Confessions of a Litigation God: A Legal Affairs Full Length Erotic Novel (35 page)

I blink at Marissa…
several times. I think she might be a mirage who might disappear if I
keep blinking at her, because it can’t be real… not this
woman standing in front of me acting like she was hurt when our
marriage crumbled. Not the woman who ended up with everything…
our son, a huge child support payment, and my balls in a vice grip.

“I don’t
understand,” is all I can say, because, fuck… I really
don’t understand.

Marissa sighs and
looks at me in disappointment. “No, Matt… I don’t
suppose you do. Let me put it this way… I hurt you—you
hurt me. You’re pissed at me—well, guess what... I’m
pissed at you. You’ve changed—I’ve changed. It’s
all fucked up, but this is the way it is. So deal with it. Now, if
you don’t mind, go get my son so I can get out of here.”

Her eyes are like
shards of ice as she glares at me, and I actually feel like said
shards are ripping through me right now. Marissa is pissed, but I
also hear pain in her voice and that pisses me off, because there is
a tiny part of me that actually might be a little empathetic to her.

And that pisses me
off even more, because that bitch doesn’t deserve an ounce of
it from me. She has absolutely no business making me feel bad for
dissolving our marriage.

Granted, I may have
rained hell down on her when I found out, but it was within my right
to do so. So what if I kicked her ass out on the street? She had been
fucking some art professor at the time, and I was quite sure he’d
let her crash with him. And so what if I told everyone we knew what a
lying whore she was? It was the God’s honest truth.

And where is the
fucking gratitude? Because thereafter, once I calmed down, we were
able to work out a shared custody arrangement and I agreed to give
her Gabe during the weekdays in return for her being a stay-at-home
mom given that I traveled so much. I paid her a lot of fucking money
every year so that her sole job was to be there for Gabe when I
couldn’t.

Fucking bitch!

Turning away,
because I really can’t stand to look at her face a second more,
I walk back to Gabe’s room.

Mac is sitting on
his bed, and Gabe is showing her some of his books. He’s
sitting beside her on the bed with his favorite book,
The Giving
Tree
, open on his lap and he’s reading to her. It’s a
beautiful moment, my young son comfortable enough with my girlfriend
to read to her. It should warm me… fill me up with all kinds
of yummy, gooey goodness.

Instead, I feel
nothing but anger, disappointment, and disgust. I feel pain, remorse,
and even fucking guilt. These are all feelings that I fucking hate
because they make me feel terrible and so when I look in on Mac and
Gabe sitting there, I think I just go ahead and will myself to turn
off all my feelings, which includes the good ones too.

I don’t spare
a glance at Mac but walk over to put my hand on Gabe’s
shoulder. “Hey, little man. Let’s get your stuff
together. Mom has important stuff she needs to do, and you’ll
have to go with her.”

Gabe whines, “No,
Daddy… I want to stay here with you.”

And while I might be
able to shut off many of my feelings, it’s impossible to do so
where Gabe is concerned. My heart practically shrivels in on itself
that I have to send him with his mom. By the terms of our custody
arrangement, I have no right to him today. If I try to even argue
about it with Marissa, she’ll pitch a fit right in front of
Gabe and the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do, is let
Gabe know how I truly felt about his mother. So I was always calm
with her and treated her with respect when he was around, starting
from the very day I booted her ass out, sending Gabe to stay with my
parents so he wouldn’t see the storm that was unleashing.

Since that day, I
never argued or raised my voice with her. If I felt she was going to
be combative, I always backed down, because winning a fight with
Marissa was never as important as making sure Gabe never had to see
how fucked up his parents really were.

Kneeling down, I
pull Gabe up from his bed and into my arms. I squeeze him as hard as
I can manage without crushing my little man. “I know. I want
you to stay here, too. But go with Mommy, and I promise that we’ll
go to Coney Island next weekend. Okay?”

Gabe nods his head,
and I stand up. Taking his little Marvel Comics suitcase, I quickly
pack up his stuff and zip it up. Mac stands up from the bed but
doesn’t say a word. I’m not sure if I can handle her
saying anything to me right now, because my insides are so chewed up.

Lifting the
suitcase, I turn to Gabe. “Let’s go.”

I watch as he turns
to Mac and hugs her leg, looking up at her. “Bye, Mac. See you
next weekend.”

A sweet moment,
really. The way Gabe has taken to her so quickly. Mac looks down at
him with a smile and strokes the top of his head. “Bye, Gabe.”

I should be filled
with warmth over this, because just an hour ago, I was terrified he
wouldn’t like her.

Now?

Now, I’m not
feeling much of anything because I’ve demanded that blessed
numbness be my crutch for right now.

Gabe takes my hand
and we walk together back out to the living room, where Marissa
stands waiting. She at least gives him a warm smile and says, “I’m
sorry to do this, baby. Mommy has to do something important, but you
can see Daddy next weekend and he’ll take you to Coney Island
then. Okay?”

My son isn’t
so easy to forgive this right now, so he just glares at her and then
turns to hug me. I kiss him on the head and as I pull away, I look
one more time at Marissa. I go ahead and open my gaze to her so I can
get another hefty dose of her bitterness and gloating hate that would
normally come after a victory such as this.

Instead, she just
stares at me passively, as if she’s trying to see something
that maybe wasn’t there a moment ago. I quickly avert my gaze,
because I don’t want to give her anything she’s seeking,
and turn my back on them both, walking back into my kitchen. I hear
the front door open and close, and then they’re gone.

Putting both of my
palms on my kitchen counter, I hang my head down and close my eyes,
trying to replay the conversation with Marissa in my head. Trying to
figure out where it got out of control.

She told me I didn’t
give her a chance to atone for her sin.

It’s true
enough. No apology would have ever made a difference to me. But I’m
thinking by the mere fact she brought it up, it may have made a
difference to her. It may have absolved her of her guilt. It may have
made things better for her.

Savage rage such as
I have never felt except for one other time in my entire life, and
that is when Cal confessed to sleeping with Marissa, rises in me. How
dare she try to make me feel guilty after what she did to me? How
dare she try to put any of this on me? The blood is pounding so
forcefully through my veins that the light actually dim a bit in my
eyes.

“Are you
okay?” Mac asks quietly, and I realize she’s walked into
the kitchen.

My head snaps up,
and she flinches by what she sees in my eyes. That makes me feel
guilty, and it seems like I can’t fucking win with women these
days. I apparently do nothing but hurt them.

“No, I’m
not fucking okay,” I snarl at her, and she flinches again. “How
can I be okay after that?”

But between the two
of us, only I know that the thing with Marissa was so much more than
what Mac actually observed. She didn’t get to see the really
juicy stuff that occurred after she took Gabe back into his bedroom.

“I’m
sorry,” Mac says quietly and she’s saying that not only
because she feels bad that Gabe was just stripped away from me, but
she’s sorry that I’m obviously hurting and she’s
sorry that I’m angry right now.

Fuck… appears
everyone is just sorry.

Except for me, of
course. I apparently don’t understand the concept of apology.
Otherwise, I’d have let Marissa “atone for her sin”.

What a crock of
shit!

I push away from the
counter and look at Mac. Her face is lined with worry, she’s
got her hands clasped tight, and she’s on edge. I know I must
be putting off some seriously angry vibes, and I make her nervous.
That should appall me but it doesn’t. It actually sort of
pisses me off more.

Fucking women and
their tender sensibilities.

The anger that
pulses through me, coupled with disappointment and choking guilt, are
too overwhelming and I need some way to purge this out of my system.
And what better way than the fantastically amazing woman who fucks
like a goddess standing before me.

Stalking up to her,
I wrap my hand around her neck and palm the back of her head, pulling
her in close. I know my eyes are hard and bitter right now, my voice
harsh with rage. “Do you see, Mac?”

“See what?”
she asks quietly, almost fearfully.

“Do you see
why I am the way I am?”

“Because of
Marissa?”

“Yes…
it’s all because of her,” I say, gripping her head
tighter.

Mac stares back at
me, completely confused and utterly worried. I watch her, wondering
at what point Mac may lay the same guilt trip on me in our
relationship. It’s bound to happen, right?

I’m startled
momentarily when Mac raises her hands and lays her palms on my
cheeks. Lifting up on her tiptoes, she pulls on me slightly so my
head bends down. She touches her mouth to mine, lightly, and at
first, I do nothing. Instinctively and immediately, my body wants
her, but I don’t capitulate right away, holding my arms tight
with pure refusal to embrace her.

Then Mac plays me…
because she knows how to get me to react. She flicks her tongue out
over my bottom lip and that one touch causes me to groan and my dick
to get hard. Mac seizes the opportunity and plunges her tongue in my
mouth.

She kisses me…
almost frantically, but I still don’t make a move to hold her.

She’s not
daunted though. She merely moves her lips from my mouth to my neck,
murmuring, “I need you,” before biting at my skin.

Okay, that packs a
punch right there, and lust seizes me.

My hands come up,
not to grab ahold of her, but to grab ahold of her shirt and pull
viciously at it, ripping every button from the fabric so they scatter
across the tile floor.

See Mac…
that’s how you rip a shirt open.

Mac merely gasps,
not in outrage, but in desire. My hands frantically pull at her
jeans, pushing, pulling, tearing at the denim, trying to pull them
loose from her body.

I manage to get them
and her underwear off, and drag her to the floor. I don’t even
bother with her bra but do lean down and bite at one of her nipples
through the silk, causing her to cry out.

Fumbling for my own
zipper, I get it down and pull out my painfully hard cock, while
nudging her legs apart with my own. Desperation seizes me.

Frantic desperation
to erase the last hour of my life and drown it out with something
that I can understand. Something that is comforting to me.

Hardcore, dirty
fucking.

Matt Connover style.

I settle my body in
between Mac’s legs, and her hands come up to grip my shoulders.
I use my hand to guide myself to her pussy, and I start battering my
way in. She’s wet, but not as wet as she could be. She’s
definitely tight, whether from tension or because I simply refuse to
take the time to get her worked up.

With three hard
pushes and pulls, I work my way in to her body, knowing I should feel
guilty because I haven’t even kissed her or touched her
intimately other than to bite her nipple once. But the guilt doesn’t
come, only the unbelievably fantastic feeling of being immersed deep
inside of her.

Mac’s
breathing is harsh, and she hasn’t said a word, but she moves
her hips against mine and that’s all the encouragement I need.

I start fucking her
hard, and by my fourth full stroke, I feel her flood with wetness.
Raising her legs up, I put them on my shoulders and lean into her,
causing her to practically fold in on herself but giving me the
deepest fucking angle imaginable for me to tunnel into her.

“Feels good,”
she pants, and I would have to agree wholeheartedly with her.

I close my eyes so I
don’t have to look at Mac’s face, because I know that
even though this feels amazing, she’s worried about me…
about what we’re doing right this moment, and whether or not
she has the ability to help me get past this anger.

I fuck her, and fuck
her, and fuck her, trying to drown out the torment that Marissa just
laid upon me. With every thrust, it becomes a little more palatable.

When Mac seizes up
underneath of me and starts shaking as she climaxes, I purposely hold
off my orgasm, not wanting to share that moment. I want it all for
myself.

I heave and lurch
against her, slamming my way home, again and again, and when I
finally think I’m distant enough away, I let go and pour all of
my frustration into her body with a powerfully quiet orgasm.

When I’m empty
of every tremor and ounce of semen I can unload, I roll off Mac and
lay on my back, gasping for breath. I examine my feelings, searching
for the guilt and anger that had me hostage just moments ago.

Gone. Vanished.

I feel nothing, and
that is great.

Just what I was
looking for, and apparently, it was nothing that a good rousing fuck
with Mac couldn’t cure.

Standing up, I reach
down and hold my hand out to her. She doesn’t hesitate but lets
me pull her up from the floor. I lead her back to my bedroom, because
I think I might need a few more sessions just to make sure that shit
with Marissa is purged for good.

“That smells
fantastic,” I tell Mac as I walk up behind her. Putting my
hands on her hips and resting my chin on her shoulder, I watch as she
stirs the pot of spaghetti sauce.