Cheater

58. Chloe

I don’t want to go to the Steele homestead, but I don’t speak as Derek drives. Both of his hands are on the steering wheel, but his right hand is jerking as if he’s having muscle spasms. This was happening at the cemetery, too. I think it’s some sort of PTSD-related tremor. I can’t remember the exact terminology but do remember that people can have involuntary body responses because of trauma. I’m no expert, but Coraline minored in psychology, and we spent many hours quizzing one another during exams.

He’s breathing hard, staring ahead, mouth alternating between jaw clenching and lip curling.

My heart is racing, and I’ve got a tension headache.

What in the world was that? Someone said drones. Drones causing fires and explosions in a cemetery? I’m shook. It was horrific. People were running, screaming, and crying. Security was trying to get people to their vehicles in an orderly fashion, but it was chaotic. And Derek’s single-minded focus, as always, was me. He covered my body with his. He focused on getting me to safety. And his hand won’t stop twitching as he drives, but he seems to be in command of the vehicle.

It’s just a short drive back to Derek’s parents’ home and a valet gets into the driver’s seat before I’m out of the passenger seat. Derek is already grabbing my hand before the shoes that Grace sent me, black and red versions of the ones I was admiring like hers from the day of the anniversary brunch, touch the ground and we’re moving toward the house. My eyes scan the sky. Derek notices and grinds his teeth.

Once in the house I see Carson, still wearing his coat, some dirt on his cheek. He waves us down the hallway to his father’s office, where I spent a chunk of a day dealing with that media woman.

I signal to my own cheek with my eyes on him. He nods his thanks and pulls a handkerchief from his inside pocket.

Elijah and his wife as well as Grace and Derek’s father are already in the office. Naomi and her husband as well as Jonah are behind us.

“Police will be here soon. I’ll announce before bringing them in,” Carson advises me and Derek as well as the family members behind us. “We want the immediate family together in the office for that. After that, we’ll receive guests in the solarium where Mrs. Steele will be for those who want to have a moment with her.”

“What’s the plan for her, Dad?” Jonah asks. “Since the cemetery is up in fucking flames.”

“Your mother will stay in the solarium tonight,” Derek’s father says from his office chair where he sits, looking every bit like a CEO, though with a look in his eyes that’s so angry, cold, and also grief-stricken that I don’t think I’ll forget it for the rest of my life.

“She’d want to be there. It was her favorite room in the house,” Grace says softly.

She looks stricken, pale, traumatized. So does Naomi. And Sabrina. I probably do, too.

My chin trembles. This is so awful. Derek wraps his arms around me and holds me closer. His body is trembling. I don’t know if it’s adrenalin, anger, the tremor, or all of it.

Asher arrives, swiping a hand through his hair as he comes in. His tie is gone, his top few buttons are undone, and he moves straight to the bar cart in the corner. There’s a discordant clang making all eyes in the room move in his direction and we watch as he opens a decanter and starts pouring a drink.

“I’ll have some of that,” Jonah says, walking that way.

Elijah follows.

Ash carries a large glass of amber liquid straight to his father, who accepts it without speaking. He goes back and sets up several glasses and pours.

Derek shakes his head as Elijah holds a glass out.

Elijah’s eyes hit my face with question, still holding the glass.

“Brandy instead, ladies?” Carson pipes up.

“Yes, please,” I say.

“I’ll have a bourbon, too,” Grace answers.

“Me, too,” Sabrina says.

“Nothing for me,” Naomi whispers, arms wrapped around herself before she goes to the fireplace and turns a button on the mantle, making it spring to life. She sits down on one of the big, comfortable-looking leather chairs there, giving the rest of us her back.

Her husband moves over there and squats, talking softly to her.

I can’t get over the uncanny resemblance between Josh and Asher. It can’t be just me that thinks it.

Asher passes me a brandy.

“Thank you,” I say.

Michael speaks up. “Get yourselves together, kids. I’ll talk to the police with all of you here, so you all know the exact script, then go out there and receive our guests. It’s what your mother would have wanted.”

Script?

“If I had a dollar every fuckin’ time I heard that,” Derek mutters under his breath.

Asher scoffs and I’m pretty sure it’s in agreement.

“What’s that, Derek?” Michael calls over, looking absolutely pissed.

“How about you give us five fucking minutes before we have to worry about appearances, Dad?” Derek snaps.

Michael’s gaze goes even colder. “Who do you think you’re talking to, son?”

“Oh shit,” Grace mutters.

Derek shakes his head with disgust. “Who gives a fuck what the guests think? You think they might understand that we need a minute when we lost her, and her funeral got attacked with drone fucking warfare.”

“The last thing I need right now is bullshit from you, Derek,” Michael points at him.

“Bullshit from me?” Derek asks, then laughs. Dangerously. All eyes in the room are on him. His arms are still around me, but his whole body is trembling now.

I take a big gulp of the brandy in my hand.

“Whoa, let’s settle d-down,” Grace gets between us and their father, visibly upset.

“Who’s trying to hurt us?” Naomi asks, no… demands. She’s looking at Elijah.

“We’re dealing with it,” Elijah answers. “Derek, cut it out.”

“Fuck you, Eli,” Derek snaps.

“Whoa,” Jonah says. “We’re all on the same side here. Can we try to remember that?”

Naomi gets louder. “Someone ran over Mom and Dad and now tried to… what… kill all of us in the cemetery? Who out there hates us enough to want to ruin the graves of all our dead family members, too?”

“It’s more of the same, isn’t it?” Ash calls out, pouring another drink and then downing it. “Not sure how we’ll spin this in the media though.”

“Watch it, Asher,” Michael warns.

Carson speaks up. “Might I suggest we speak to the police, then after we receive guests and spend an hour or two with them to honor Mrs. Steele, that you all stay here tonight, where we all know we’re under one roof? And safe. I’ve already asked the team to prepare all of your rooms.”

“Good plan,” Grace says.

“I agree,” Michael says. “Thank you, Carson.”

“All of us under one roof where we can all be taken out in one fell swoop? I don’t fuckin’ think so,” Derek states. “No way am I keeping Chloe here.”

I look up at his face. Our eyes meet and his are frighteningly angry.

His hand at my lower back jerks some more.

“It was a public place; there was only so much we could do,” Grace defends. “But-”

“Bullshit,” Derek clips. “Did me and Jonah not both try to convince you people it was a bad idea to be out in the open like that? Lotta good that recon did when enemies can strap explosives to drones.”

Michael keeps going. “We’ll go out there, present a united front, and deal with all the bullshit tomorrow. How’s that?”

“Did I not just fucking speak?” Derek snaps.

“Do I give a fuck?” Michael returns.

“You really gonna continue acting like I’m not here, Dad?”

“Me, Derek? You say practically nothing to me for decades and now you’ve got all sorts of shit to say to me? Now you want attention? Here. During all this?” Michael pauses and then sourly finishes with, “I think given the circumstances, it can wait one more day, son.” He gulps back the contents of his glass and sets it down hard.

“I’ve got shit to say that should’ve probably been said a long fuckin’ time ago,” Derek snaps. “Maybe I don’t wanna wait until tomorrow. Maybe I can’t swallow it down for one more fucking minute.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re supposed to be burying my wife today, Derek.”

“She’s dead and gone. And she’s still your biggest priority, isn’t she?”

Michael’s face is red, but like stone.

A staff member comes in and speaks low to Carson.

“The police are here,” Carson states.

“Make them wait. We’re busy,” Derek snaps.

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden,” Michael says.

“Of course you don’t know; you haven’t given a fuck for most of my life, Dad.”

“My wife is dead!” Michael shouts gutturally.

I wince.

“My mother is dead!” Derek counters. “And you didn’t protect her when Elijah told you shit was too amped for you to be wandering around in New York. All because she wanted to see a fucking play and you didn’t want to burst her fragile bubble by revealing that shit was dangerous. And now again today… again… your ignorance put my wife, my brothers and sisters, their spouses in jeopardy.”

“And I have to live with all that, don’t I?” Michael fires back.

“You have a history of not paying attention to anybody who says anything you don’t wanna hear, don’t you? Until big shit happens to wake you up, right? Oh… wait… except when it comes to your kids.”

Michael bares his teeth, but Derek isn’t done.

“Did sweet fuck all for your family unless it was throwing money at staff to look after them for you… until she almost died when we were kids and then she was all you gave a fuck about. And now she’s dead. What’ll you give a fuck about now, Dad?”

“You’ve lost your mind, Derek.”

“I think I lost it a long time ago, man. Around the time my father didn’t give a fuck that I was being held for a ransom he could easily pay.”

“Here we go,” Michael mutters. “I need another fucking drink.”

Carson rushes over with the decanter, looking stressed out.

I’m still standing in Derek’s embrace, trembling along with him.

Grace is crying, Naomi’s crying, and Sabrina has sat down in the chair beside Naomi, has her arms wrapped around herself, and she’s staring at the fireplace, looking broken.

Elijah moves over and stands beside her, looking frazzled. Looking like he wants to comfort her but is afraid to touch her.

“I say we shouldn’t have the funeral at a cemetery out in the open and Elijah insists you won’t listen. Jonah calls you to talk about it and you sluff him off, too. So Ash nearly gets blown apart, then the whole fuckin’ place is being attacked and shit is on fire just five feet from my wife and my fucking sisters and still all you care about is what she would have wanted in terms of appearances. She’s gone, Dad. Bullshit ceremonies and fake receiving lines and fucking nonsense for the clicking shutters to make the press think we’re the perfect all-American one percent family? Why don’t you tell everyone to go the fuck home so we can help clean up Elijah’s mess and take out his fuckin’ enemies?”

“What is your fucking problem?” Michael retorts, full of venom. “You-”

Derek cuts him off. “What’s been my problem my whole life, man? Maybe your lack of giving a fuck has something to do with it. Probably figured the good doc was helping you weed that garden, huh? Too bad I shot him and came back.”

“Bro…” Ash mutters, shaking his head.

“You pick now to do this?” Michael snaps.

Derek seems manic. Unglued. And it’s scary. And upsetting. His father looks just as ready to lose it.

“Okay, I think we need to all take a minute,” Naomi’s husband says.

“Fuck that. Sick of shit not being said. Standing on ceremony. Used to say nothing, barely gave a fuck. All you wanted was to make her happy. Didn’t bother doing sweet fuck all about Thaddeus, let him and his bullshit stomp all over this family to keep the peace for her, but guess what? I do actually give a fuck, Dad. Shocks the shit out of me, but I do. Too bad you don’t.”

“I was told it was too late. That you were probably already dead,” Michael says, frowning.

Derek stares at his father with icy fury.

Michael sniffs and shakes his head, looking lost in thought as he keeps talking. “Wanted to throw every fucking dime I had at that situation to get you back. Cops said it was probably already too late. They found your blood in the limo and figured you were already gone, said your blood was on the ransom note too. That he was probably lying about you being alive. But it was too late. You were alive but you took matters into your own little hands and it fuckin’ ruined you.”

Derek’s mouth twists in a grimace.

Michael continues. “…to shoot that man in cold blood when you were just a child. If you hadn’t have killed him, son, I would have. I wanted to inflict pain on a dead man for years after that was over. But it was never over because you never looked at any of us the same after that. I felt like a fucking failure. It destroyed me and your mother. Nearly ended our marriage. Did you know that? Fucked up the entire family for years. Do you know what we went through for those long days and nights? Both your sisters bawling all day long for you. Thaddeus banging his own head against the walls in frustration crying out that his little brother is dead. And then we get you back and you were different. Completely different. You were already troubled after your mother’s mental health crisis and after the abduction…” He lets that hang.

“Too different, right? Ruined. You probably wished he took me out. Aren’t you glad I didn’t become an embarrassment like Thad?”

“Stop it,” Naomi weeps.

“But yet Thad would embarrass you repeatedly and you’d do nothing about it. Letting him terrorize most of the family in order to keep your wife happy. Pretend nothing was wrong. Because Thad knew how to hide his bullshit from Mom, didn’t he? But the rest of us saw it in glorious technicolor.”

I’m stuck, glued in place watching pain take over Derek’s features. Immense pain. His father wears the same pain.

Elijah and Jonah stare at their father with hard expressions, like they want the same answers Derek wants. Ash is pouring another drink.

“You didn’t hide it though, did you, Derek?” Michael asks. “You have any idea how much sleep you cost her? Cost me?”

“Aw, poor you, Dad. Fuck this. We’re leaving. I’m done with you.”

“Derek…” Grace tries.

“Derek wait,” Michael says as he rises slowly, with difficulty. He takes a big breath and clears the anger from his face. “Son, please don’t go. I’d really like it if my family would all stay under this roof tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow. About everything you want to talk about. But don’t go out there with this threat. I don’t… I’m asking you not to. Please. Stay.” His voice cracks. “Not because it’s what your mother would have wanted, it’s what I want. I don’t want you to be done with me. I want all of you here tonight. It’s what I need.” He clears his throat. “I need you all under this roof tonight. To know we’re all together. Safe. I know it’s a lot to ask. I’m sorry, but I’m asking anyway.”

Derek stares at his father who suddenly looks utterly broken.

“Please, son,” he tacks on.

Grace chokes on a sob. Asher hugs her.

I reach for Derek’s twitching right hand behind my back and squeeze it.

Derek looks from his father to me. I squeeze his hand again and hold tight.

He flinches and stares at me with confusion in his pained eyes.

I put my other arm around him and rub his back.

He looks ready to break down in tears. From his father’s speech? From my back rub? Both? Everything? Probably everything.

“Let’s stay,” I say.

Derek swallows, then looks back to his father. “Fine,” he says, “But I’m not participating in a circus out there. Receiving lines and bullshit like that. No. Me and Chloe will stay in my old room, and I’ll see you all in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Michael breathes, sounding relieved. “All of you do what you need to do today, just please do it here. Stay. And let’s meet for breakfast in the morning. Nine o’clock in your mother’s morning room. I’d like to have breakfast with my children tomorrow. And your spouses. My family. Have a meeting with my sons about security and cleaning up after today, but after breakfast. Is that all right?”

“Okay, Daddy,” Grace says quietly, dabbing her wet eyes with a Kleenex.

Derek moves toward the door, taking me with him.

My eyes meet Derek’s father’s.

“Thank you, Chloe,” he says softly.

I give him a small, sad nod as we move out of the room.

Derek walks too quickly, meaning I need to jog to keep up, taking us down a hall through a room full of mourners eating and drinking, staring at us, and then down another hallway until we’re approaching a grand, winding staircase.

“You’re walking too fast,” I manage to rasp, a stitch in my side.

He slows and we climb the stairs together, then move down a hallway of doors before turning down another hallway leading to a short staircase and yet another hallway of doors.

Three doors down, he opens a door.

A large bedroom with multiple doors including sliding patio doors that lead to a balcony. Done in dark wood furniture, gleaming hardwood floors, blue and green plaid bedding. A large desk with leather chair. An adjoining bathroom. A sitting area as well as a wet bar with a fridge microwave.

He closes the door, locks it, and turns to me, taking my face into both hands.

I gasp in surprise as his mouth touches mine gently, sweetly.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. “I need you right now. I need you so fucking much I think I’ll die if I don’t have you.”

“Derek, no,” I whisper. “I can’t…”

“I can,” he says, a gleam in his eyes. “And I will. Please, little bunny, don’t try to deny me. I need you more than air. I need to feel my wife. I need to hold you. I need you to numb the pain for a while. Please, baby. Please. You’re the only one that can stop it.”

“Stop it?” I query.

“The pain. The trigger finger.”

I stare at his hand.

He’s not flexing it right now.

He pulls me close and the zipper on the back of my dress descends.

“I was trapped with that doc for nine days as he sank deeper and deeper into psychosis. As I watched the timer on the wall count down while he ranted for hours at a time about things a kid couldn’t comprehend, telling me he’d have to kill me. Because my father had to be the bigger man with the bigger balls, not giving in to ransom demands because it was a shot at his manhood. He talked to me about life, death, fuckin’ taxes, revenge, baseball, betrayal, sex…” He shakes his head. “Made me work through mind and guessing games for food and water. And then when it was clear the timer was about to go off and I knew no one was coming to pay him the ransom, I got my hands on the gun and pulled the trigger.” He mimics the action again and I can see it’s what he was doing. Squeezing an imaginary trigger over and over.

“I squeezed, and it was over. The guy was dead on the floor, bleeding out, and I knew it was over. I had nightmares for months about pulling the trigger over and over, watching the blood, gray matter, flesh and bone shards explode from his head. But even though what I saw was horrific, that one squeeze of my finger made it over.”

Shit.

“And maybe that’s why when I get stressed out, something in me thinks if I pull a trigger, it’ll all stop. I couldn’t trust another doctor after that. I spent two hours a week with that guy for months before he kidnapped me.”

“I understand,” I say softly.

“You do, don’t you?” He caresses my face.

His eyes have softened. His hand is steady as he finishes unzipping me, then he takes the sleeves that rest on my biceps and tugs. The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in a flesh-colored strapless bra, a white thong.

“You make me feel the closest to human I’ve felt since then.”

“This isn’t the answer,” I tell him. “You’re upset. You’re grieving, and-”

His mouth is on mine, his hot hands are on me.

I go weak in the knees.

He says, “I know you hate me, Chloe. I know you’re sure you’ll never love me. But you’re so, so fucking good, so caring, so loving and sweet. You took care of me when I got the news. You were offering to help. Contacting Carson. Grace. You’re so, so good. You’ll give me what I need right now, won’t you? You’ll let me make love to you, you’ll let me make you come. Because you’re my good girl, my beautiful wife, who cares even if she doesn’t want to. Even if she shouldn’t.”

I squeeze my eyes tight.

He was so upset down there I couldn’t help but feel for him. And what happened at the cemetery was so terrifying, and it was moving to me the way I was his priority. It penetrated some sort of shield covering me, I think. I think I understand him. His motivations. The hand tremor. The trauma. It’s all so twisted, but he’s been through so, so much. The sum of his experiences and his environment have made Derek who he is.

“Please, baby. I need you.” He walks me backwards and I stumble, tripping on the pool of red lace at my ankles. But I don’t fall, because he scoops me up and then he stumbles and falls onto the bed with me, smiling, eyes alight with amusement.

“Oops,” he quips.

“I don’t think you’re being fair here. Trying to use your grief to manipulate me into sex.”

“Of course I’m not being fair. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get inside you. Don’t you know that by now, wife?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Seriously, you’re upset about things and what you’re trying to do right now isn’t going to solve anything for you. In fact, all it’s gonna do to me is make me feel bad afterwards.”

“But why do you feel bad afterwards?” He touches my face again. “I fuck you and it feels good, doesn’t it? You know it does. And you deserve to feel good.” He runs his fingers through my hair and bites his lip, eyes on my boobs, which are spilling out of the strapless bra. “I’m gonna fuck you, Chloe.”

“No, Derek.”

“Yes. It’ll feel good and make us both happy.”

“There’s so much wrong with this… I can’t even.”

“Wrong with me you mean?”

I sigh again.

“I didn’t kill Hallman’s ex. I didn’t order it.”

“I know that now,” I whisper. “Craig told me. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But this isn’t the answer; it won’t fix things. You just had a really big and important conv-”

He covers my mouth. “Shh. I know you want this. Your eyes tell me even if your mouth denies it. And this…” He smiles and then his free hand dips between my legs and fingers slide through to hook the crotch of the thong to the side just a little, which is all it takes for him to find that I’m slippery. “This…” he chuckles darkly, “tells us everything we both need to know. Doesn’t it?”

I can’t answer with my mouth covered.

“The only problem here is your mouth, wife. So… let’s take that out of the equation, yeah?” He lets go of my mouth so he can yank on his tie, then he loosens it, pulls it over his head and shakes his head smiling. “Shoulda thought of this weeks ago.”

“No,” I protest, giving him an expression that irrefutably shows that I mean business. “Don’t you dare gag me.”

But he does dare. He moves lightning fast and secures the tie by looping it over my head and quickly pulling the tail to make it taut between my teeth.

I struggle, but he effortlessly pins my hands and holds both my wrists with one fist, then snaps his fly undone and can barely wait to get his dick into me. I writhe and grunt with frustration, but he smiles. He smiles a smile that belongs to a man half angel, half monster. And damn it, but I’m wetter. My heart is racing with excitement now. And it feels so, so wrong.

“Give in, listen to your pussy. Give it what it wants. It wants to be pounded. It wants to help your husband forget how fucking much it hurts for a few minutes.”

I stop writhing.

“God, I love seeing these rings on your finger.” He kisses my ring finger just above where the rings rest.

I see the flash of his ring on his hand and a flash of something in his eyes. This along with the sound of his voice, the way he feels holding me, impaling me, wanting me… makes me nod.

He stills, eyes scanning my face.

I nod again and he flinches. He’s looking at me with disbelief.

I nod again, harder. He pins me harder, daring me to change my mind with just those expressive eyes.

I grunt, pulling my right hand hard. He releases it. I pull at the gag and he helps me, releasing it.

His eyes are full of questions. He’s aching to know what I’m trying to say.

As the gag is lowered to my throat, I squeeze my inner muscles around him. His expression shows me he feels it.

“Just go,” I rasp. “Just go! Fuck me. Fuck me as hard as you want me. Take me, Derek. Do it!”

His nostrils flare and he slams his hips forward, letting out a snarling, animalistic sound as he grabs a fistful of my hair, using it to get my mouth to his.

“I fucking love you, love you so much, baby. This is what I need. You. You make me feel and I hate and love it at the same time. You say I’m psycho. I am, Chloe. But you have the power to get me as close as I can get to normal. Just use it. Use that power and get whatever you want, baby. Give yourself to me and take me. Take me as I am. Know that yes, I’m fuckin’ cracked, but I’m yours. I’ll do anything for you, as long as it’s not you asking me to stop being your husband.”

He pinches my nipple hard, but it hurts so good. I squeeze around him, tight as I can while I attack his mouth with my teeth, biting him, licking his lips, sucking on his tongue.

He comes. Explodes. He pulls my hair harder, roaring into my mouth as he trembles. He slams his palm against the headboard and growls.

“Fuck, yeah, Chloe. I fucking love you. I’m gonna give you everything, baby. Everything. Make you happy…” He kisses me. “Make you laugh, smile, make you wanna take care of me. But I won’t stop taking care of you while you do it, okay?”

I whimper.

“How the fuck do you feel this good, wife? I can’t fathom becoming less obsessed with you. I promise I’ll never forget how much I want you, how hard I’ve fought for you. If you love me back, I don’t even know how I’ll hack it. My fucking chest’ll explode with how it feels. Just you being here for me today, I can’t even tell you how much it helps. I’ve been twitching off and on for days, almost non-stop today, and you made it stop, baby.”

He cups my jaw tenderly. This feels so foreign and yet so real at the same moment. His hand slides down to the tie that’s loosely around my neck and he holds it, his other hand cupping me between my legs as he slides his fingers through the wetness, and then slaps between my legs. I jolt. He slaps me three times quickly and then circles it before using three fingers to penetrate me.

My back leaves the mattress and I whimper.

“I love watching my cum leak out of you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. His voice is sweet, almost hypnotizing.

Despite everything, for some reason, my mouth splits into a smile.

“Oh, a gift for your husband, wife? A smile?”

A giggle escapes my mouth. Maybe I’m going a little crazy, too.

He lets go of the tie, laughing. And it’s a beautiful sight, one I don’t feel bad about taking in. It’s a sight I actually lap up for once. “But I need you to hold it all in, Chloe.” His fingers play in the mess, then he cups me firmly. “Because I want my seed to grow our baby inside you.”

I say nothing. What can I say? He’s had an emotional episode today that was huge for him. His mother died. The funeral had explosions. His mother’s coffin isn’t in the ground, it’s in a room downstairs because of the explosions. He’s just had some sort of partial breakthrough with his father. I don’t know what the next moments hold. I only know that this guy looking into my eyes right now, playing in the mess between my legs, yes, he needs psychiatric help. Definitely, he’s done some unforgivable things. But also… in some ways he’s kind of fucking magical.

“A baby for next summer sounds pretty fucking great,” he says. “Doesn’t it?”

I stretch, feeling languid from the ginormous orgasm. I don’t answer the ridiculous question, though.

Yeah, maybe he is crazy, but he sure does know how to make me come. A girl could get addicted to physical satisfaction on a daily basis.

I think back to Jeffy’s words in our last phone call, when he told me to ponder my power. How Derek himself pretty much just said the same thing to me. How Grace and Naomi also suggested it.

“Thought of any baby names?” he asks.

“You’re crazy,” I whisper. “I’m on the pill.”

“Kiss your crazy husband, good girl.”

I don’t move, so he does, and I melt as he kisses me, as he touches me, looking at me like I’m making all his dreams come true. I can’t fuck Derek into being mentally well, but can I ponder my power to find a way to help him find some semblance of wellness?

I get why he’s never wanted to trust another therapist. The trauma he went through as a child at the hands of a child psychologist was beyond extreme.

He never saw therapy do anything good for anybody in his life. He was surrounded by mental illness. The trauma of finding his mother unconscious and bleeding in the tub from self-inflicted wounds imprinted on him from a young age. Him wanting to look after me and solve all my problems is obviously related.

What would be the best way for him to get some help?

Yes, I need to ponder my power here some more.

But right now I can’t think anymore, because he’s lifting me, turning onto his back, and planting me on top of him. I look in his eyes, at the joy on his face as he gazes at me, looking at me like I’m the one and only woman in the world. Like he can’t get enough. Like he really, truly loves me. Like I’ve helped take the pain away.

It's kind of heady.

I take his jaw into both hands and slowly move in, staring into those eyes until our lips touch. My eyes close as I kiss him, holding his face, absorbing the scent and feel of him. Giving myself something I’ve, at some level, wanted since the very beginning.

Letting myself feel the reality of what this could be. Me and Derek. Together. Really together.

He guides his hardness to my opening, and although his eyes look gentle, he slams me down hard, making me whimper. He grasps my hips. I squeeze tight and begin to rock, still kissing him.

His hands release my hips and capture my breasts.

“I love you so much,” he tells me between lip touches. “I’m gonna make you so fucking happy. Please let me make you happy. Please, baby, please.”

“Okay,” I relent.

“What?” He stills.

“I said okay. But Derek… don’t fuck it up.”

He jolts in surprise and stares, chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes rove my face.

“I won’t,” he vows, eyes fiery.

“Don’t fuck it up, or you won’t like what happens,” I warn.

His body goes perfectly still. His expression goes completely cold. I hold his stare. He pulls his cock out and warmth overtakes his features as he flips me to my back and slams inside me.

“I won’t.”

And he’s fucking me, fucking me like a jackhammer, pinning me with his strong body, bruising my hips, but although I’m on my back, being fucked hard, I feel strangely powerful.