Masterson Made Bonus



It’s the last days of summer and I’m riding my bike alongside the Delaware River, appreciating the view of the lush foliage and quiet waters. When I ride on days like this, I usually go to Boat House Row, where I’ve spent many of my summers with my younger brothers rowing on the river. I love the water. It’s one of the few places where I can think, and I’m pretty sure I get it honestly. Both my Grandpa Joe and my dad love the water as well. 

My mom wants me to join the crew team at school, but taking part in a team sport on the water would ruin it for me, because that’s the sport for all the rich pricks at my school. Participating in crew is some sort of elitist rite of passage for them. Maybe because they think universities like Harvard or Yale will look upon that activity favorably. I, on the other hand, don’t care about that type of stuff. 

I’m what some would call a loner. 

I choose not to spend my time with entitled kids who rather talk about all the useless shit their parents bought for them. I rather hang by myself or with my family than those mindless dweebs any day of the week.

I’m halfway to my destination when I spot one of those particular idiotic fucks. His name is Mario Porter and his mother created some special clothes hangers that made his family a shit ton of money. She was discovered on the reality television show, Shark Tank, and he never lets anyone forget it. He’s obnoxious, not too bright, and normally I would ignore him, but he’s sitting on the grass with Gigi. 

I try to look away because the sight of them together sickens me, but just like a violent car crash or a bad Tik Tok video, I can’t stop watching them.

Gigi is irritatingly beautiful. 

She is the daughter of my father’s best friend. I’ve known her my entire life. My parents always describe her as the daughter they never had, but that’s a description I wholly reject, because no sister of mine would be stupid enough to like someone like Mario. His terrible reputation for having little respect for girls precedes him. I can’t be the only one who knows that his sole goal is to hit and quit as many girls in the school that he can.

I’ve ridden up this incline of the drive many times before, but suddenly my legs feel like two heavy pillars of cement, and I strain to push the pedals of my bike forward. I want to ride past them, but I can’t.

I stop several feet behind them to catch my breath and watch with growing dread as Mario slides his arm around Gigi’s bare shoulders. She’s wearing a billowy, yellow strapless dress with crisp white Converse sneakers. Her outfit is an unusual departure from her usual t-shirt and jeans.

Gigi notices me first as I approach and a look of confusion crosses her face. The two of us do not socialize in school. In fact, we barely acknowledge each other. The only time the two of us have any meaningful dialogue with each other is when we’re over each other’s houses, and that’s because we have to. If my parents knew how the two of us actually feel about each other, they’d probably ground me for the rest of my life.  

She’s not happy to see me. 

And the feeling is mutual.

Because I’m the oldest and Gigi has no brothers, it has been tasked to me to “look out for her” and no matter how much I want to pretend that I don’t see this disaster unfolding in front of me, I can’t unsee it. 

I have to step in.


“Uh, hey?” she responds.

Then the asshole speaks.

“What’s up, K-boogie? You need something?”

Oh yeah, did I mention that this douchebag gives everyone in the school nicknames that they didn’t ask for or acknowledge? 

“I need you to get your hands off of Gigi’s shoulders.”

I watch closely as Mario’s nostrils flair like an angry bull. He’s not used to me saying much at all, much less tell him what to do.

“I’m sorry?” Gigi asks incredulously as she rises on her knees in the grass, hands on her hips. Dude didn’t even bring a blanket for her to sit on. “What business is this of yours?”

“What’s the deal with you two?” Mario looks between the two of us. “Are you guys actually related or something?”

“No,” we both answer simultaneously. 

“But whether I’m related to her or not doesn’t have shit to do with you putting your hands all over her,” I add.

“Damn, K-boogie, I thought the two of us were cool. I’ve known you since Kindergarten.”

Mario pulls Gigi tighter into the side of his body. I can immediately tell that she’s not at all comfortable with his actions, but she’s going along with it because I annoy her way more than he ever could.

“First, my name is Knox, so don’t call me that shit again. Second, we aren’t cool and we haven’t been since you snitched on me to Mrs. McHenry in the third grade. And finally, I’m going to need you to get your hands off of Gigi. She’s not the type of girl you’re used to.”

Gigi’s mouth tightens into a thin line. She’s getting totally pissed with me, and I get why, but I’m only looking out for her as I’ve been instructed to do ever since I could walk.

“And what type of girl is that?” she asks angrily.

Of course, she is taking what I said the wrong way. I didn’t mean it as some sort of slight against her at least not this time.

Mario stands up and puffs out his chest as if he’s going to try something with me. He is quite aware of my reputation and knows that I’m the best fighter in school, but he’s obviously putting on a show for Gigi. 

“Yeah, KAY-BOOGIE, what kind of girl would that be? Way I heard it Gigi is just my type.”

Mario attempts to inconspicuously hold his balls as he emphasizes the word type. It’s obvious between the two of us what his meaning is even if it goes completely over Gigi’s naïve head. It’s purposefully disrespectful, and I immediately see red, so I react without thinking and punch him square in the jaw. 

It feels so good when my knuckles crash against the soft flesh of Mario’s constantly running mouth, but it doesn’t take long for me to discover that he fights dirty like the punk that I believed him to be. There’s nothing fair about it. He tries kicking, spitting and biting me. In fact, I think he damn near bit a piece of my ear lobe off. I’m going to have to give it to the douche, I didn’t think he had it in him to fight like this.

Our brawl doesn’t last long, but for the short time that it does it’s bloody, and brutal, and I don’t know what comes over me but I want to annihilate him. I am in what my twin brothers call the red zone. It’s like everything disappears around me. There’s just me and Mario and a haze of red blurry light. I’m pounding his face into the grass with my fist when the only thing that brings me out of it are the shrieking cries of fear piercing my ears. Gigi is yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Get off him! Get off him!”

I’m saving her from becoming the laughingstock of the school and all she’s worried about is him?


I finally stop and stare at him with hostility as he pulls away his hand from the three- inch gash I’ve made over his eye and notices blood. At this point, there’s a small crowd of bystanders standing around us murmuring among themselves, but I ignore them while Mario puts on a show for them instead.

“My parents were right about you. You and your family are trash. I’m going to sue, you crazy fucker, and get you kicked out of school!”

I cock my head to the side after his outburst. Mario and I have known each other a long time and he’s definitely heard the rumors (truth) about my father and Gigi’s father. Our families have money like his but we are not to be fucked with. He knows this, but again I realize that he’s just puffing hot air for Gigi’s benefit.

“You sure about that?” I say in a menacing tone. “You want to involve my parents in this?”

The blood continues to drip down Mario’s face into his eye as he contemplates what I’m saying. I can tell that he’s considering the situation he finds himself in.

“No bitch is worth this,” he blusters and then walks past the crowd to his parked car to leave.

The small crowd disperses and now there is only Gigi and I left. 

She’s crying.

“He’s not worth crying over,” I tell her.

“I’m crying because I’m mad, not because I’m sad!” she yells at me.

“What?” I ask incredulously. “You’re mad at me?”

“You ruined his face!”

Never mind the scratches on mine and the chunk of ear he bit. Not to mention that Gigi and I have known each our entire fucking lives. Where’s the loyalty.

“He was using you, Gigi,” I tell her matter-of-factly.

She plops down on the grass and her dress rises a bit, showing her knees. I notice the faint scar on her left one. I put it there when we were ten-years-old and playing tag. I chased her so fast that she fell on some pavers around the pool and cried bloody murder. That was the day my father told me it was my job to protect Gigi, not hurt her, because she was like family. 

“He was the first boy brave enough to ask me out for a date.”

“What do you mean brave enough?” I scoff. 

“Everyone in school knows that you’re my guard dog, Knox. No boy in the junior or senior class will touch me with a ten-foot pole. You’re ruining my life.”

“You think I enjoy saving you from your damn self all the time?”

Actually, I kind of enjoyed giving Mario that can of whoop ass today.

“Then stop.”

Gigi is sixteen-years-old and as far as I know hasn’t had a boyfriend yet. She’s definitely a virgin and may not have even had a first kiss. So, while I can understand her frustration with me, the truth is that I haven’t met a kid yet at school who would treat her the way she deserves. They’re all shitheads that make choices led by the obvious parts of their anatomy. I should know, I’m one of them. And in our small world, that could mean the kiss of death for Gigi’s reputation. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

She sighs then stands up, brushing a few dead leaves off of the back of her dress. She stares pensively at me for a moment, like there’s something she wants to say but decides against it.

“Go home, Knox.”

I look around for her bike but don’t see it. Then I remember that Mario picked her up in his car, so now she doesn’t have a ride home.

“Call an Uber first, then I’ll leave.”

“I’m going to walk.”

“All the way to your house? Your dad will kill me and you for that matter.”

“Stop with the fake concern.” She hands me a tissue out of the small black purse that’s flanked across her body. “And wipe your face. You’re bleeding.”

As she turns around my eyes can’t help but be drawn to her ass as it pokes out beneath her dress. Gigi’s ass is my enemy and my nemesis. More boys at school have been looking at her ass over the last year than they ever have before. It’s probably the only reason why Mario was dumb enough to take her out today. Clearly her butt has the power to make boys do crazy shit.

“Ugh, you got blood splatter all over my sneakers,” she laments.

“Why are you even wearing them? You were sitting in grass by the water. They were bound to get dirty.”

“Because they’re cute.”

She walks away.

“Did you wear them for him?” I call out. Regretting the question as soon as it slips from my mouth. It sounds dumb and it’s none of my business, but I wait for her answer anyway. I picked those sneakers out for her when my mom took us Christmas shopping last year. Mom wanted to get Gigi a gift that she would actually like, and I knew she’d love them. 

She turns around and stares a hole right through me.


I’m frozen to my spot and cannot move. There’s deep meaning behind her simple one-word answer, but I don’t know exactly what, and it’s probably best I don’t find out.

Gigi is not my friend.

She is simply my responsibility.

I’ve just got to protect her through one more year of high school, and then we’ll both be free from this unholy alliance of our parents.

And for me, that day can’t come soon enough.

Before I really do something stupid.



I’m sitting on Roman’s lap negotiating the details of our upcoming date night when our oldest son walks inside the hours dripping in sweat and blood. Most mother’s hearts would drop at the sight of their teenaged son looking like he just got jumped by a gang, but this is not the first time I’ve seen this and I doubt it will be the last, although I have to admit, that I’ve never seen him look this bad.

“You two should get a room,” Knox chides us both.

“This entire house is our room,” Roman replies.

“Who were you fighting this time?” I ask, hopping off Roman’s lap.

“A kid from school.”

“For what, Knox? I swear I will never understand you.” 

I grab the first aid kit out of a kitchen drawer, which I keep stocked to use regularly these days.

“Sit.” I point to a chair at the island.

Roman sits and watches with disapproval with his arms crossed in front of him as I tend to my son’s wounds. He thinks I baby all the boys too much, but what else should a mother do? They are my babies and they always will be.

“He’s a bad kid, Ma. Trust me. He deserved it.”

“I hope he looks worse than you,” Roman says.

“My mom is putting a band-aid on my face and a nurse at the ER is putting one on his.”

“Understood,” Roman responds proudly.

I’m mortified.

“This can’t continue, Knox. Seriously. You just can’t go around beating up every kid who mouths off. Roman, tell him.”

“What did he do to deserve the ass whipping?” Roman asks flippantly. 

He’s not taking this seriously.

“He’s a predator.”

“There are a lot of predators in this world. Are you going to fight every last one of them?” I say. “What’s this boy’s name?”

“There’s no way I’m telling you that, Ma. You’ll just end up sending his parents a bouquet of flowers or something to apologize when I did nothing wrong.”

“Violence is never the solution.”

Roman cocks his head to the side as if to say to me, “really?” because of course I sound ridiculous in his eyes. Violence has been his solution countless times, and often in defense of me. 

“Then why did dad teach me how to fight?”

“To defend yourself!” I shake my head in disapproval. “I mean, what kind of example are you setting for your brothers? Thank God they can’t see you like this because they’re at football practice.”

“The most violent sport ever,” Knox deadpans.

“Whatever,” I retort as I clean the cut above his eye, blow on it lightly like I did when he was a little boy, then place a large bandage on it. Next up, his ear.

“Sounds like Knox did exactly as we taught him, Elizabeth. Stop giving him shit about it.”

Knox looks down at me with a satisfied smirk across his blood splattered face. At seventeen-years-old, he is taller than me and stands practically eye-to-eye with Roman and he’s becoming more and more like him every day. 

“If he did like you taught him, he wouldn’t have this gash above his eye. He would have ducked,” I say.


“Am I lying?”

Roman lets out a huge belly laugh.

“That’s facts, baby. He’s supposed to stick and move. I taught him better.”

“Oh my God, I’m out of here!” Knox exclaims.

“Bye,” Roman deadpans.

“Knox,” I call after him. “Wait. Remember that for every action there is a reaction. You may have proven some sort of a point today, but trust me when I say that there will be repercussions for this sort of violence.”

Knox grabs a large scoop of peanut and M&M’s out of the candy dish I keep on the table.

“If I had to do it again, I would, so I’m fine with whatever comes next.”

My son’s firmly stated words seem ominous and reckless, and they frighten the hell out of me. Sometimes I look at him and wonder where the sweet, rambunctious little boy is that I raised.  Why is he so prone to aggression? Why doesn’t he ever hang with any boys at school? What did I do wrong?

Like most children, Knox looks up to his father and seeks his validation. So I look toward Roman because I want him to say something in response to Knox’s statement. I’m worried about our son. It’s possible that Knox is being reckless for all the right reasons, which is often a volatile combination. He feels emboldened.

But Roman says nothing, and after Knox leaves the room, I put my hands on my hips and stand directly in front of him.

“You handled that badly.”


“Did you see his face?”

“Scratches that will heal, baby.”

“He can’t go around beating up every boy in the neighborhood. Eventually someone is going to sue us or worse, he’s going to get himself arrested.” 

“You’re blowing things out of proportion. He’s had like two fights.”

“This month!”

“He’s a boy with tons of testosterone flying around his system. I was fighting damn near every other day when I his age.”

“You aren’t seriously comparing yourself to him, are you? You grew up in a neighborhood where fighting may have been necessary for survival. Knox was born to privilege and given everything he could have ever possibly wanted. What’s his excuse?”

“I told you that stuck up school isn’t the right place for him.”

“So, it’s the school’s fault that our son has a death wish?”

“This fight seemed different.”

“Yeah, they’re obviously escalating. Did you see his ear?”

“I think it was over a girl.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because when a fight is over a girl, it always ends up bloody.”

“Like some sort of barbaric cockfight.”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

Roman rubs his hardening length through his sweatpants.

“Speaking of cocks.”

“Not interested,” I say plainly.

“Your nipples tell a very different story.”

Okay, maybe I’m slightly interested.

“Shut the door, Duchess. We’re going to have a little cockfight of our own, but I guarantee that you will come out as the winner and there’ll be no bloodshed.”

I can’t help but laugh at his lame cockfight seduction line.

“I think my nerdiness is rubbing off on you. That was bad.”

“How about this then? You’ve got three fucking seconds to lock the door or your son is going to see firsthand how he was created.”

“Aah, you jerk!”

I run to the door to lock it. Roman knows that one of my worst fears is for one of the boys to catch us making love. It would ruin them for life. And as much sex as the two of us have, we’ve been lucky not to have been caught in the act and I want to keep it that way.

When I turn around, Roman has peeled off all of his clothes and he’s down to his black boxer briefs. I gawk at his solid, muscular physique as if it isn’t something that I don’t see every day. Over the years, to stay fit for the work he does, he’s had to work extra hard in the gym and his body has never looked better. He takes part in a lot of specialized workouts with the twins as they train for football season, and he also spars with Knox in the home gym we had installed in the basement.

Roman has also had several more tattoos inked on his body, adding to the collection of fine art that adorns his chest, back and arms. When the twins were born, Zoe designed a tattoo that looks similar to the one he had done when Knox was born except there are two hawks in flight together with each boy’s name across a wing. 

She also inked another design of a rose with thorns dripping in blood when Roman’s mother Frances died unexpectedly from lung cancer three years ago. While the bad habits of her past life caught up to her and ravaged her body, I am still so grateful that she was able to have the time that she did with Roman and the boys.

I stroll towards our bed where Roman is waiting, peeling off my t-shirt and leggings along the way. Roman licks the corner of his mouth like a dog hungrily waiting for a treat and after all this time together and all these stretch marks later, he still makes me feel so desirable and sexy.

“How do you want it, Masterson?” I taunt.

“You bent over,” he grins.


“Stop,” he orders.

I stand perfectly still in front of him in my underwear.

“Turn around,” he says in a voice that is getting grittier with each passing phrase. 

I turn around with my back toward him, but I can still see him sitting on our bed through the mirror on the wall.

“I want you to lean over the dresser in front of the mirror so you can watch yourself come as I fuck you from the back.”

I grin with lust and anticipation.

“You say the sweetest things, honey.”

I strip out of my panties and bra and spread my hands carefully on my dresser, making sure not to knock over any of my precious perfume bottles down. This is going to be tricky. He’s still sitting on the bed and apparently enjoying watching me get in position.

I turn my head.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask breathlessly, eagerly anticipating the treat that’s in store for me. This is my favorite position, and Roman always gives me what I want. 

He stands up and holds my stare in the mirror as he moves quietly behind me. “You ready, Mrs. Masterson?”


He grabs me by the hips and fills me swiftly to the hilt.

We both promptly inhale from the sensation of being connected.

When he pulls out and enters me for the second time it feels even deeper and my hands move haphazardly along the dresser, sending my glass perfume bottles toppling over each other.

“Ma, you all right?” Knox hollers down the hall.

Roman chuckles because he figures I’m beyond embarrassed. Knox isn’t stupid, but he also thinks of me as just mom, not his father’s lover, and I’d rather keep it that way.

“I’m good, hun,” I reply using the best normal voice that I can.

“Hold on, Duchess.”

I look up at Roman’s mischievous grin in the mirror as he moves one of his hands underneath me and between my legs.

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride, baby. You better be extra quiet so we don’t scar our son for life.”

He massages my pussy as he fucks me from behind, our eyes both locked on each other in the mirror. My head is spinning. Our love making feels like a mixture of pure agony and total ecstasy. 

I want to cry out, but I won’t. 

I want to throw one of these bottles at the mirror every time he pushes deep inside of me, but I can’t. 

This delicious man has got me right where he wants me, and I’m loving every minute of it.

That’s what it means to be married to Roman Masterson.

And you know what? 

I wouldn’t change a frackin’ thing about it.