This is the Anthem

THIS IS THE ANTHEM

CAL HARPER

" Y ou've got to be fucking kidding me."

The so-called famous intro of "The Anthem" plays loudly from the concert speakers surrounding me as the crowd behind us goes wild. The popular 2000s song that I can only describe as overplayed and annoying as fuck.

The band of Good fucking Charlotte waltzes on stage like they haven't been on one for over two decades as the lights above strobe green, mics in hand, guitars and drums going.

I love my wife with every inch of my being.

Now I want to kill her.

My immediate glower falls to her at my right. Something she doesn't catch but that I know she's innocently ignoring. Laynee decides to take this moment to rip off her white New Found Glory shirt and displays a—what do you know—Good Charlotte shirt while her long blonde hair cascades down her spine.

I grab a handful of said locks and force her to look up at me. Lucid blue eyes that I have gotten lost into a million times at this point lock onto mine, and I'm lost.

Almost forget what the hell I'm about to bitch about.

Until I hear the vocals start, and then remember exactly why I'm going to fuck my wife so damn hard tonight for conveniently forgetting to tell me who was going to be here.

"Something you wanna tell me, baby?" I ask evenly over the loud music and receive a beautiful smile and zero remorse in response.

"Surprise."

Surprise.

This is the furthest thing from a damn gift.

Over the decades of back and forth between Laynee and I, the letters we used to write to each other before the internet, the music we used to debate and argue about, Good Charlotte is the one I can't give in on.

They're fucking trash, in my opinion.

"Is that why you wouldn't let me see the lineup of this show, Tone Deaf?"

Laynee's lips lift a bit more at the nickname I gave her when I discovered her inability for good music at a young age. "What? Of course not."

Bullshit.

When Warped Tour announced they were starting to tour again, Laynee spoke about it for over a year. Even I was excited to attend and nab tickets. It was nostalgic, for one. Two, it was something Laynee and I had done before when we were strictly only best friends.

And now, we're three kids in, married for five years, and running a successful B&B.

"My ears are starting to bleed, Laynee."

"Cover them," she says with a small shrug. "They only have four songs."

Four.

"You know how many songs they're on for?" Laynee bites down on her lower lip, suddenly realizing that she's said too much. "Oh, sweetheart…" I shake my head back and forth. "You know you're paying me back for this, right?"

She immediately bobs her head and reaches for my hand, lacing her fingers between mine.

I roll my eyes. "Go dance to your stupid Good Charlotte."

Rising on her tiptoes, she places a soft and tantalizing kiss on my lips and turns around to jump around—along with everyone else—to four songs and an encore.

An encore that should've never been played, but they did anyway.

My wife has me currently wrapped around her finger. I've known this for years.

But that's been put to the test because I'm currently standing here in annoyance to a band that I wish could be wiped out of my memory, Laynee's, and the world's.

Who the fuck likes Good Charlotte?

Apparently everyone here except me.

The band says their goodbyes, waving and expressing their thanks for all the support of the fans.

I sigh.

It's like an ex-girlfriend who won't take the hint and overstays their welcome. The plethora of fans chant for another song and, I swear on everything holy, if they do I'm going to rage.

Finally , after they get off the stage, Laynee settles in front of me. Her spine to my front as she nestles her ass against my cock, and I can't help but wrap my arms around her.

Despite the little deception of who I would have to endure tonight.

"Are you having fun?" I whisper in her ear, running the tip of my nose along her skin.

She nods again and I can feel her body humming with the events of the night. Even with the last thirty to forty minutes of hell, this has been awesome. It's not very often that Laynee and I get to do things like this since we have our young kids, but I wouldn't trade this for a thing.

"Who's next?"

Laynee fishes out a piece of paper—the lineup—and glances down at it. "AFI."

"I can skip them if you can."

Her lips lift and she cranes her head over at me. "To do what, exactly? Do you need another beer?"

"I need my wife."

Laynee's body presses up a little harder against mine. "You can't wait?"

"Not for AFI, no," I answer honestly. "I think your punishment is in order. And I've always wanted to fuck you at Warped Tour like I should've done the first time."

"We were friends."

"That should've been together but, you know, nerves and lines and all that shit."

My wife turns in my arms and wraps hers around my neck. "I don't want to miss anything."

I smirk. "If they play as long as Good Charlotte did, I've got plenty of times to make you come, at least three times."

Her brow lifts as if I've never done that before. "Three? And where do you expect to do this, Mr. Harper?"

"I didn't get VIP tickets just so I could have you up front and center. It also came with a room."

Her eyes widen. "It did?"

"You may have been planning to hide things from me, but I was making sure you had a great night."

Her expression drops a bit. "Oh, Cal, stop making me feel bad."

"Then make me feel better."

She smiles exasperatedly at me before tugging me away and leading us out of the crowded space of fans. With our VIP lanyards, I guide us through the backstage area meant for us. It's not much, since the event is mostly outside, but I would've paid triple what I did if it meant that I got to have Laynee to myself for ten minutes in this atmosphere.

I couldn't ask for a better life than the one I have with her. In hindsight, the shit feels almost unreal at times. How I have three children and a wife, after everything I've been through and all the times I've dreamt of it, doesn't compare to the reality.

I've loved Laynee for almost all my life.

I was torn from her unexpectedly and it shaved off years of us being together.

But, now that we are, I cherish every single second of the woman who brought me back to life and gave me three beautiful children after losing one before with a woman who cheated on me.

"Oh my God," Laynee exhorts enthusiastically as she tears from my grip. "They have snacks ."

My hand grips her bicep and I swing her around to look at me. "Snacks or your husband, Mrs. Harper? We don't have a lot of time." She has the audacity to push her tongue into her cheek, as if in thought, before I give up the option. "Fuck this."

Lifting her into my arms, her spine hits the nearest wall as I sandwich her between it and my body. Laynee wraps both her arms and legs around me before my mouth slams into hers.

Her lips give me exactly what I need as they widen and I can slide my tongue inside to taste her. I was going to have her take my cock as her snack , but the damn thing just wanted to feel her wrapped around me. Obsessed with how fucking tight she is.

"Take that fuckin' shirt off," I demand, already inching the hem of her shirt up.

"I think this has meaning," Laynee replies, feeling her smile against my lips. "Nostalgia and all that."

"I don't fuck Good Charlotte fans who publicly display their apparel."

"You wanted to fuck me about two minutes ago outside after I just danced around to a few of their songs."

"I liked the way your ass moved in your jeans."

"Had nothing to do with the shirt, huh?" Laynee snakes her tongue inside my mouth and I groan as a violent wave of lust shoots up my veins. "You'd fuck me any day of the week, Cal Harper. Good Charlotte shirt or not. Just admit you're a fan. I won't tell anyone."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I'm about to." Her lips press into mine again. "With my fingers while you watch, husband, if you don't do it right now."

"That sounds hot as fuck." And, as much as it truly does, I can't wait a second longer.

My fingers begin undoing the button of her jean shorts and we somehow manage to get them off without breaking too much of our hot and heavy make-out session.

Laynee makes quick work of my own jeans and fishes my cock out with soft fingers, pumping it excessively as if trying to make me come in her hand.

I honestly wouldn't be surprised.

"Put me inside you, Laynee," I grind out. "I'm coming inside you. Not in the palm of your hand."

"So bossy and needy."

But she does exactly what I want her to, and it doesn't get better than this as "Miss Murder" plays outside the walls.

Fitting.

Especially when my woman kills me every single day with how beautiful, smart, loving, and sexy she is.

LAYNEE REESE

My husband, aka my secret crush for most of my teenage life, and now adult, has never learned the concept of patience.

A virtue, some would say.

However, I reap the benefits every time his impatience rears up and shows its head. I get to come hard when he's had enough of my shit and shows me exactly what sort of so-called punishment I'm going to get for it.

Sometimes it's his tongue.

Other times it's his fingers pumping inside me and inching me toward the cliff of another mind-blowing orgasm.

But these moments—the ones where I irritated him with something so profoundly stupid—are my favorite. Cal couldn't stay mad at me if his life depended on it—not that I really do much of anything at all.

But getting the full force of his cock pounding inside me is enough for a girl to keep making those same annoyances over and over again.

I knew he'd hate Good Charlotte onstage.

Hence why I hid their shirt under another one. I thought that, after the concert, he'd get me inside the car and make me sit on his cock for the trouble, but this right here is so much better.

With a full crowd chanting the words of an AFI song, and Cal fucking me like he can't stand to not anymore, this vibe is all Cal and I.

Music, dancing, and jamming.

I feel like we're teenagers again when we're here. Back in the day, I snuck out of my parents' house to come to this exact concert, knowing full well I'd get the wrath of my mother from it. She couldn't stand Cal, but it never stopped me from being his best friend and him being mine.

Now with one daughter and two sons, he's not only my best friend and husband, but the other half of my soul.

"God, just think if Simple Plan came on," I muse as my ass hits the drywall again. "You'd orgasm right here."

"I listened to ‘I'm Just a Kid' one time and you won't let it go," he clips back, gripping my hips harder.

"It's okay to be a secret fan, Hotshot. I won't tell."

Cal's lips find mine again—probably to shut me up, but I don't mind. He's so deep that I can barely breathe, let alone keep teasing him.

"The only thing I want you to do, wife," Cal grinds out. "Is for you to scream my fucking name when you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me?"

Absolutely.

Like, tenfold.

Arching my back, I receive Cal's deep and guttural groan as he continues to thrust inside me. "Fuck, baby…you're killing me."

"Good thing we got married then. I'll get your life insurance policy."

"Like I'd leave you for some other asshole to try to slide in." He tsks and reaches down to stroke my clit. "No one can do this better than I can. Your body belongs to me."

"That's awfully presumptuous of you, Mr. Harper."

The warmth of his forehead meets mine. "You know you love me, Laynee. Everything I do to you drives you wild. You love my amazing taste in music, business, and how much I'm obsessed with your body. You can't replace me."

"I'd never want to replace you," I whimper.

"I'm not so sure about that now. My wife just brought me to a Good Charlotte concert."

"It's Warped Tour ," I argue lightly. "And stop being a baby."

"It's still a hazard to my health, Laynee."

Mindlessly, I glance heavenward, and that's when Cal drives so deep into me that I gasp in pleasure. "God…speaking of murder…"

The asshole smirks at me. "What a wonderful way to die, wife."

Honestly, I couldn't agree more. However, I'm not looking to when we have three young children at home.

Cal spreads my ass with his free hand, earning some more space inside me as he continues to fuck his way into my sanity.

I love him more than words or thoughts. He's done everything for our family and more. I've become a huge sap over the course of the last several weeks and…oh shit.

I think he broke me.

"Fuck, Laynee," Cal mutters. "You're such a good girl taking all this cock. I want to see you fuck me in the back seat of our car next."

That idea sends a whole other wave of lust through me and my body tingles.

"Would you fuck me back?" I ask innocently, threading my fingers through his dark hair. His green eyes pull back enough for me to get a good look at them, and he's sold on it.

"You know I would. I wouldn't be able to help myself."

"What if I wanted to take it slow? Just to warm up."

"I'm not going to turn down you taking me exactly how you wanted to. I'll just lick your pretty tits while you take all the time you need." He's mocking me, fully aware I wouldn't last a full minute while he teased me back. "I'll take any way, Laynee, just so you cream all over my cock. Like you're going to do for me right now."

I'm so close.

I can feel this moment and my orgasm tethering by a thread right now.

"I know you're almost there when you're quiet," Cal conveys, brushing his lips against mine but not taking them. "And, just for that, I'm going to come long and deep for you." He taps my clit. "In the exact way you like it."

I love feeling him twitch inside me. He makes me feel so damn full of him, and it's how we ended up with our second son, Finn. I begged him to finish inside me after he said he was going to pull out, and Cal did exactly what I wanted.

Not that I regret it.

Cal slows his pace, coaxing my orgasm, and it's like torture. My cunt clenches and my husband feels it, prompting his body to retract at a smooth pace and to start pumping viciously in and out of me again.

"Don't stop," I plead breathlessly. "Oh my God, Cal…"

"There she is," he praises, going in harder. "I love how you like to get so thoroughly fucked, wife. We're definitely fucking in the car."

I break apart at his promise, my climax ripping through me like a favorite song, where you finally get to that part that claims your entire being.

Cal is that for me on a daily basis. I would move heaven and earth for him in a heartbeat. I couldn't survive not having him in my existence.

My husband follows me within seconds and, when he's finally come back down, he doesn't pull out of me just yet.

"Who else do I need to endure tonight?" he asks lightly, pressing a kiss to my sweaty forehead.

"Umm…" I don't remember. He just fucked me stupid.

"Were you serious about Simple Plan?"

"No," I reply. "They couldn't deal with your hating ass."

"I'll make sure to write that down in my diary when I get home."

"Trapt." Cal looks down at me. "Because you told me that you used to listen to ‘Echo' for me every night before you went to bed."

His lips curl into a small smile. I still remember the letter he wrote me, stating that random fact after he signed his name. "I did. Because I would've run away with you at any time. You never did send me any German words."

"I only took it because—"

"Of Switzerland," he finishes for me. "I still plan on taking you there."

I scoff a bit. "Why? I don't have to run away from my mother anymore."

"Because you did all the research on it. And you were about to go with that stupid-ass boyfriend of yours, Trent."

"Troy," I correct him, which gets me a makeshift glower. "What?"

"The fact that you still remember his name means I haven't fucked you nearly as hard enough as I thought I had."

"Ready when you are."

Cal leans to kiss me. "Now."