Cheryl has had a bad day—work was endless, she’s forgotten her jacket for the rainy trip home, and she has to make an unplanned stop at the store. All she wants is to get home to a hot bath, but when she finally drags herself in through the front door, her husband, Ali, has other ideas to help melt away her terrible day.
Age Rating: 18+
The Bad Day
My job is beyond stressful. Today, the workload seemed to be endless, and the clock dragged. I was never so grateful to see 5:00 p.m. in my goddamn life.
When I left work, I saw it was raining heavily. A text from my husband told me we had run out of milk and bread, and our son had eaten the last of his cereal that morning.
So, of course, I needed to stop at the store and buy said necessities.
As the sun was shining when I left for work nine hours ago, I didn’t bring a coat along with me, meaning I am now drenched.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, heading for my bus stop right across the road from where I work.
I feel tears threatening to fall from my tired eyes when I realize I haven’t topped up my bus pass, and I have no cash on me.
I quickly try to top my card up via my phone when I see the bus looming on the hill.
I tap at my phone, which decides to lose its Internet signal, and I close my eyes with irritation.
Finally, the bus arrives, and my top-up goes through, allowing me access to the dry cavern that will take me home.
The relief I feel at getting on the bus soon fades away once I realize my hour-long journey will be a standing one, and I manage to wedge myself against the bag holder rack so I don’t fall.
There is no point in trying to locate my headphones because I know I tossed them into my bag carelessly earlier this morning.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped lunch. Again.
Eventually, I get off the bus, and I am greeted by more wind and rain. I avoid the puddles on the ground, keeping my head down as I battle my way into the store.
Rainwater drips down my face, but I get what I need and get the hell out. All I want is a bath. And a new job.
When I see the familiar sight of home greeting me, my body sags with relief. The door is unlocked, and I walk in to find Ali sitting on the floor, our son asleep in his arms.
My heart lifts when Ali looks up at me, placing his finger on his lips, urging me to be silent. He is still in his work attire: pants and a shirt that now has toddler drool on it, no doubt.
I am lucky he made it home before I did and managed to bathe and feed Liam.
I move toward the kitchen, the carrier bags creating a noisy chorus as I do before I put the groceries away.
The sink is still full of dirty dishes I didn’t have time to do this morning, and I realize there is nothing for dinner.
I hear the floorboards creaking above me and realize Ali must be putting Liam down. I pull open the dishwasher only to hear a glass crack, which is the final straw.
My tears begin to flow as I hold my hands to my face. I’ve had enough. I really have.
I shake my head, refusing to look at my husband. He isn’t an emotional man, and he works just as hard as I do, if not harder. Today has just been tougher than usual.
“Come here, baby. What’s wrong?”
Ali wraps his arms around me, and I allow myself to fall into his arms. I sob, and he sighs.
“Another bad day?”
“I’m sorry. I hate it so much, but we need the money and—”
To my surprise, Ali silences me with the softest kiss on my mouth. His hands drop from my face to my soaked clothes and peel the wet fabric from my cool skin easily.
He slips his shirt over his head and presses his body against mine. The warmth of his skin is intoxicating, and I cling to him as I shiver.
“Looks like you need Daddy to warm you up,” Ali whispers, smiling wolfishly before pointing at my pants. “Take it all off.”
“I’m not asking,” Ali breathes, his mouth on mine as I push down my slacks. This is so unlike him, but I am here for it.
My skin is clammy to the touch, but Ali thinks nothing of eagerly massaging my breasts into his mouth, his warm tongue making me throw my head back with delight.
I can feel his erection against me, hard and angry.
Ali lifts me up suddenly, muttering the word “jump,” and I do. I am sitting on the cold kitchen counter, and Ali lifts my knees to my chest before pushing them roughly apart.
“I’m starving,” Ali murmurs, gazing at my core hungrily. “And I want you.”