To think this whole thing was caused by a box of tampons. It’s ridiculous really. You woke up this morning, fully prepared to roll over and give your boyfriend a very nice wake up call only to find his side of the bed empty and cold. You were pouting slightly as you slid out of bed and while brushing your teeth it dawned on you that it’s Manday, the clever title Justin and his friends gave Mondays on which they spent the entire day golfing, watching sports, grilling out and doing various other things that you found tedious and boring. You went downstairs and found him on the patio, screwing around with the grill while talking on the phone with Trace.

 

“I’m checking the grill to see if we need another gas can, dumbass.”

You laughed and he looked up, grinning at you from beneath his sunglasses, mouthing ‘hey’, as he listened to Trace yammer. You stepped back into the kitchen but could still hear what he was saying.

 

“Dude I know today is gonna be the shit! Golf in about an hour, we’re gonna grill while the Yanks stomp the Tigers like they have the last two games, and you bitches are gonna go home so I can fuck my girlfriend. Best. Day. Ever.”

 

You remember rolling your eyes. You sometimes hate it that he tells Trace everything. But you couldn’t help but feel a little tug of anticipation in your belly knowing that you would definitely be getting some tonight. You always roll your eyes when he starts on the Manday bullshit but hanging with his boys all day, doing God knows what, always makes him hot and horny for you for some reason, which you, of course, have no qualms with whatsoever.

 

That was when you saw it on the counter. A piece of paper emblazoned with his untidy scrawl, the heading of which was The Ultimate Manday Items. You had burst out laughing because really Justin is so adorable sometimes. You read through the list with a smirk on your face: JT Beer, Trace Beer, Marty Beer, Steaks, Potatoes, Chips, Pork Rinds, Beef Jerky, Condoms, Sunscreen, Golf Tees. The pen was laying right there and in a moment of mischievousness you wrote at the bottom of the list, “Tampons” with a flowery flourish.

 

He was just getting off the phone with Trace as he came inside and you were opening the fridge to find the orange juice. He was muttering something about “more propane” and as you heard the rustle of the paper, you couldn’t help but grin, waiting for him to laugh at your clever joke. Okay so maybe it wasn’t clever but you thought it was kinda funny. Instead you got:

 

“What the fuck is this?!”

 

You turned around and found him glaring at you, holding up his list.

”What?” You asked innocently.

 

“This!” he shook the list at you and you looked at it with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Well that’s a piece of paper darlin’” you responded and he pursed his lips at you.

 

“I know that!” he said, slamming the list down on the counter. “It’s my list. You put…you put…” he gestured towards the list.

 

“What?” you asked and he rolled his eyes at you, snatching the list up and walking around the counter, pointing to the offensive item. “Tampons?”

 

“Yes,” he said. “You put…them…on my list.”

 

“Yeah, I need some,” you lied, innocently.

 

“I am not buying you…those.”

 

He was somewhat flustered and you would have found it cute if he wasn’t kind of starting to piss you off.

 

“Come on Justin they’re just tampons,” you said and he growled raising his hands in the air like he were going to strangle you but stopped himself.

 

“I am not buying you…” he broke off into a laugh, licking his lips and leaning on the counter in frustration. “No,” he concluded.

 

“You are such a fucking child sometimes you know that?” you had said, rolling your eyes.

 

“Britt, I don’t want any part of that,” he replied gesturing towards your waist and your jaw practically fell to the floor.

 

“Oh really?” you asked, as you watched him scratch out “tampons” and slide the list in the pocket of his khakis. “Well you didn’t seem to have a problem with it when you had your dick in there.”

 

He flushed a little and turned to you. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

 

“Sure, whatever Timberlake,” you had said and stomped off into the other room.

 

You heard the door slam a few minutes later, hearing the roar of the Rubicon as it tore out of the driveway. You were so beyond pissed at that point that you had decided to do a little shopping…on him.

 

You took his Ferrari and parked in the closest spot you could find, which you usually never did because if there was a ding on his car that wasn’t there when you took it out there would be hell to pay. But you didn’t care. Because you were pissed. Let him play his golf and watch his game and hang out with his friends and have his stupid fucking Manday. You would have a grand old time yourself spending his money.

 

After a few stops on Rodeo you popped in La Pearla, which was out of habit really, and now looking at the racks of $600 thongs and $1,200 bras you realize that this would all be much more fun if you knew you’d be modeling them for you man later tonight.

 

So you leave the store and slip into the driver’s seat of the Ferrari, savoring the smell of leather and him and make your way home. “My Love” is playing on the R&B station so you switch it to the Pop station, where they are introducing “What Goes Around,” so you flip it to the Hip Hop station and catch the last chords of “AYO Technology, the hot new joint by Fiddy and JT” Rolling your eyes you just turn the damn thing off and ride home in silence.

 

You’re greeted in the driveway by four trucks and roll your eyes. The Manday festivities seem to have come back to the homestead. Grabbing your bags from the passenger seat you struggle into the house. Five guys are sitting around your living room, each with a bottle in their hands, a baseball game playing out on the bigscreen. One of these men is your boyfriend who pauses, the bottle halfway to his lips when he sees you.

 

“Do a little shopping there, Britt,” Trace asks as he slides past you from the kitchen.

 

“Yup,” you say, wiggling your bags. “Thanks babe.” You grin mockingly at him and he glares at you in a way that would usually turn you on but now really just pisses you off. You are about to make your way upstairs when you pause, your foot on the bottom stair and smirk. “Did you get me my tampons, babe?” you ask and hear the room go silent.

 

“Um, no!” he spats and you can hear his friends begin to snigger.

 

“Its okay, you can get them when you go out later,” you say and you hear someone say “dude you are so fuckin whipped.”

 

“I’m not getting you tamp…THOSE!!!” he yells the last word but it is almost completely drowned out by the cackles of his friends.

 

Smirking you flounce up the stairs and into your bedroom. Several hours pass and it’s beginning to get dark outside. You hear the trucks firing up in the driveway and watch them leave from your bedroom window.

 

You hear him coming up the stairs, feet pounding petulantly against the wood. The door to the bedroom flies open and you jump, turning to see him, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. You don’t notice he has something in his hands until he flicks his wrist, sending the object flying as if he were flinging playing cards into a hat. The box of tampons lands with a soft plop in the middle of the bed.

 

“There’s your fucking tampons,” he spats going into the bathroom.

“Justin!” you exclaim rushing to the doorway, as you hear the faucets turn on.

 

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it Brittany!” he exclaims, his back to you as he pulls his shirt over his head. “I shot a shitty game, I burned my steak, and the Yankees fucking lost. But I got your god damn tampons so just shut the hell up!”

 

With that he drops his pants and steps into the shower, slamming the glass door so hard you fear it may shatter. You hear him groan as he steps under the steaming water and watch as he stands there, arms braced against the wall, letting the water slide down his back, around his ass and down his calves.

 

You peel your clothes off silently, and slide in the shower behind him, wrapping your arms around his stomach, pressing your cheek against his back, feeling his every breath. Your hands slide down, one gripping his hardening cock, the other cupping his balls. He hums his approval, turning his head to glance at you over his shoulder.

 

“You shouldn’t have brought it up in front of them,” he breathes as the hand on his cock begins to stroke, slow, steady.

 

You don’t respond, just give his balls a squeeze and he lets his head fall back, resting against your forehead. You press your body flush against his back, placing soft kisses on his neck and shoulders, pecking all your favorite freckles.

 

You feel him starting to turn in your arms and release him reluctantly. Pressing you against the door of the shower, his arms wrap around your waist, threading his fingers against your lower back as he kisses you sweetly. His tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth languidly as his hips press his erection needily against your belly. You reach down for him but he grabs your wrist quickly and presses your hand against yourself, breaking your kiss to smile at you and nuzzle his nose with yours.

 

He steps back and watches as you slide a finger between your lower lips, finding your clit immediately and biting your lip. He takes the hand that was bracing you against the glass door and places it on your breast, licking his lips as you roll your nipple between your fingers, heat flooding through you. Your eyes close as your head falls back, pressing harder on the small ball of nerves between your legs. You feel his hand skimming up your thigh and you open your eyes to find him kneeling in front of you, taking your leg and sliding it over his shoulder.

 

His eyes never leave yours as he kisses the inside of your knee, and then the inside of your thigh, and then the place where your legs meets your body. He bites his lip as he watches your finger rub your sensitive flesh.

 

“Open yourself for me baby,” he whispers huskily and you oblige, taking your middle and index finger and exposing yourself to him completely.

 

He dips his head, placing a kiss on the hard nub framed by your fingers, a shock running through you. You press your hips forward as he snakes his tongue out, dipping into you and darting out again to suck on your clit. You moan as you feel two long fingers penetrate you, causing your knees to shake a little.

 

You stammer his name, silently begging him to stop and never ever stop at the same time. He responds by humming, his lips still wrapped around your most sensitive spot and your eyes roll back in your head. You shudder hard, your orgasm about to slam into you when he releases you, removing his fingers and standing. He’s gripping the leg he had over his shoulder, holding it at his waist and not allowing you to press your thighs together to get your release.

 

You let out a dry sob, as the ache inside you intensifies. He smiles down at you cockily and you glare at him, wrapping the leg he’s holding fully around his waist, trapping his hard cock between his belly and your wet heat. You watch his eyes unfocus as you thrust the best you can against him, sliding your pussy along the bottom of his dick, coating him in your juices.

 

Suddenly he’s had enough and he’s lifting your other leg to wrap around his waist, spinning you so your back is against the wall of the shower, directly under the stream of water. He penetrates you deep and holds steady while you get used to him invading your private space. He nuzzles your neck and waits for you to twitch your hips restlessly against him before he begins his rhythm.

 

He’s agonizingly slow. So much so that it is almost painful. You were so close before and you know that all it would take would be four or five hard, frenzied thrusts and you would be calling his name. The thing is, he knows this too. Apparently he’s punishing you. His lips are on your shoulder and neck, licking and sucking the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

 

“Baby please,” you say, too needy to care about your pride.

 

He pulls his lips from your skin to look down at you, his eyes boring into yours as his body enters and leaves yours. “Please what, baby?”

 

“Please,” you moan, your eyes closing as he hits your sweet spot. If only he’d done it a little harder…

 

“I wanna hear you say it Britt,” he mutters, his head bending to suck on your collar bone. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“Harder,” you grit out and his next thrust is a little more forceful than the last.

 

“Like that?” he questions as he does it again and you shake your head, your hands gripping his shoulders.

 

“Harder,” you say again and he obliges this time, slamming deep into you.

 

“Better?” he questions and you shake your head again. “Tell me Britt.”

 

“Faster, Jus,” you moan. “God please!”

 

You can feel his chuckle vibrate against your throat as he gives in and begins setting a pace that causes your breathing to hitch and your legs to tighten around his waist. Within seconds you’re screaming his name, your voice echoing painfully off the shower walls. His thrusts are steady and pounding, working you through your orgasm before he lets go himself and spills into you.

 

You both collapse against the shower wall, limbs entangled, breathing labored. He pulls his face from the crook of your neck and plants a kiss on your lips, attempting to pull out. Your legs tighten, not letting him pull away from you and you kiss him deep, needy and passionate.

 

“What was that for?” he asks, when you pull back and you smile smoothing the water from his face.

 

“Thanks for the tampons.”