ROMANCE: Mr. Mystery: (New Adult Bad Boy Romance) (Contemporary Mystery Short Stories) (80 page)

Chapter 12

Six months later, Rick was pacing around a waiting room in a hospital.  Freddie watched him pace back and forth and chuckled a bit.  Freddie had predicted that Rick would be calm during the delivery but instead he was a nervous wreck.

Freddie eventually got up and walked over to Rick.  “Hey, I think we should go back in there.  She is going to want us by her side, don’t you think?” Rick looked at him a moment before nodding nervously.  There was a layer of sweat covering his well-chiseled body and anyone could tell that he was nervous. 

Freddie chuckled again before taking Rick by the arm and dragging him into the delivery room. 

Regina was in the bed.  There were doctors and nurses all around her, prepping her for the delivery.  Rick turned pale as he entered the room and saw everything around him.  He didn’t like hospitals.  He looked ready to faint. 

Freddie kept him standing and looked at Regina. “How are you feeling honey?”  Freddie looked at her and offered her a warm smile.

******

“It’s a girl!”  The doctor exclaimed.  Rick had fainted the moment he had seen the head and Freddie was now holding Regina’s hand.  She was tired but happy that she had successfully brought a beautiful baby boy into the world. 

“Who’s the father?” The doctor asked. 

“They both are.” 

THE END

Chapter 1

Look, if there's one thing I know it's the fact that relationships are about compromise. I think anyone alive with any sort of reasonable grasp on how human interaction should know that, really. I mean, hell, it's pretty damn fundamental. We human beings are pretty complex creatures, and it requires a substantial amount of give and take for any sort of union between two individuals to take place.

Particularly, I think, when those two individuals happen to be members of opposite sexes. And, you know, I think if a person is important enough to you then you should reasonably be willing to put yourself out there like that. You can't begrudge someone for wanting different things than yourself, much the same way you wouldn't want them begrudging you for your own quirks and character flaws.

Like, take me for instance. I was well aware that I had my number of bad habits and, without any other way to put it, personal shortcomings. Things that might have been deterrents from wanting to be around me for all that long. Yet, the guys I'd dated up to that point compromised because they had feelings for me, or, at the very least, they wanted to get into my panties, and saw my plethora of annoyances as little more than obstacles to have been expected.

But, my point is, none of that scared them off, and so I thought that I could adjust my own habits as well if someone wanted something of me in return that might have been just slightly out of my comfort zone.

Like, to give you an example of something that guys would do for me, I can tell you without any hesitation that I've always been a bit of a shopaholic. I just loved going to stores and scavenging the shelves for hours. Trying things on and lusting over merchandise I didn't reasonably have any need for. It was a most irrational hobby, I knew, but it was just something that appealed to me.

A chance to get out and have a bit of fun, and I didn't think there was anything out of the pale or fanatic about it. My boyfriends, however, might well have felt different about the act. Like, I'm sure that most of the guys I was with didn't all that much care for standing around watching me try on outfits, slipping into dress after dress after dress. Squeezing into blouses that looked ridiculous on me, and any number of other things throughout the course of the day- and generally on a weekend, no less.

And what was more, I would not only try them on in front of my gentlemen callers, but I would ask them to come up with some comment upon whatever I happened to put on. Generally, I could see it in their eyes- the fact that they seriously had no opinion on the matter, and that whatever happened to pass from their lips had just been yanked from their ass in order to satisfy me.

I knew this full and well, of course, but that didn't at all stop me from asking a series of ridiculous follow up questions. Like, I would ask them to elaborate on what they'd said or what they'd meant by it, and they would have to further articulate an opinion which they didn't genuinely even harbor to begin with. And what I'm sure got their goat the most was the fact that, once they'd come up with that elaborate dissertation on their own fabricated opinions, it was anyone's guess as to how the hell I would respond to it.

If it was a negative opinion, which it rarely ever was, I would get into a huff until they ended up having to pacify me by pouring on compliments. Or, conversely, if what they said was encouraging, there was still very little likelihood whatsoever of me taking their advice. Instead putting the item back on the shelf as though I had never actually had any intention of purchasing it to begin with. I mean, I didn't intentionally get under guys' craws like this, it was just sort of something I had a habit of doing.

And at any rate, if they proved themselves able to put up with this sort of bullshit, I considered it a promising sign that they were precisely the sort of boyfriend material I was looking for in a prospective mate. I'm sure they wouldn't have minded so much if it had been lingerie shopping we were doing instead of gawking around the store for dresses and things like that. The fact that they were willing to indulge me in this way spoke volumes to the degree to which they would bend in order to be with me.

And so, accordingly, I tried to conduct myself in a similar nature, knowing that any sort of successful relationship would involve me doing some things I wasn't necessarily crazy about doing, and, if I could help it, keeping the number of complaints I might have had about it to myself. But, the thing was, I generally expected this sort of reciprocation to be analogous to that which I was requesting of the men in the first place.

Like, easy things, spending time together and doing things that they wanted to do rather than just myself. Maybe that would entail the two of us like going to sporting events together, athletics holding very little if any interest for me, personally, but the sacrifice being worth it in order to maintain the excitement of the relationship. Or maybe, otherwise, I would go to whatever new empty-headed action movie happened to be in theaters that given week.

Perhaps in compensation for a chick flick they'd gone and seen with me at some point in time. Or hell, maybe I would even go hunting with my boyfriend if he was someone I really liked, and the so-called sport of murdering animals was that important to him. I wouldn't shoot anything, of course, so much as just sit and watch him, and although at one point a guy I was seeing let me shoot his gun a single time. I decided that that lone shot was more than enough for me, and never cared all that much to lay hands on a gun again.

But the point was, I didn't mind doing things for my boyfriends as long as there was an even trade of sacrifice. Yet there were, naturally, limits as to what I was willing to sacrifice for them, as should be the case for any self-respecting woman in a relationship. Or man in a relationship, for that matter.

And as far as those sorts of limitations went, Philip was a man who tended to push said boundaries very, very far...

By the time the two of us had originally met, I'd gotten pretty damn weary of the dating game. In my mid-twenties and finding nothing but unserious douchebags who only wanted good times, or else conversely hyper-serious maniacs who seemed eager to settle down and start a family with me by the time the goddamn third date rolled around.

Philip, though, seemed to me, upon first glance, at least, to be the exception to the rule. I don't know if I was just swimming in the wrong dating pool or what, but Philip was so far removed from any of that crap that I found myself falling for him almost instantly. The two of us had met at a party and hit it off quite swimmingly. Our interaction one that didn't at all seem as though he was angling for something.

Like, it was just completely organic, a genuine conversation, the sort where I didn't even have to pretend when I laughed at what he said or feign interest in any way. I decided I quite liked this gentleman, very, very much in fact, and when he gave me his number at the end of the night I somehow felt inwardly certain that things were progressing in the right direction between the two of us.

And indeed, after a few dates, he and I very quickly did become “a thing.” It was almost startling, really, how quickly he managed to penetrate my own defenses and wriggle his way into my heart. The two of us moving in together only after a couple of months, and things, for the most part, seeming great. He just had so many redeeming qualities and, so far as I could tell, no particular character flaws to detract from the relationship. He was handsome, intelligent, funny, and charming, and he seemed legitimately concerned about my needs and desires, in a manner to which I was not especially accustomed with the sorts of men I tended to date.

And without mincing words, well... He was also pretty fucking dynamite in the sack...

Little did I know at the time, however, that this last fact about himself would be the one to lead to some degree of friction between the two of us...

See, sex was important to me, but I wasn't any sort of nymphomaniac or anything. From the get-go, I could appreciate the fact that my new boyfriend was well-endowed, and so far as I could tell he had an almost inherent, effortless expertise in the bedroom. His timing, his rhythm, his technique all verged on immaculate, and he never failed at touching me in such splendid ways that it nearly made my eyes cross with pleasure.

The thing was, though, that I had never imagined these many sexual assets to have resulted from vigorous study and practice, rather than just naturally acquired skills over the course of the years.

While I may not have been a nympho myself, I began to realize that the same could not be particularly said of Philip...

It didn't really sink in until the two of us moved in together what an absolutely kinky bastard that son-of-a-bitch was, and the opportunity to observe his many depraved habits up close was quite a bit of an eye-opener for me, to say the least of it... Like, just for instance, that man consumed one hell of a lot of porn on his laptop.

Like, I am talking absurd quantities, so that any time I rounded a corner and he happened to be in there by himself, I could readily expect him to have his wang out and pumping between his fingers, and the laptop opened up and resting on his thighs with sounds of moaning and wet smacking echoing forth from the speakers.

A taste for porn, in itself, was not something to be surprised about, however. It was a pretty normal thing for guys in this day and age, I thought, and though I have to admit it did spark just a hint of jealousy in me, I really didn't see it as all that big of a deal. What became problematic, however, was the fact that Philip began to want to incorporate the sort of lascivious activities unfolding onscreen there before him into our very real sex life on a regular basis. And I quite honestly wasn't sure how the hell I should feel about this...

Prior to our cohabitation, our sex life had been, by and large, fairly safe and vanilla in nature. Nothing too perverse or too kinky, with exchanges of oral sex and being bent over doggy style being about the most extreme acts of carnal pleasure that we ever really progressed to. But once Philip's inner gimp was revealed to me it seemed as though he was requesting we introduce something new and forbidden into our love life every day, and though I began to try to accommodate him upon his repeated asking, I found myself having to remind him fairly routinely that I was not some professional porn actress, and my body was therefore not quite as up for the many extreme contortions and penetrations that he loved so much to behold onscreen.

The variety of his tastes and requests really tended to run the gamut, quite frankly... Like on an easier day, he might ask something fairly simple of me. He might get a kick out of watching me use a dildo on myself in front of him- which, I had to say, was rather arousing for myself as well, and not that drastic of a request. But, then there would be the days like the first time he asked to butt fuck me- anal sex not being something with which I had had positive experiences in the past, but which for his sake, I indulged nonetheless. It hurt like hell as he rammed that cock of his into the tight pink tunnel of my rectum, grinding in and out of me so fiercely that I'm not entirely certain what it was that kept me from leaving him that first time it happened.

Then, after it was over, he made a similar request of me a few days later, except this time around he wanted to me to cram two long, vibrating dildos into my pussy while he ass-fucked me. It was his idea of a triple penetration of sorts, I supposed, as he at least had the foresight to know that if he'd asked for a real life gangbang of this nature I would most definitely have thrown him out on his ass without a moment's hesitation.

That one, actually, felt pretty damn wonderful for me, the sensations coursing through my body as they did from both orifices, and in some ways I felt tempted to request the real thing after a few days at first... I decided against this, however, and suffice it to say that I had plenty else to keep me occupied with him otherwise.

Like, okay, then there was the time he wanted me to handcuff him to the bed and smack at him with a leather whip while dressed up in a dominatrix outfit... That one was far and away beyond the realm of that with which I was comfortable. Submitting to his painful demands was one thing, but I had never been the dominant type, and even playfully inflicting pain on someone else was just not my cup of tea.

I did it all the same, though, feeling like a complete jackass all the while, and my efforts lacking any genuine sort of motivation as I wimpily brought the whip down upon his skin, the experience more uncomfortable for me than it was for him, I think, and my relief when it was all over perhaps too great for words.

And if that hadn't been bad enough, you can only imagine how I felt when he asked me to slide into a leather harness and anally penetrate him with a strap-on dildo...