cooed, rubbing my hands all over her rounded belly. She looked perfect up there, sitting astride me with my cock nestled deep inside.

  “What?” she shrieked and smacked me on the shoulder. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because, Crazy. How else would you support these bea
utiful, big, succulent, motherfluffing perfect titties of yours?”

  “Thatch!”

  “Your milk jugs need a shelf, honey.” I skimmed my thumbs along the seam where tit met stomach to emphasize my point.

  “But right now, I’m about to pour myself a glass.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare make my milk come!”

  “Ooh,” I teased. “A real curse. You must mean business.”

  “I will dick-punch you.”

  I smirked. “Gonna be kinda hard while it’s wrapped up nice and safe inside the sweet heat of your pussy.”

  She moved immediately to pull up, so I gripped her hips with a flex of my fingertips and slammed her back down.

  Leaning up and forward, I flicked her nipple with my tongue. “What’s the matter? You want to play rough?”

  She grabbed my hand and moved it to the connection between us, using her finger on top of mine to make me rub her clit. “I want you to hurry, motherfluffer. I’ve got to be out of the house in twenty minutes, and Ace is going to wake up any second.”

  “Perfection can’t be rushed, honey.” Though, she was right. Our little demon was waking up earlier and earlier these days, and if we didn’t take this tussle to a satisfying conclusion, no one was going to be happy with me. Not her and certainly not the Supercock. Time to hurry this along.

  “I swear to God, I’m going to strangle you—ahh!” She squealed, effectively cut off from her new line of arguing, as I sat up and bucked my hips at once, forcing her to her back and spreading her knees wide. I put the tip of my finger to her clit and swirled.

  “Still want to strangle me?” I taunted with a wink as she moved her hips greedily in time with my finger.

  She nodded. “Yeah, actually. I want to fluffing choke your perfect neck.”

  I smirked at her use of a fake curse word, even in the throes of sex, but I didn’t call attention to it. Unlike the ribbing of before, she wouldn’t take kindly to any form of real criticism—especially since I’d been the one to point out her need for language reform in the first place.

  Word to the wise, fellas: Call as little attention as possible to any past actions that could be construed as mistakes. You’ll make more than enough in the present and future, and there’s only so much a man can deal with. We’re not multitaskers by nature.

  “Later,” I told her, using an arm on her upper back and a hand behind her knees to safely flip her to all fours, and I surged back inside.

  She threw her head back, her chocolate hair flying up and over in an arc as she did, and pushed her weight back toward me.

  Every inch of her slightly-curvier-than-normal ass called to me.

  Slap me, Thatcher. Sting me with the bite of your huge, manly hands. Geez. Not even her ass was immune to complimenting me.

  I brought my hand down sharply, the clap of my skin against her perfect ass ringing out into the room.

  “Again,” she pushed as she slammed her hips back toward mine.

  Good God. Yep, this was why I loved this woman. She matched me effortlessly in everything—and even outdid me on occasion. When it came to me, Thatcher Kelly, that was a feat not often achieved.

  “That’s it,” I encouraged, bringing my hand down to connect with her already pink skin once more. “Use me, baby. Make my cock your bitch.”

  “Thatcher!” she yelled out as I slapped her ass once more, and she rammed her hips back harder.

  “Hey!” I heard from outside the door, my four-year-old son’s tiny but gangster voice pulling both me and my wife to an abrupt and panicked stop. “Stop that!” Three angry knocks shook the door, and Cassie’s flustered eyes shot over her shoulder to meet mine.

  “Mommy! Daddio! I am trying to sleep! You guys are too loud!”

  Oh, thank Jesus. He didn’t know what we were doing, just that we were doing it too loudly.

  I leaned forward and put my lips to Cassie’s ear. “I guess it’s time to be really quick, huh?”

  Immediately, she dissolved into a fit of tears and curled her body into an accompanying ball.

  Great. Neither one of us is going to finish now.

  Like it was the body’s natural will, a certain supercocky part of me started to shrink at the sound of her hysteria, too.

  Her crying picked up in intensity as if she sensed it.

  Ah, fuck. Pulling out and turning her in my arms, I did my best to envelop her in comfort.

  “What’s wrong, Crazy?”

  “Pretty soon we’re going to have two of them. Two little, miniature yous. What did I do to deserve this? I’m a nice person!” she wailed.

  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, Aceh
ole.”

  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.”