"And for good reason." Taddy stalked over to the TV and punched the off switch. "Let's let Birdie sleep." Before leaving, she pulled the plush covers snug around Birdie.
The next day Taddy called Birdie and offered to hire a nurse for around-the-clock care. Birdie declined and argued she was ready to see her husband in heaven. Taddy didn't know if Birdie was being dramatic or if she should be taken seriously. She put another call in to Dr. Fa.s.senbender.
He disregarded Birdie's images and disease claims as nothing but a skin irritation.
Resisting the urge not to get sucked into Easton drama, she figured Birdie would be fine. Maybe it was denial. Maybe it was hope. Either way she didn't want to get involved. The only thing to do was to wait and see what Birdie did next.
"Screw me, Brayden Brooks," she chanted per usual at seven a.m. mid-week, pre-Christmas, about a week prior to her sunny jaunt to Algarve with Lex. Taddy exercised on her elliptical. The private Gilad sessions gave her a.s.s a new tighter, higher, younger shape, although he had yet to f.u.c.k her. Gilad held out for Taddy to purchase a twenty-session package. Taddy told him the package that interested her came from his pants and should take one session, not several. There was no desire to see the same man twenty times for anything, including s.e.x, so Taddy crossed Gilad off her men-to-screw list. f.u.c.k that! She wasn't about to pay for s.e.x from her Pilates instructor.
She'd hit the thousand-calories-burned mark strutting on the exercise equipment. Endorphins flew. The tangy ammonia hint soared from her pores, a sign she could eat whatever carbohydrates she wanted. She'd earned it. Jamming to "Honey Hive Filled Love" sung by Waris Sugar, Taddy sang the lyrics to herself: I'm pullin' my Victoria Secrets down A-ooh baby baby, ooh baby baby You're slickin' your d.i.c.k up A-ooh aah aah, A-ooh aah aah I'm gettin' my honey hive filled A-aah mmm, A-aah mmm Taddy knew women o.r.g.a.s.med while doing intense cardio. They didn't come like a geyser, rather with mini-climaxes. Natural to her, she came too when endorphins flew. So frequent in fact, she did the elliptical alone, unless with Lex who remained oblivious. When she pushed her body hard enough, closed her eyes, let the song take over and Brayden Brooks danced in her mind's eye-she'd come. Pilates with Gilad didn't compare to this exhilaration, let alone the Brayden Brooks fantasy.
Utilizing this morning's workout as she did any other-watching her recorded Brayden Brooks games on ESPN in slow motion-she pretended her beloved NFL athlete trained right by her side as sung in the song, "Honey Hive Filled Love".
She hit "play" and "repeat" and "pause" with her remote. Brayden running. That's it, baby. Brayden tackling. Go, baby. Brayden scoring a touchdown. Oh yes, baby. She wondered if he'd e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e in her mouth. In return, would he gaze intently into her eyes when he
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