Chapter 2 #2
She struts down the hallway–aiming right for me–one foot crossing over the other like she was born to walk a runway.
Her perfect more-than-a-handful tits bounce with every step as her crimson locks sway across her back.
She stops just before she reaches me, places her feet shoulder width apart and casually moves her arms to rest behind her back.
The movement causes her chest to pop out the perfect amount and I can’t help but sit here and admire her beauty.
“I decided I didn’t want to go to class today.”
Closing my laptop, I stand. “Oh yeah? And why is that?”
“Maybe I’m tired of doing what I’m supposed to do and I just want to be bad instead.”
“You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you?” I ask, unable to stop myself from groaning when I catch sight of the moisture glistening along her inner thighs.
“I was kind of counting on it.”
I take a moment to regard my wife. My stunning and perfect wife.
We’ve done things a little backwards by getting married so fast and leaving the majority of ‘learning each other’ for after the vows. Every day I learn something new about her and each time I fall more in love with her than the day before.
Something we’ve recently discussed is her fantasy of being dominated. Of having her power taken away. I’ve listened to her confess that she’s spent the majority of her life working harder than everyone else in the room because it was always expected that she be the best.
My own past and the lifelong demons–well, one particular demon–that linger just below the surface have made me hesitant to oblige her.
But I’ve spent thousands of minutes–millions of seconds–studying her face…
her expressions… her movements over the last month and despite the sassy smirk she’s giving me right now, I can see the fatigue that’s taken up residence just underneath the surface.
Those emerald eyes are pleading with me to take over so she can let go.
This is new to me–to both of us–but how hard can it be?
Closing the gap between us, I stop in front of her and pause for a moment before reaching my hand between her tanned and toned legs until it’s met with the slickness from her arousal.
“Look how wet you are, Angel.”
She releases a long breath and I know I read her right.
“Think you can do something about that?” she sasses and I slide my hand farther upward until my fingers are teasing her soaked entrance.
“Shut the fuck up and just do what you’re told.” My words are almost a whisper and her surprised gasp causes her mouth to open just enough for my lips to find purchase with hers and my tongue to gain entry.
Her moans melt with mine as we devour each other in an intense and all-encompassing kiss. Her chest heaves as I hoist her up to place her bare thighs around my waist so I can carry her to our bed and defile her.
I toss her onto the bed and she bounces with a giggle. Fuck me. Who knew a giggle could make my dick hard? Well… harder.
Not wanting to waste any time, I reach into the nightstand and pull out the rope I recently bought for exactly this moment should we ever decide to go down this road together. Her eyes widen and I toss it onto the bed, landing it right next to her head.
“Arms up, bad girl,” I order and her compliance is swift and eager.
“Yes, Sir,” she coos with a hint of that sass I love so much. Not sure why, but her calling me sir has my dick ready to bust through my pants to get to her.
Slowly, I lift my t-shirt over my head, then proceed to relieve my throbbing cock from the confines of my pants and boxers. She releases a guttural moan as I begin to crawl on the bed, nudging her legs wider to make more room for me.
“God, your body was sculpted by the Gods,” she purrs as her eyes rake over my body. “Please, have your way with me.”
“Oh, I plan on it.”
I make quick work of tying her wrists tight above her head and then securing her to the headboard. I feel something wet, just as I’m finishing my work and I look down and see her mouth hovering and teasing the head of my dick.
Jesus.
I’m tempted to push my way inside and fuck her throat like this, but I’ve got my mind set on another of her holes tonight and I won’t last if I take both right now.
“Naughty girl,” I chuckle as I pull away from her. “But you’re not in charge right now. I am. But don’t worry, I’ll make it easier for you.”
Reaching back into the nightstand drawer, I grab what I need and her muscles tense underneath me when she sees I’ve grabbed a large roll of silver duct tape.
Tearing off a piece with my teeth, I place it over her sassy mouth. “Now it’s time to let me do all the work.” She moans softly, then nods and I slide back down her body to get this show on the road.
She can’t touch me. She can’t speak. All she has to do now is feel.
I’m inside of her within seconds and her hips thrust to meet mine as I pound into her, relentlessly plunging my hard cock as far into her warm, wet hole as I can. Her cheeks are pink and her chest heaves as she takes everything I’m giving her.
“You’re doing so good, Angel. Giving your body over to me like this.”
She grunts into the tape as her body begins to thrash along with what my cock can tell is a very intense orgasm. She’s damn near squeezing it off.
Her body tenses and her eyes go wide, her pupils blown. She’s trying to tell me something.
“Shhhh,” I reassure her, my words soothing and low. “Focus on me. That’s all you have to do.”
I catch a lone tear sliding down her cheek as she shakes her head violently from side to side.
Shit.
Something’s not right.
I still my movement and peel the tape as gently as I can from her lips.
She releases an agonizingly painful gasp. “My wrist!” she screams. “Ah, fuck. My wrist.”
My eyes dart to her hands tied to the headboard and I see one is a different color than the other. One is pink and the other is very much… not pink.
“Hayes, pleaseeee. It hurts so fucking bad.”
I lean over to fumble with the shitty knots and her worsening cries tell me I’m taking too long.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m going as fast as I can.”
“Hayyyyyyes,” she cries and the rope finally comes loose, releasing her.
She pulls her hand close, cradling it to her chest as she continues to cry.
Fuck. Her hand is still quite purple.
I move to sit at her side. Pulling her close, I rub my hand along her back. “Angel, we have to go to the hospital to get that looked at.”
“I-it’s not that bad, baby. I promise.” Her head turns to consider me and I know she’s lying. It’s written all over her beautiful face.
“It’s not up for discussion, Raegan. We’re going,” I say in the most stern, yet concerned voice I can muster. This is not something I could have anticipated and I’ll feel like shit if there’s any permanent damage because of this. “Now let’s get you dressed.”
It’s nearly two in the morning and sleep is the last thing on my mind. Raegan is snuggled up next to me, lightly snoring.
We spent almost four hours in the emergency room. They gave her strong pain meds and then it took forever to get the x-rays she needed.
There were two clear fractures. The scaphoid and the distal humerus. Scaphoid. Distal Humerus. Three words I’ve never once said in my life, but have now repeated at least a hundred times in my head since I heard them.
Her left arm is resting outside of the fluffy comforter. The cast that encases her delicate wrist and forearm taunts me… trying to shame me for causing her so much pain.
Spoiler alert: It’s working.
It’s not Raegan’s fault I’m blaming myself. She told me numerous times since it happened that she doesn’t blame me.
But I don’t hear her voice chastising me in my head.
It’s my father’s.
I stare at the ceiling, wide awake as I recall all the times my father screamed and yelled in my face. Usually there was alcohol involved, but the message was always the same.
“It’s your fucking fault your mother’s not here.” That was his favorite thing to remind me for as long as I can recall. I suppose when your mother dies giving birth to you and you’re an only child, there really isn’t anyone else to blame.
As I got older, and started becoming interested in girls, the verbal abuse evolved into some variation of, “You killed your mother just by existing. How are you going to keep your little girlfriend safe? You fucking can’t, you little shit.”
Every interaction I had with girls through high school, his voice lingered in the back of my mind. It wasn’t until I left the house and got away from him that I was able to separate his reality from mine.
Until now.
His voice is back, raging in full force and I can’t fucking shake it.
A thin layer of sweat forms against what feels like every square inch of my body.
I toss the covers and swing my legs off the side of the mattress.
Looking over my shoulder at my wife, resting so peacefully, I wince as I hear my father’s voice again in my head.
“You think you can keep her safe after this? You think she’ll even trust you after you literally broke her bones? She’ll never be safe with you.”
“Fuck you,” I mumble into the air–to no one–or maybe I’m talking to myself now.
What if he’s right?
I hunch over with my elbows on my knees and my hands encasing my head. Tears begin to fall as the realization of what I have to do hits me.
Hopefully–one day–she’ll forgive me.