Never Enough

Author's note: No new ground here. I'm just playing on the ballfield already built. No bitches burned. No cucks. No RAAC. No kung fu army rangers either. Just a story. There is a bit of general political nonsense, but there are no specific political parties burned either. Enjoy - BH

*****

I was watching the breaking news on television when my wife got home late from work.

"Boyd, you're never going to believe who hired me to defend them today."

"David Bridges," I answered.

"How did you know?"

"You're on the news," I pointed at the television on the wall.

She looked at the TV, and there she was. Granted, it was an older picture they must've pulled from the firm's website, but it was out there. She was the latest addition to David Bridges' team of lawyers.

It didn't surprise me. She had been one of the best celebrity defense lawyers in the country before I demanded she quit working one-hundred hours a week.

I wasn't some Cro-Magnon asshole who didn't want his wife to work. I just wanted to see her more than once a month.

*****

That was two years ago. She was defending a Senator accused of murdering one of his staffers.

I could tell he was guilty as sin, and I was sure she wasn't convinced of his innocence either. That didn't stop her from pouring over every piece of evidence for ungodly amounts of time to find the slightest hint of something to use.

She eventually got the bastard off with a hung jury. The DA elected to not retry him, which shocked the nation.

It was on the third day of three consecutive days of sleeping in her office, during that trial, when I served her with divorce papers.

Eventually, she asked what she could do to not lose me. I told her to quit her job.

Even with us in our late thirties, we had more money than we could ever spend. Some of that came from her clients, but I did pretty well as a radio talk show host. I had a syndicated political talk show that was in the top ten across the country, and number one in several markets.

She agreed to cut her hours into a consulting role, and also agreed to finally start our family.

*****

I held our son, Mikey, while she watched the pundits talk about her client and if she could help get him off.

I hated that term--get him off. It sounded too sexual.

I never suspected her of having affairs. She cared about her reputation too much to cheat on me, so she'd never risk a bad news story about her. My problem was she just worked too damn much.

You may have noticed I didn't say she loved me too much to ever cheat on me. That I didn't believe. Oh, I was certain she loved me, but she loved her job more than anything.

When she started doing the consulting, she became a darling for the TV talk shows when they needed legal analysis. There were times when she was on TV every day--and, boy, did she love that.

"Are you upset?" She asked when they went to commercials.

"What do you think?" I grunted. "Mikey needs changing."

I took my son to his room and left her not knowing how to handle me.

Which was good. I loved to keep her on her toes. She was a control freak, and I relished the times I could throw a wrench in her gears.

She chose to follow me, and as I tried to not get peed on, she said, "It won't be like before. I'm just part of the team. I'm not the lead."

"Mm, hm," I shrugged. "There you go, little man. All fresh and dry."

Mikey laughed as I tickled him, which made me smile.

I blew a raspberry on his chubby tummy, making him giggle more.

"Boyd, it's only a tax evasion case. They just need me to help select the jury."

"Of course," I said as I walked past her back to the family room.

"You're overreacting," she argued.

"No, I don't think so," I countered back childishly.

"This will be huge for us. The name recognition alone will..."

"Not us!" I snapped after putting Mikey in his playpen.

"What?"

"Not us, Alicia. It's good for you. I have a feeling this will end us."

She yelled, "Bullshit!"

I shook my head and grabbed my keys off the credenza.

"Your dinner is in the oven staying warm. I'm going to the lounge."

*****

David Bridges was the former Governor of our home state. As soon as he announced his candidacy for the next Presidential election, mud was slung at him from every angle.

They eventually indicted him for not claiming millions of dollars he allegedly got from some foreign company for some reason no one can explain, on his tax returns, along with a bunch of election interference charges relating to his last run for Governor.

It would be an interesting trial; I just didn't want my wife to practice law again.

I lit my Davidoff Churchill in the private room of a nice cigar lounge by my studio. There were a few smokers there, but outside of saying hello, we'd leave each other in peace unless one was invited to join someone.

Even though I was a celebrity, most everyone was used to me popping in there a few times a week. The novelty of "Boyd Baxter, radio personality" being a patron wore off rather quickly.

"Boyd, help yourself to some of my scotch," a gentleman I recognized but whose name I couldn't remember called out.

"Thanks," I waved and poured a healthy glassful from his decanter on the table in front of him.

"I saw the news. I figure you could use a good belt," he added.

"Yeah, you figured right," I said, before I offered him an air toast and walked to the most desolate corner of the room.

I took a long puff and exhaled deeply. I briefly wondered if I overreacted, but I concluded I hadn't.

I filed for a divorce because she worked too much when she had big cases. I only agreed to take her back after the promise to quit.

I didn't feel bad for making that my condition. She had a decade of success at the highest levels, and I wanted to have kids while we still could.

And then, she took on another big trial without asking my opinion? Yeah, that was a slap in the face I didn't see coming.

Hell, I might have said yes, but probably not, if she had asked. I still would've liked to be included in the decision.

The TV across the room caught my eye.

There was Alicia, with a big smile, on TV again. I saw the painting behind her and knew she was in our living room. I hoped Mikey would start crying.

She ate those hosts up. She manipulated them into believing she answered their questions without coming close to giving them what they wanted. It was masterful.

Then the host, who was a golfing buddy of mine, asked, "Will your husband be re-filing the divorce paperwork?"

"Excuse me?" Alicia demanded, shocked.

"Well, a condition of your husband dropping his divorce proceeding against you was that you don't take any more trial clients. This seems like it violates your agreement."

I shot him a text, "I owe you a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle for that ambush."

"I assure you my husband is fully on-board with my career decisions."

She was flustered, and I loved it.

"No, he isn't," I said out loud, making the guys who knew it was my wife laugh.

Seconds later, my phone rang, "Boyd, it's Dana Collins from The Times. Can I ask you a few questions and get your reaction to your wife breaking your agreement?"

"Hi, Dana. It's been too long, we should get together for lunch soon, maybe have you on the show again."

She said, "I'd like that. How about those questions?"

"No, but I'll give you a statement."

"Okay."

"I was completely blindsided."

"That'll probably be the headline of my article. Do you have anything to add? Maybe as background?"

"Look, she hasn't done anything to dredge up those old issues yet. We are happily in love."

"Thanks, Boyd. Talk to you soon."

Dana was a smoking hot up and comer in the news world. I'd had her on my show a few times as a favor to her boss. He and I had an arrangement that was mutually beneficial.

My phone rang again, and I turned it off. I knew I wouldn't get any peace otherwise. The media vultures were circling. Especially since I was one of their own. Fucking cannibals.

*****

"It's not going to be like before," Alicia said when I walked into our bedroom, later that night.

She looked damn good in a floor length black satin nightgown. The slit on its left ended at mid-thigh, and its lace breast cups didn't hide her pink areola at all. It was not meant for sleeping.

"Doesn't matter if it is or not," I said trying to not look at her, "you know the stakes."

"It's different now. We have Mikey."

I laughed.

"If you think the fact that we have a son will stop me from wanting a wife who doesn't put her career first, you've got another thing coming. If you revert back to your old ways, you're out the door."

"Baby, we're taking this too far. I don't want to fight."

"Alicia, the time to discuss it was before you took the job. Now we are in the fallout phase."

"We will be fine, you'll see. Now come to bed, I want to show you how much I love you."

I knew when she saw my comments to The Times the next day, she'd be angry. I figured I'd take advantage of having a sexy wife while I still could.

She dropped to her knees before me and slid off my shorts and boxers.

"Looks like you like the nightgown," she teased as my hard cock bobbed in front of her, millimeters from her lips.

She stuck her tongue out and licked around my head, wet with precum. Her lips then enveloped me, and she sucked just hard enough to let me know she was there.

"Mm," she moaned, then took me farther into her warm, wet mouth.

"Oh, Alicia, baby."

She stroked me with both hands as she licked and sucked my top third. It would be all she took into her mouth. She hated blow jobs, but she pretended to enjoy them while they lasted.

"I need you inside of me," she whispered after pulling off with a pop.

I took off my shirt and stepped out of my pants while she dropped the nightgown to the floor.

We embraced and kissed, then fell onto the bed, where I rose to my knees, lifted her left leg to my shoulder, and pressed my hardness into her wetness.

"Oh, Boyd, yes," she hissed when I entered her.

The softness of her nylon on my cheek drove me mad as I thrust in and out of her sweet pussy. Her juices pooled between us, and the resulting squishing and sloshing sounds egged us both on to go further, faster, harder.

"Fuck, honey," she moaned. "Harder, faster. I'm not gonna break tonight."

I roughly flipped her over and drove back into her depths with no mercy. I gave her the pounding she craved, knowing exactly what she wanted. Sometimes she wanted to be pounded into the mattress, and I had no problem complying with that demand.

"Oh, shit," she screamed. "Just...like...that! Oh, God, yes!"

I couldn't hold back any longer and just as her legs weakened and she fell forward, I began cumming and stroked myself to completion on her beautiful ass cheeks.

"I wanted that inside me," she pouted.

"Sorry, baby. You're the one that fell and left me stuck with my hand."

"You were fantastic. That was a big one."

I smiled with pride as I warmed a washcloth, then wiped my mess off of her soft cheeks.

She managed to say she loved me before falling asleep. I wondered how she would feel about me in the morning.

*****

"You son-of-a-bitch!" She screamed when I walked into the kitchen the following morning. "Completely blindsided?"

I cut her off.

"It's the truth."

"You didn't have to tell them that," she yelled.

I shrugged, "It's done."

"This is going to be the story all day, Boyd."

I laughed, "At least they won't be talking about your client for a change."

Her client had been the talk of the news shows for several weeks before and every day since the indictment.

I kissed her cheek and decided to get coffee and breakfast on the way to work to avoid any more of her wrath.

I wondered how long it would take for her to start working sixteen-hour days again.

"We're not done discussing this," she shouted to my back.

I knew we weren't.

I got to my studio, and it was chaos. I had a young college student who answered the phones, a sound engineer, a do-it-all tech, and a producer working with me.

I preferred to do my own research, so I didn't have a team of people reading the news for me like some hosts had.

"Jesus, Boyd. The phones are blowing up today."

I handed her a coffee and said, "Turn the ringer off, Missy. Let them go to voicemail and you can weed out the important calls for me to return."

"Thanks, boss. That'll help."

I walked into my office and found my producer waiting for me.

"Having a good morning, Boyd?" Rose asked.

"It's just peachy, Rosie. What's on deck for today?"

"It's hard to avoid the Bridges story. Especially since you're involved now."

"I'm not involved, my wife is."

"Same thing."

"Get Dana Collins for the show. We'll talk about it, and I'll let her lead me into some comments, but let her know it won't be an interview."

"Yeah, I read her story this morning. I swear that woman has it out for your wife."

I laughed.

"Nah, she has a crush on me. I overheard her talking to someone once. I use it to my advantage."

"Don't lead the poor girl on, Boyd. I expected this city to chew her up and spit her out a couple of years ago."

"Hey, never underestimate a farmer's daughter. She's as tough as nails."

"Okay, I'll call her and set it up."

"Thanks, Rose. Also, see if Dan Naranja can come on. I loved what he did to my wife on his show last night."

"It's good to have friends, isn't it?"

"You know it."

*****

"Okay, Boyd. You're live in five, four, three, two."

Rose pointed at me, and the on-air sign lit up.

"Good afternoon, radioland. I'm your handsome host Boyd Baxter and joining me in the studio is Dana Collins from The Times. Hello, Dana."

"Hi, Boyd. I'm happy to be here today. Especially with what's going on with your wife."

She smirked at me, and I shook my head. She wore a short skirt and crossed her legs, giving me a nice view of her stocking top. I loved a great pair of legs, especially ones encased in black nylon.

"Yeah, I figured you'd mention that. Yes, my wife agreed to join David Bridges' legal team as a jury consultant. She doesn't get involved in representing clients in a courtroom anymore."

"Jury consultant?" Dana asked. "Is that what she told you?"

I glared at her. She just dangled her shoe off her sexy foot and smiled.

"It seems your wife didn't tell you the whole truth. According to my sources inside the Bridges camp, she's the new face of their legal team and will be first chair at the defense table."

"I don't really care what unnamed sources say. I never use 'em," I said with a shrug.

She laughed.

"That's because you use stories done by people like me to fill your radio show with content."

"Whoa!" I said heatedly. "I'm not a journalist, and I never claim to be. I'm just the simple host of a show where I give opinions on the day's news."

She smiled and said, "And today's news is your wife came out of retirement and lied to you."

"Let's go to the phones," I said to stop digging myself deeper. I'd already failed to control the conversation.

God damned legs.

"Line one, go," I said and tried not to glance at Dana as she crossed her legs the other way.

"I did not lie to you. I'm just a jury consultant," my wife said defensively through phone line in my speakers.

"Well, if it isn't my lovely wife, Alicia. Hi, honey. I'm gonna be home on time today. We're having a pork roast for supper."

Dana said, "Hello, Mrs. Baxter."

"You know damned well my last name is Taylor."

My wife didn't take my name when we married. She had already built a reputation on hers and kept it for professional reasons.

"Right," Dana said. "Mrs. Taylor."

"Anyway," Alicia said. "Stop making things up. I'm only on the legal team to help select the jury."

"So, you, say," Dana answered.

"Okay, ladies. That's enough. Alicia, I'll talk to you at home."

"But..."

"Okay, next caller."

*****

"Well, that was a God damned nightmare," I said after the show ended.

"I thought it went great," Dana said as she slipped her shoes on. She removed them halfway through the show to tease me. Bitch.

"You owe me one," I grumbled.

She laughed.

"How about I take you to dinner. Forget your pork roast."

The look in her eyes scared the hell out of me. I knew she liked me, but it was as if I was chum in the water and she was a hungry shark.

"I'll take a rain check, Dana. See you around."

I got the hell out of there before I did something incredibly stupid and went to dinner with the stunning red head.

When I got home, I coated the roast with oil, blended my seasonings and rubbed them onto the meat. Thirty minutes later, I slid the pan into the oven.

I fed Mikey his dinner and opened a beer. I couldn't believe it, but I was struggling with the question of should I believe my wife or Dana's unnamed source, and it drove me nuts.

A little over three hours later, I had the table set, a wonderful bottle of chardonnay in an ice bucket, and a perfectly done roast resting before I carved it. Alicia wasn't home but was only half an hour late.

I ate my salad while the clock turned, and she was an hour late. I still hadn't received a call or text.

I put the roast back into the oven to stay warm and made myself a martini at an hour and a half late. I fought every urge to call her. There was going to be a fight and I had to be the winner.

I turned the oven off at two and a half hours late and went out to dinner.

*****

The text came three minutes after my steak arrived.

"Where are you?"

I put the phone down, sighed, and took another bite of the perfectly charred ribeye. There's something about a steak cooked at extremely high temperatures that made me a happy man. She wasn't going to ruin that.

Five minutes later, she texted me again with just a question mark. I scooped up some of the creamed spinach and moaned when the flavors hit my tongue. They nailed it that night.

Another two minutes later, and my phone rang. I sent it to voicemail because it pissed her off when people did that to her. I felt like I was winning the battle she didn't know we were having. I was mature, wasn't I?

When my steak was finished, my wine glass was empty, and the last bits of spinach were cleaned off the bottom of the dish, I ignored the third call. The time was nine-thirty.

When I pulled into the garage at home, she was standing in the doorway with her arms folded. I supposed she was upset and tried to look the part with a scowl.

"Where the hell have you been, and why are you ignoring my calls?" she yelled.

I laughed.

"You know the answer to those. Did you even bother pulling the roast out of the oven?"

I walked into the kitchen and saw the roast sitting in the pan on top of the oven.

"You didn't eat--figures. What did you have at work? Pizza? Chinese?"

"Chinese. Look, it isn't going to always be like this. I was..."

"I don't care what you were doing. I care that you knew I was making dinner for us, and you didn't call me to tell me you were going to be working late."

"I'm sorry. You know how it gets when..."

She stopped herself.

I answered, "Yeah, I know how it gets. I filed for divorce over it, remember? You always forget you have a husband at home. Except now, you have a child at home too. Did you even notice Mikey isn't home?"

"I assumed he was with you. Wait? Where is he?"

"Now you notice, huh? You're a shitty wife when you're on a case, and it turns out you're a shitty mother too."

She slapped me.

I rubbed my cheek and walked out of the kitchen.

"Boyd, wait. I'm sorry."

I kept walking and went out the front door. She kept calling out for me as I walked across our lawn to my neighbor's house. She was watching Mikey for me.