Personal: The Extended Edition (Private #3)

Chapter 1

Wes

There are several notable things I love about my downtown office here in Highland.

The first being its location.

This is the perfect point between our penthouse, Brynley’s job at The Bower and Powell Institute, and the private academy that our two and half year-old son, Wyland Wayne Wilcox, attends.

Next?

The view.

Awe-inspiring is an undersell.

Having the ability to randomly take a moment to admire the remarkable architecture that creates our city is most certainly a pro for being in the building rather than a con.

And most importantly?

Impeccable privacy due to the soundproofing I had installed during our honeymoon.

I can have my wife under my desk or over my desk or on my couch, moaning and groaning and screaming like she’s Harvey Dent, having half her face burned off by acid.

Interestingly enough, Little Prey is still quite vocal despite having a son with Superhero level hearing .

I swear the kid can hear the second my zipper lowers from across the fucking property in one of the guesthouses we sneak away to for a little “alone time” while he’s with his grandparents.

Hamilton believes I’m exaggerating; however, he did his job and provided me with the best otolaryngologists in our area to further investigate if necessary.

Which I just may.

My family’s health is not a subject matter I take lightly.

It’s not one I’ve ever taken lightly.

It’s not one to ever be taken lightly.

Especially when it comes to my son.

“We’re feeling very optimistic about our final quarter of the fiscal year,” Winston Bofshever, our new head of social media marketing for our beer brands, states into my earpiece at the same time Bryn’s fingertips relocate themselves to my belt buckle. “Between the influencer data reports and Shaw’s proposed strategies for expanding into our weaker demographics, the fifteen-point plan we’ve put together for the Morgan Brand as well as Runt’s Beer hold remarkable potential.” Her manicured fingers nimbly undo the tiny blockade while her eyes flash their infamous mischievousness. “Did you have questions or feedback regarding the influencer reports, sir?”

“No.” I instantly repeat the single word to my brightly beaming wife in a mouthing nature. “ No. ”

The sarcastic head tilt I’m instantly given causes me to smirk.

Fine.

I do want her lips wrapped around my cock.

I always want her lips wrapped around my cock.

I’d have to be having other…uncomfortable health conversations with Hamilton and Sawyer and Yang if I didn’t want them there.

I always want this woman.

Even at times when I probably shouldn’t.

Like during Wy’s first trip to the dentist or ten minutes post a conference call with HR about too much sex occurring in the workplace.

I understand I’m exempt from such rules.

That as the man whose name is literally on the building, their paychecks, and investment options, I am in several ways immune from them.

However, I should probably refrain from flaunting it.

Especially by having the love of my life blow me during my very next business conversation.

“Do you have any questions or feedback regarding what we have successfully identified as our weaker demographics?” Bofshever inquires while I watch Bryn disregard my wordless objections and slide down onto her knees between my legs. “Perhaps a preference on how they’re sorted going forward, whether it be business or recreational, rural or metropolitan, or even something less traditional such as similar social media accounts that they follow, which can also be sub sectioned into numerous categories.”

I’m sure it can.

Just like I’m sure she’s going to be sucking my dick no matter how many times I shake my head.

“I…” is all that manages to escape due to her warm palm firmly wrapping around my shaft. “I…” The sight of her tongue snaking past her lips so close to my cock is enough on its own to warrant me ending the conversation; however, it’s the long, lascivious lick to lap up the drop of precum falling that has me lifting my fingers to tap the side of my earpiece. “I have to go.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“An emergency just…” Bryn sloppily drags the head of my dick around her lips as if it’s stripper lipstick. “ …fell into my lap. ”

“Oh no,” croaks Bofshever, clearly concerned. “Is it something with the company? The reports? Your assistant? Mr. Reese? Your family?”

My wife teases the slit with the very tip of her tongue forcing me to grumble through gritted teeth. “ The latter. ”

“That’s terrible!”

It’s actually going to be incredible when she stops toying with me.

“I completely understand.”

He doesn’t.

“I’ll let you go-” barely manages to leave his mouth before I push the button severing the call.

I don’t leave a moment for her to victoriously smile or verbally gloat.

No.

I simply bury my fingertips in her thick, wavy locks and drive my dick to the darkest depths it can possibly reach. The invasion is immediately greeted by harsh constrictions, yet I don’t pull back.

I don’t pull away.

I merely latch on tighter at the same time I growl, “ Swallow, Little Prey. ”

Her throat muscles instantly tense from the instruction.

“ Gag. ” Wet gargles begin reverberating around the luxurious office space, effortlessly hooding my gaze. “ Choke. ” There’s no stopping my grip from flexing. “ Prove to me your mine. ” Hips from rocking. “ And only mine. ”

Spit savagely spills past the edges of her spread mouth, sloppily dribbling down her chin, painting a messy trail along her elongated neck to the tops of her tits that are barely being contained in her airy blue, ruffled summer dress.

Seeing them bounce at the same speed that she bobs encourages me to thrust faster.

Slam harder.

Dive and dive and dive while watching them seductively sway, hypnotizing my cock to carve my signature into her throat.

Spill ink in her favorite shade.

Our favorite shade.

Light puffs litter themselves along the base of my shaft each time her nose brushes against it, calling to my balls to lift, to bathe in the heat along with the endless white-hot streams pouring onto them.

Every blistering breath expands my dick further.

Causes Bryn’s soaking wet muscles to reject the invasion.

Contract.

Cut off its ability to get any deeper, ultimately summoning me to demonstrate otherwise.

Possessive rumbles rattle my chest in tandem with my increasingly feral thrusts, determination to prove she can handle it…handle me…is meant for me …dominates my system pushing me to dominate hers.

To ferociously work my cock from base to tip again and again in her slick, strained confines until she’s no longer sucking so much as being mercilessly used to jerk me with her throat.

Between Bryn’s bawdy gags and the sac swelling vision of her favorite blue mascara creating undeniably beautiful blotches on her cheeks, I can barely hold back, but when she ribaldly rips the front of her dress downward, revealing the sight of a hardened, dark nipple, dying for my teeth, I’m done.

Completely.

Utterly.

Fucking.

Done.

One sharp breath somehow manages to precede my bellowing, “ Fuckkkkkk! ” Scorching spurts pitilessly pour down her throat as I repeatedly yank her forward to guarantee that she gorges on every single drop. “ You’re mine, Little Prey. ” My cock kicks harder when her bright blue, watery gaze lifts to lock onto my mismatched one. “ All. ” I needlessly buck for emphasis. “ Fucking. ” Another heave is delivered. “ Mine. ” The last thrust sends her shuddering frame backward, finally granting Bryn the reprieve she so desperately needs. “ And now you’re gonna ride my face while you scream it. ”

Despite my wife’s whimpering sound that’s accompanied by an entire body melt, she shakes her head in denial. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilcox.” The tips of her fingers remove the droplets of cum from the corners of her mouth. “I’m going to have to respectfully decline.”

Confusion clashes into consternation. “ Excuse me? ”

“This was meant to be a Vulcan visit.” Her eyebrow waggling is attached to an impish smirk. “Nothing more than a little reminder that I’m head of the class.”

It’s impossible not to roll my eyes in an amused fashion.

I’d love to say my wife has come to make less Star Trek references over the past couple of years.

I’d even love to say she’s reached a point of better balancing them with her Batman ones.

However, I can’t.

And I honestly probably never well.

Not with the addition of Janae, J.T.’s wife, joining the fold.

She, too, is a die-hard “live long and prosper” club member as well as the reason I have to attend the Talk Trekky to Me convention next summer.

I approve of her changing my best friend’s life at the one he attended with Bryn the summer after Wy was born, but I do not approve of her masterminding a couples’ trip in which wearing a costume – outside of the bedroom – is a requirement rather than a recommendation .

I’ve actually come to enjoy a bit of role playing behind closed doors.

I may still have an aversion to wearing colors; however, there’s no denying I look damn good in that gold shirt and even better when she’s wearing that red mini dress, bouncing on my cock, calling me Captain.

“I just stopped by to guarantee my weekly cookie order for the office actually got delivered here rather than mysteriously disappearing like they belong to the fucking Terra Nova colony,” Bryn announces at the same time she rises back onto her white sandal covered feet where she swiftly readjusts her wardrobe. “Zaidee swears that Balok looking bitch in the main lobby keeps stealing them, which I totally believe considering the fact that once upon a time – when I was eight months pregnant waddling around here like a pregnant Great White on land might I add – she tried to steal you from me. ”

“She did not,” firmly leaves my mouth as I return my lower half to its respectful display.

“She did too!”

“She was simply being polite.”

“ Flirty. ”

“Cordial.”

“ Thirsty .”

A crooked grin is attached to my accusation. “You sound jealous, Ms. Kyle.”

“Of what, Mr. Wayne?” She flirts back, hands falling to her slightly wider hips. “I’m the only one who gets to see that ass out of its leather Spanx.”

“ Batman doesn’t wear Spanx. ”

“Debatable.”

The twitch of objection I display instantly gets her victoriously cackling, revealing a very familiar tried and true page in our epic adventure.

Brynley Wilcox loves getting under my skin.

And I can’t resist letting her.

“I’m thankful to report that Operation: Cotton Candy Sweet as Gold – because it will never be Sweetie Gold to me – is complete.”

Confusion scrunches my entire face.

“You have no idea what I’m referencing, do you?”

There’s no reluctance to my headshaking.

An overdramatic sigh is accompanied by her head falling completely backwards. “ Fuck, I miss Puppet Boy. ”

“Is not something I wanna hear less than two minutes after my wife was just on her knees.”

Bryn immediately returns her gaze to mine, salacious smirk swiftly following. “Now who sounds jealous, Mr. Wayne?”

“Of what, Ms. Kyle?” I stretch my arms along the back of my couch. “I’m the only who gets to play with your leather whip.”

“ Is that a request? ”

“ Is that an option? ”

“It is if we can keep Captain Cockblock locked in his cell all night.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to villainize our child.”

“Pretty he’s not supposed to be capable of cock blocking at supersonic speeds.”

Not chortling is impossible. “And where is our little hero in training?”

“Most likely trying to sweet talk Jessie into stopping at Yasmine’s Yummies on their way to the park.”

“Wonder where he learned that from.”

“Number One.”

The reference to our shared best friend – who I honestly can’t wait to get back from his island secluded honeymoon either – receives a dark glare and deep grumble of disapproval.

Wy unarguably loves J.T. the most out of his two uncles.

Calen Connelly may build the best sandcastles – and grill a mouthwatering crab leg – but “Nucle Day T” cannot be beat.

Whatever my son wants to do – whether that be block building under my desk at the estate or karate chopping cookies in the middle of the couch – my best friend is always willing to be his sidekick, insisting it’s in the Godfather contract he signed.

Of course, there was an actual contract, but that wasn’t in it.

The document stated that if anything were to happen to me and Bryn, leaving Wy orphaned, that J.T. would raise Wy as his own, and our shares in the company would be his until Wy was of age to responsibly inherit them at which time J.T. would receive a payout worth the price of the shares based on their current market value.

Having him sign paperwork to make it official wasn’t something I wanted to do – much like having Bryn scribble her name on a prenuptial agreement – however it was non-negotiable according to Hawthorne who claims his job is increasing in difficulty each year courtesy of the continuous changes.

Changes I could’ve never imagined myself making a decade ago.

Changes I know are only possible because of Bryn.

My beauty.

My prey.

My everything.

“Between a couple hours at the park, Swinging Sushi with Gami and Gampi, and Tots with Thoughts, his private academy book club-”

“Toddlers shouldn’t have book clubs.”

“Toddlers also shouldn’t have private academies. ”

“I want our son to have the best education mentally, physically, and emotionally.”

“Which is why we are in a fucking toddler book club. ”

I reluctantly tip my head in her direction to acknowledge that she has a valid point.

“What I’m saying is…when you combine all of those things together, the chances of Captain Cockblock having any energy to put on his cape at sex o’clock are finding a mint condition of Detective Comics #27 slim.”

The unique reference to a recent purchase curls the corners of my lips upward. “That was worth every penny.”

“And seeing me in that black lingerie piece with the nipples cut out will be worth every second of sitting through The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the tenth time this week.”

Against my own volition a small cringe crosses my face.

“ Weston ,” my wife firmly begins, eyes noticeably narrowing, “this better not be the portion of the conversation where you give me an excuse for not coming to this shit.”

“I don’t have an excuse . I have a pressing engagement.”

“How can you possibly have a pressing engagement today that you didn’t fucking have yesterday ?!”

“Bedford, the lead director of our beer expansion team, moved his flight to Michigan from Friday to tomorrow due to a number of bars in Ann Arbor and Applecourt willing to engage in a product sampling of both Runt’s and Morgan’s, which means our dinner discussion regarding the possibility of adding an import beer from Doctenn to our catalog had to be shifted from Thursday to this evening. And while J.T. technically returns today, he doesn’t return to the office until Monday, meaning I have no choice but to attend the meeting that can’t be rescheduled for fear of the company reconsidering their willingness to sell.”

Bryn briefly presses her lips together before asking, “Can you at least come to the park with us?”

Another small wince is presented.

“ Wes. ”

“I’ve gotta call Bofshever back and finish that meeting, plus I’ve got three more on calendar today, including a joint PR session with us and MINOH’s.”

“Of course,” she murmurs in irrefutable irritation. “Because why would you bother sacrificing any of your time for our family?”

It’s impossible not to scoot to the edge of the couch. “ Excuse me? ”

“I’m sorry is your hearing actually going or are you doing your best old man Batman impression?”

“There.” A single finger point is executed. “ There is that passive aggressive bullshit I was talking about in our session with Yang last month.”

“ Really? ” The sight of her eyebrows launching to the ceiling is a bit unsettling. “You want me to be aggressive, aggressive?”

“I want you to be open and brutally honest with me the way you were before Wy was born.”

“You mean before I had to put my entire fucking life on pause to play devoted socialite, wife, and mother?”

There isn’t even time to consider a retort.

“You want me to be someone I can’t possibly fucking be anymore because our lives are not what they once were!”

Yet again I can’t speak.

Not that I’m certain I should.

“You want me to be honest , Wes?” Her arms fold defensively across her chest. “How about the fact that I hate you work more than we fuck?”

“That’s not-”

“Or how about the fact that I hate that I always have to come to your office, yet you rarely step foot in mine?”

“It’s not-”

“Or how about the fact that I hate how you never rearrange your schedule to pick up your son? Or that you never join me and Jessie for the godawful birthday parties we have to attend every other fucking weekend? Or that you can’t stop reviewing paperwork to read to him Knuffle Bunny for the seventeenth time in a day? Or that you’re the only one in the whole fucking estate who can’t seem to spare. Five. Fucking. Minutes. To make a grilled PBJ with him?”

Guilt has my jaw bobbing yet prevents me from actually speaking.

Am I really that… absent?

Am I really becoming the king in that fucking parable?

Am I really turning into my father despite what I believed to be my best efforts?

“ Brynley- ”

Two solid taps to my office door interrupt our conversation.

“Ooo,” she teasingly coos, “saved by the assistant.”

“I-”

“Don’t make Jenni knock twice!” Evie Jordan, our family’s personal publicist, huffs from the other side of the blockade.

“Wouldn’t want that,” the love of my life mockingly mumbles prior to backing up towards the desk.

“ Brynl- ”

“Our word search is on your desk, you know, just in case you get a minute to do something other than work,” she informs at the same time she snatches up her small clutch. “And so is the Batman cake pop I special ordered from Yasmine’s for you.”

Additional guilt crumbles my entire torso. “ Bryn- ”

“I don’t mind knocking twiceskies!” the young woman whose brother now plays hockey for Camelot – giving her the closer family fix she craves – frantically squawks. “ Evie hates me knocking twiceskies! She thinks it ruins my manicure!”

No more than a faint croak manages to escape due to my wife opening the door to state, “She’s not wrong.”

“Yet you are for walking around in public looking like a slutty Smurfette,” our publicist sardonically sneers.

“ Acted like her too, ” is accompanied by theatrical wink.

“Didn’t we just attend a seminar about appropriate phrases in the workplace,” Julia Pham politely interjects.

“Doesn’t apply here,” Evie brushes off without missing a beat. “Tell me that you at least remembered to avoid the windows this time. Because while it’s less work spinning a salacious tale of a husband and wife squeezing in a quickie into a fairy tale moment of a married couple simply capturing a few intimate moments together than it is having to reassure the afternoon tryst was actually with his wife and not his smoking hot, barely able to drink his brand nanny that calls him daddy in a different way-”

“Feels like it applies now ,” Pham less than quietly proclaims.

“-it is still more work than I need considering that I to have finish approving J.T.’s talking points for the guest lecture he’ll be giving at Vlasta University next week for their tech expo – fulfilling the company’s newest commitment to educating the youth – and revising the Wilcox fall family photoshoot agenda as to not repeat last year’s ‘lost our child in a corn maze’ press nightmare.”

Lost seems…like an oversell.

We didn’t lose him.

He ran away.

He mumbled something in gibberish, put his balled fist in the air, and then took off into the shrubbery like he was son to Scarecrow versus Batman.

It was embarrassing.

Not because he toddled off as if breaking out of prison but because of how long it took me to find him.

And that task fell to me because I was the one who wouldn’t hang up the phone to immediately follow what I later learned to be a hide-and-seek mastermind.

Hm.

I see Bryn’s point has more and more merit than I initially realized.

“She didn’t sleep rightskies for weeks ,” Jenni mutters behind her hand to the unintroduced woman I am assuming is the PR rep for the charity we’re partnered with.

“Now, tell me Boobs Clues that you were more discreet than your messed up mascara is implying.”

“I won’t lie to you…” Bryn delivers a small tap to Evie’s chest using the edge of her bag. “However, I will pretend I didn’t hear you as the best solution for this lose, lose situation.”

Jenni poorly hides her snickers behind her hand prompting me to rise to my feet and declare from a distance, “ Our conversation is far from over, Mrs. Wilcox. ”

The emotionless expression I’m thrown in return mercilessly churns my stomach. “ No. ” Despite the lack of change on her face, there’s no denying it can be found in her tone. “Our conversation has been over, Mr. Wilcox. ”