Chapter 5 Forrest
Chapter five
Forrest
“What the hell?” I snarled, because Birdie was sitting on the lap of the star of my own damn show, her tits bursting out of her top, tiny bikini bottoms pushed to the side, because she had one leg up, her pussy glistening, dripping down onto her thighs.
Under my horrified eyes she raised her ass up, Pierre-Phillipe’s face begging her for more, then she slowly dropped her cheeks down with a moan, letting her juicy ass gobble up his dick.
The fuck? According to Birdie anal was for major holidays and my birthday, and last I checked it was neither.
Rage filled me. If I’d thought the rages of my younger years were explosive, it was nothing compared to this, watching her wild lusty curls fall against her bare shoulders, those smoky sexy eyes closed as she ground down with her little pucker on another man’s dick.
“Shit,” Birdie groaned, and her curls were stuck to her forehead, her face already looking fucked, lips swollen.
Like they’d already gone a round or two.
Fucking hell
“Stop right now!” I growled, but they were too absorbed to even hear me.
When her ass hit his thighs, she wiggled her cheeks to get every bit of it and he threw his head back.
“Mon dieu.”
How fucking dare he talk French to her! And this was the same slimy motherfucker who had begged Paige for a starring role as the Phantom in her upcoming show, too.
Birdie put two fingers on her clit and started to rub.
“I’m so full.”
Her pucker was stretched out and swollen as hell, and the little kiss he pressed on her nipple somehow infuriated me most of all.
“Stop!” I ordered again but Birdie was shrieking,
“Yes, god, right there.”
She began to bounce up and down on his lap with her pussy slamming down on his thighs, her slick ass gobbling up and down his dick, and then she came with a cry, her hand a blur on her clit and a clear squirt splashing all over his chest.
But her orgasms were goddamn mine and I staggered forward with fury.
“What the fuck is going on?” I roared.
Pierre-Phillipe jerked up mid-come, his eyes looking simultaneously horrified and horny.
Birdie’s mouth was still open, her ass cheeks wiggling.
“Ooo I can feel your cum cream pie-ing me back there.”
“Birdie—Birdie—” he hissed as I stalked over, and she opened sleepy, languid eyes to look at me.
But if I expected to see any shock or regret in them, I was very mistaken.
She looked unrepentant and extremely, decadently sensual.
“Goddamn, Birdie! I’m gone for five days and you’re already getting fucked by Pierre-Phillipe?”
She blinked up at me, her hazel eyes narrowing.
They always had that lovely multicolored flash, just one of the many reasons I hadn’t been able to keep my dick in my pants the season she was on America’s Most Enchanting Virtuoso.
I hadn’t fucked any of the star-fuckers before, but Birdie was different.
“You told me to have fun at the house,” she pointed out, a little smile on her lips.
“This—this is not what I meant at all!”
“What’s the matter, Forrest? Already done with your little geriatric love cruise?”
There was a scarlet mist in front of my eyes. Was I going to stroke out right here beside my own Olympic-sized pool?
“Fuck—Birdie—it wasn’t like that—”
Pierre-Phillipe carefully lifted her off, Birdie’s asshole fluttering with beautiful ruin in the breeze as cum oozed back down his condom and collected in his balls.
My hand was already around his throat, dragging Pierre-Phillipe out of the chair as my apology roses scattered all over the lawn.
“Get the fuck out of here! What do you think you’re doing with my wife?”
I shoved as hard as I could and Pierre-Phillipe stumbled backwards, his condom hanging limply off his dick.
“I’m not your wife!” Birdie said in a cold voice.
His eyes looked wide with horror as he tried to escape me.
“Monsieur, you forget yourself. You quite mistake the matter. If I had known you—I thought after the wedding was canceled—”
“You thought wrong,” I snapped. “The wedding was only postponed.”
Birdie rose from the chair, her tits jostling slippery and slick with sweat in front of me.
Beautiful big as hell naturals, round perky rosy tits, best damn tits in the business, and they were here with the revolting marks of Pierre-Phillipe’s mouth on them.
“Oh, the hell it was, Forrest!” she snarled, and goddamn, she looked sexy as hell, her curls a wild mess all over, freckled nose wrinkling as she looked up at me, light hazel eyes smudged with mascara.
“You don’t get to come here after leaving me at the altar pretending like we’re still together. We aren’t. You have no right to berate Pierre-Phillipe for exploring our longstanding chemistry.”
“Your what?” I roared, and he was already grabbing wet swim trunks and trying to get out of range.
“Let me just get my toothbrush,” he yelped, dancing lightly away from me and I felt hot, angry blood pulsing through my veins.
“You let him sleep over?”
“Why not,” Birdie said casually, adjusting her swimsuit, but there wasn’t enough fabric to cover both her beautiful cheeks, and they jiggled enticingly up and down. “I’m a free woman.”
“What the hell has gotten into you?”
When the Frenchman made a move toward the house, I grabbed a chair and charged at him.
“Monsieur, please—think of your dignity—” Pierre-Phillipe protested, but I chased the younger man off the property with a roar, and he made a flying leap over the fence as he attempted to cover his balls from the spiky tips.
“And don’t bother coming to practice!” I roared. “You’re fired.”
After he’d scuttled off down the driveway, I turned back to Birdie, but she wasn’t even watching and had gone back into the house.
“Can I at least assume from the fact that you’re still here that you are open to working this out?”
“No. Squatter’s rights. I’ll stay here in the spare room until I find another sugar daddy, since that’s apparently what everyone thinks I am. Just a gold-digger.”
I grabbed her arm as she turned away, pulling her into me.
“That’s bullshit.”
My hand was on her chin and lust was pumping through me.
I did not share, ever, but my skin crawled with the need to outdo him.
“Now get in the bedroom and I’ll show you who you belong to.”
But Birdie’s little lust-drunk face was rapidly turning to revulsion.
“I don’t belong to you, that’s for damn sure. We’re through.”
“Birdie, stop this nonsense,” I tried to growl but my voice was nakedly raw and hungry. “We’re not breaking up. I haven’t been gone that long.”
”We were over the moment you chose her.”
“But—“
Suddenly there was a splatter of gravel and a massive filthy pickup trip pulled into the driveway.
Oh wait, now that couldn’t be--and I heard a very sweet voice chirp out,
“Unhand her, you bastard!”
I was unpleasantly surprised to see my first ex-wife Lulabel and my 45-year-old oldest child Percival pull into the driveway.
“What are you doing here?” I barked.
“I asked them to visit,” Birdie said. “Got a problem with that?”
Lulabel was my high-school sweetheart, and we’d been married for a brief and very ill-fitting period of time, during which she’d had my first son Percival.
She was a few years older than me and might look like the perfect, angelic little silver-haired retired church lady, but I knew from experience that she was crafty and diabolical as hell.
“Birdie, what the fuck is she doing here? You know we don’t get along.”
Birdie looked up at me, her lips curving over a cup of coffee.
“Yeah, I know.”
I glared at my first ex-wife as she extracted a giant purse full of knitting and her horrible little yappy dog Mortimer out of the car.
“Lulabel, get the hell out of here.”
“If she goes, I go,” Birdie shrugged. “Make your choice. Otherwise Lulabel and I are going out to the club.”
I swallowed down my rage. Birdie was not responding how she normally did, so it was time to tone down my normally dominating style.
“Birdie, can we go somewhere to talk? Please? I want to apologize properly for what happened.”
But she didn’t even act like she heard me, bounding down the steps to give Lulabel a hug.
“I’m just here to congratulate Birdie on her breakup,” Lulabel said, giving me a bright smile as Mortimer snarled at me.
“The hell you are! Birdie and I are not splitting up,” I said as Birdie went to the other side of the car to open it for Percival, my eyes greedily following her ass in those little swimsuit bottoms.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a boat with Phee? Since you at your big age have decided to indulge in a little senility and get back with her.”
“I don’t want to get back with Phee,” I gritted out
Most unlike his old man, Percival was an Episcopalian Bishop, and I groaned as I saw him adjust his spectacles with a very disapproving look on his face.
“Father, troubling reports have reached my ears,” he trumpeted. “Repent of your wickedness. I will not have Phee as a stepmother again. It was enough to give me the hives.”
“Very selfish of you, Forrest,” Lulabel put in. “Percival is 45 now, a very tricky age, and he is far too delicate for you to saddle him with Phee again.”
“Phee is not going to be your stepmother,” I said, barely controlling my temper. “Birdie is.”
But my ex-fiancée only flipped me off and ushered my relatives in the house.
And then Birdie was serving Lulabel and Percival some coffee like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Is Mortimer even house-trained?”
They all turned and glared at me, and I felt all the alpha drain out of me as I saw the contemptuous expression on Birdie’s face.