The Karma Train

Spencer

Delilah is currently spread out on my office desk while I feast on her. The skirt she wore to work today is hiked up around her waist, and her silk underwear is stuffed inside my trouser pocket. Will she be getting them back once I've finished with her? I haven't decided yet.

"Spencer," she whimpers, tightening her grip on my hair to the point it's painful. I'll be lucky if I don't end up with permanent bald spots by the time our third child arrives. "I'm coming … don't stop."

I have no intention of stopping.

My insatiable wife is at her prime when she's pregnant, and despite giving her two orgasms before we left for work this morning, here we are—and it's not even midday—chasing number three. Am I complaining? Not in the slightest. With a five-year-old and a three-year-old at home, we have to take certain opportunities whenever they arise.

The top floor of our office building is now off-limits to everyone—including Simone, my PA—without prior permission. It started when Mia was born, and Delilah brought her to work, but the rule remained long after. I like that we are free to do whatever we want without the worry of being interrupted or caught in a compromising position.

This woman still does it for me. I'm obsessed with her. I can't get enough of her love, or sweetness. Ten years ago, she was a stranger, entering my world on a whim. Well, actually it was via a random Facebook post, but it turned my world on its axis … in the best possible way. I haven't looked back since. She has enriched my life in ways I never could've imagined.

My hands slide under the back of her legs as I spread her wider, pushing my tongue deep inside her heaven. That movement sends her spiralling over the edge again as my aching cock throbs behind the zipper of my trousers.

I don't stop my assault on her pussy until she rides out the last wave. When I stand and crack my neck from side-to-side, it garners a smart comment from my wife. "Are those arthritic bones of yours playing havoc again?"

I bark out a laugh as I wipe my mouth with the back of one hand, and reach for the buckle of my belt with the other. "There's nothing wrong with my bones, sweetheart, and you're going to get punished for that one."

"Goody," she replies with a mischievous grin.

This woman.

"My turn," I growl.

Her pretty blue eyes sparkle with desire as I pop the button on my trousers and drag down the zip. After freeing my cock, I wrap my hands around the base, stroking it a few times as I lean down to pepper soft kisses against her rounded stomach before my lips continue to travel north.

There's nothing more beautiful than seeing her pregnant with our child, and in just over three months, we'll be welcoming another little Prescott into our ever-growing family.

My mouth seeks out hers the moment I slide inside her and bury myself balls deep. "Fuck, Delilah," I groan against her lips. Despite losing my load inside her twice this morning, I can tell this is going to be over way faster than I'd like. She's so damn tight … so snug.

Withdrawing to the tip, I drive back in … over and over again. I'm so lost in the moment that I don't even hear her phone ringing from the reception area until she places her flattened palms on my chest and pushes me back. "My phone," she pants.

"Leave it."

"What if it's important?"

"This is important. I'm trying to get you to number four."

"It could be the school."

Her assumption causes me to pause mid-thrust. Our firstborn, Mia, my little princess , started big school this year. "You think?" I ask, arching a brow.

"It might be …"

As soon as those words are out of her mouth, the phone stops ringing. "If it's important, they'll call back," I tell her. Despite feeling a tad off-kilter now, I roll my hips forward. "The school has my number, too."

With that thought in mind, I refocus on the task at hand. I ramp it up a notch, just in case whoever called rings back. It doesn't take long for my wife to become a withering mess beneath me, moaning and bucking her hips to meet me thrust for thrust.

I won't even consider my own release until I reach my goal … I'm stubborn like that and always aim to please. Especially when it comes to her. Once her inner muscles start contracting around my cock like a vice, though, I'm powerless to stop the inevitable.

My movements become jerky, and my grip on her hips tightens as my fingertips dig into her soft flesh. I throw my head back and grunt as I lose myself in the pleasure that only this woman can evoke. "Delilah," I groan.

That pleasurable sensation is quickly quashed when my phone begins to ring. Shit, maybe it is the school. The panic I briefly felt a few minutes ago reignites.

I'm still buried deep inside my wife as I reach across the desk to snag my suit jacket that hangs off the back of my chair. I slide the phone out of the pocket and feel somewhat relieved when I see it is Delilah's mother calling and not the school.

I flick the phone around and show her the screen before I answer the call. "Mrs St. James," I say down the line. My rapid breathing has me sounding like I just ran a marathon, and I'll admit it feels all kinds of wrong that I'm still inside her daughter as I speak.

Rectifying that, I withdraw and blindly reach for the box of tissues, handing it to my wife.

"Oh, Spencer," Delilah's mother replies over a sob, and my heart sinks. Two months ago, her husband suffered a massive stroke which left him paralysed down one side of his body. "I tried calling Delilah, but she didn't answer her phone."

As much as I can't stand the man, it upset my wife greatly to see her father in that condition. The two of them have never had a good relationship—which is not Delilah's doing. Deep down, she has always yearned to be accepted and treated the same way her elder sister, Abigail, is.

"She's with me," I say. I should have handed the phone over to her, but my protective mode has kicked in. If this is bad news, I want to be the one delivering it. "Has something happened?"

"My husband, being the stubborn man he is, tried to get up on his own and fell. He … he's still on the floor. I don't have the strength to lift him."

"Have you called an ambulance?"

"What's happened?" Delilah shrieks as she tries to grab the phone out of my hand.

I draw back slightly, pulling it out of her reach. "Your dad fell … he's okay," I reply, reaching out to caress her cheek with the pad of my thumb.

"I can't afford an ambulance, Spencer," Mrs St. James cries. "We've blown through all our savings on medical bills, and with him being out of work … there's nothing left."

Jesus. "You should've said something. You know we would've helped."

"You two have already done enough. Paying for the nurse to come and bathe him daily has been a godsend. There is no way I could do that on my own."

Nor should she have to. She's aged considerably in the years I've known her. Between practically raising her despicable eldest daughter's three kids, and now caring for her sick husband, it's taken its toll.

In my opinion, that man belongs in a facility that can give him the round-the-clock care he needs, but I admire the fact that she wants to be the one to look after him.

I'm confident my wife would do the same for me. You only have to look at how well she dotes on me and our kids to know that. I couldn't ask for a better mother for our children, or partner to do life with. Despite Prescott Enterprises now being worth billions—since going global—Delilah insists on doing all the day-to-day things herself, like food shopping, prepping lunches, and cooking dinner each night. All while being a wife, mother, and working full time at our company. She is a powerhouse, and I commend her for everything she is.

Delilah slides off the desk and hurries towards the bathroom in my office. She glances over her shoulder before entering. "Tell Mum I'm on my way."

I nod my head once before she disappears inside, closing the door behind her.

"You don't need to come with me," Delilah states as we cross the foyer, heading for the exit where my driver, Damien, is waiting by the kerb.

"Like I told you upstairs, you are not going anywhere near that man without me."

She turns to glance at me and rolls her eyes. I still love her sass. "He's partially paralysed, Spencer, what can he do?"

"He still has a mouth," I grumble. His speech may now be slurred since his stroke, but that forked tongue of his is as sharp as ever. Like his eldest daughter, I've always found him to be a despicable human being, especially where my wife is concerned, and his current predicament has made him even more contemptuous and vile.

"I can handle anything he dishes out. It's like water off a duck's back these days."

"And how do you plan to lift a fully grown man off the floor if your mother couldn't?"

"I am half her age."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but when I was the age you are now … thirty-two, I believe you constantly reminded me how old and decrepit I was."

That earns me another eye roll, but it's enough to stop her protests. She failed to realise I was going with her, whether she wanted me to or not.

We are both shocked when we pull up outside the home Delilah grew up in. She hasn't been back here in many years, although she went and visited her father in the hospital when he first had his stroke.

The once-pristine lawn and gardens are now overgrown and littered with weeds. When I see the distress on my wife's face, I reach for her hand. "I'll have a gardener here first thing tomorrow."

I feel bad that I didn't think past a nurse. When Mrs St. James cried at the hospital, worrying how she was going to manage when he returned home, I didn't hesitate to put something in place. I did it for her, not him. Although sometimes she has done and said some undesirable things, she loves her youngest daughter.

I drape my arm around Delilah's shoulder as we make our way up the driveway towards the house, pulling her protectively into my side. I can feel the slight tremble in her body when I do. Being here would bring back a lot of unpleasant memories for her, I'm sure.

As soon as we step onto the porch, the front screen flies open and a weary and somewhat battered Mrs St. James appears on the threshold. "Thank you so much for coming," she says, as her bottom lip quivers. My heart immediately goes out to her.

Although there were many times when she backed the wrong daughter, she was always the better parent out of the two.

"Mum," Delilah shrieks. "What happened to your eye?"

"It's nothing," she replies as her shaking hand reaches up to brush over the affected area. "He didn't mean it."

Delilah gasps audibly. "Did Dad hit you?"

"He's frustrated is all. You can't fault him for that."

"Like hell, I can't," I growl as I round her and enter the house.

I stalk down the hallway and pause when I reach the entrance to the main room, where I find that piece of shit. He's still on the floor, but I notice there's a pillow propped under his head and a blanket covering his body. He doesn't deserve his wife's devotion or kindness.

His eyes are closed as I approach, and once I'm standing before him, I squat down. "You think it's okay to hit a woman?" I snarl. His eyes spring open the moment he hears my voice.

"Get out," he mumbles as his eyes lock with mine.

"If it was up to me, I'd leave you on the ground to rot where you belong, but unfortunately, your wife and mine wouldn't want that."

I might sound callous and cold-hearted, but the appalling way this man has treated Delilah—his flesh and blood—from the time she was born, means he gets no sympathy from me. Since I'm now a father myself, my hatred for him has only grown. He should've protected and nurtured her, not hold a grudge against an innocent baby simply because he only wanted one child.

I firmly believe if you spend your life mistreating others, and being a shitty human, it will catch up to you eventually. Karma at its finest.

That's exactly what happened to my father. He cheated on his child bride—as my mother calls her—a few years after my half-sister was born. His new wife divorced him and took a sizeable chunk of his dwindling fortune. It served him right. All he had to do was keep his dick in his pants.

Standing to full height, I move into position behind Mr St. James's head, bending to slide my hands underneath him and hooking them under his arms. He's deadweight, but I get him into a sitting position fairly easily.

"Let me help," Delilah says, rushing in our direction.

"No," I bark.

"But—"

"You're pregnant, sweetheart … he's too heavy."

It takes all my strength and a few groans and grunts, but I get him back onto his recliner.

There is no thank you or any appreciation from him, but I didn't expect it. He's always been a rude fucker, and from our very first meeting, we've never seen eye to eye.

As soon as I take a step back, his wife rushes to his side and starts fussing over him. "Stop," he roars, grabbing her hand with his good arm and flinging it away. It takes everything in me to bite my tongue.

I hate this for her. She deserves so much better.

We end up staying at the house for most of the afternoon. It turned out to be very insightful. Delilah's mother broke down and opened up about all the goings on, and my heart went out to her as I sat there and listened. She seemed so beaten down. I silently vowed to myself that I would do whatever it took to make her life easier going forward.

Not only was she struggling with the medical bills, she was behind on the mortgage as well. I will make sure the house is paid for in full first thing tomorrow. Again, I'm doing it for her, not her husband.

We also found out that she hadn't heard from, or spoken to Abigail in six weeks. When she told Abigail she could no longer look after her children, she cut all ties with her mother. To be honest, I wasn't that surprised, but I still found her actions deplorable. Mrs St. James had practically raised those kids. To be cut out of their life like that was cruel.

I called for an ambulance to come to the house to take Delilah's father to the hospital for a check-up after his fall. There was a method to my madness. With Delilah's mother's blessing, we were going to get him transported to a care facility upon release to give her a few weeks' respite, which was desperately needed.

If she decides she still wants to be his caregiver after that, I'll hire a full-time nurse to help lighten her load. We would've stepped in sooner if we'd known how dire things were.

Delilah ended up convincing her mum to pack some clothes and come home with us for a few days. She didn't want her to be alone.

I organised for my mother to get our kids for us and meet us at the apartment. Most days, she picks up Mia from school anyway, keeping her until we get home.

She's also collecting Finn, our son, from the recently established childcare facility that Delilah implemented at Prescott Enterprises. When Mia and Finn were babies, they stayed on our floor with us, but once they became mobile, it was too hard for Delilah to work, entertain, and chase after them. That's when her brilliant idea of in-house child-minding came to fruition. She wanted her babies close and letting go wasn't easy. This way, she could visit them whenever she needed throughout the day. We both could.

Given the day we've had, we ordered dinner tonight. My mother was here waiting with the kids when we arrived, and both Mia and Finn were excited to see their other grandmother. It's the first time she's ever been to our apartment. Bringing Delilah's mother back to the house with us was the best thing we could've done—I can see the difference in her already.

While my mother took charge as hostess and started pouring drinks for Delilah and her mum, I rounded up the kids and marched them off to the bathroom for a bath. I do this every night while my wife cooks dinner. I love being a hands-on dad and undertaking all these mundane chores. It gives me some one-on-one time with my children and a chance to find out about their day. Mia usually dominates the entire conversation, and I adore how animated she is. I find myself smiling the entire time I listen to her.

Once the kids are bathed and dressed in their pyjamas, the food arrives. We all sit down to eat as a family. It's something we do every night, which I'm grateful for. My kids get to experience all the inconsequential things that most people take for granted … stuff that I missed out on growing up.

"What are your plans for the next few weeks?" my mother asks Mrs St. James.

"I don't have any."

"You should do something fun … take a little trip. A weekend away in the Hunter Valley … or maybe a three-day cruise."

"Oh, I couldn't do that."

"Why?" she probes.

"For one, I couldn't afford to, and I need to be around to visit my husband while he's in respite."

"It's called respite for a reason," my mother states, reaching across the table to grasp her hand. "He'll be well cared for. I'm sure Delilah and Spencer will make sure he's placed in the best facility money can buy."

"Of course we will," Delilah chimes in.

"He's, my husband. I can't leave him in his time of need."

"You're taking a small break to rejuvenate. You are no good to anyone in this condition. You've dedicated your entire adult life to that man, and if I'm not mistaken, he's controlled you for the majority of it. You deserve a break … a moment of selfishness."

"Well … I could definitely do with a time-out. I'm physically and emotionally exhausted."

"Well, that's settled. I'll call my travel agent in the morning and see what I can organise," my mother declares as she sits back in her chair with a satisfied grin.

"I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't feel comfortable going away on my own."

"You wouldn't have to … I'm coming with you."

Mrs St. James's eyes widen, and I have to roll my lips to hide my amusement. My mother is doing what she does best: railroading. Her heart is in the right place, though, and I can guarantee Delilah's mum will be a new woman by the time they return. Eloise Prescott will make sure of it.