Page 38 of Trig

“I’m hearing the words, but I still don’t know if I believe them,” I say into her ear. “And if I’m being really honest, they sound weak.”

I use the same words against her which just seems to turn her on even more. She looks at me with calculated eyes and then she unexpectedly grabs my throat. Time seems to stop for a short second in this sexual standoff. My heartbeat increases while my dick strains against the fabric of these shorts. I know what she wants. To give up control. To be manipulated. To be dominated. I love taking her to the edge and bringing her back.

“If you fuck me like a God…I’ll let you destroy me like a villain,” she says, as she pushes her hand down over mine, tightening my grip around her throat. “Ruin me,” she whimpers.

The demon in me lets loose. Say less, Nine. Say fucking less.

Two hours later we are sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the broken lamp, ripped bed sheets, and torn clothing spread out all across the room. Both of us are still naked, covered in bite and scratch marks. Hickeys up and down our skin. She can barely move, and I’m pretty sure I broke my dick and threw my back out, but I’ll never admit that.

“I don’t think I can walk,” she jokes.

“You said destroy you. That was at your request. I was just following orders.”

“And you did a fucking phenomenal job because I think I’m missing my cervix,” she teases.

I chuckle and pull her naked body into me, kissing her neck up to her ear.

“I still have another round in there. If you can handle it, I can deliver it.”

She leans over and kisses me. I start to run my hand up her thigh. She smirks and pushes me away.

“No more. I gotta take a shower, you brute.”

She jumps up and slowly waddles to the bathroom, which makes my ego proud. Pussy killed. Mission accomplished. Time for recovery. The exhaustion sets in as I settle into the mattress and instantly fall deeply asleep.

It feels like I’m dreaming, but as I come to, I hear the sounds of muffled voices talking, which jolts me wide awake. I quickly sit up, confused, and grab my phone to check the time. It’s now eight-thirty in the morning. I’ve been out for hours. I stare at our closed bedroom door as more muffled words and laughter are exchanged from the other side. I jump up, slide into my shorts and grab my gun. I walk to the door, crack it open and peek out. It’s silent now as I spot a tall, lean, Hispanic man standing alone in my living room. He acts suspicious as he looks around like he’s casing out the place. He turns and reaches into his coat lining, which triggers me to run down the hall, and without thought, tackle his ass to the carpet. He screams in fear and throws his hands up in submission as I hover over him.

“Who fucking sent you?” I bark, as I place the gun to his head.

I hear the sound of footsteps running down the hallway.

“For fuck’s sake. This is Tom. The life insurance guy,” she says. I look up at her, slightly embarrassed. “We discussed this last week. I told you about the appointment. I literally just left the room for two seconds to get some records.”

I climb off of Tom, jump up, and extend my hand out as a peace offering. The guy looks terrified and is reluctant to grab it. Nine pushes me out of the way, bends down, and helps him up.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, Tom. This is Mr. Krackle, my husband. He suffers from post-war PTSD, especially when he doesn’t take his meds. I hope you understand.” She turns to me with the fakest smile ever. “Perhaps you can put on a shirt, hunny. Give the muscles a rest for a day, yeah?”

“Of course, Angelina,” I mock.

She turns Tom away from me by his elbow and walks him toward our kitchen table while looking back at me with a pissed-off face. I throw my hands up and mouth “sorry” to her and then make myself invisible until “the suit” is gone. I decide on my way back to our room to check on the kids even though I know those two night owls probably won’t even wake up until eleven. I peek in to see both of them in their beds, crashed out. None of that racket even stirred them. That’s impressive, yet frightening. I proceed back to my cave to hide out until the queen brings her fury.

She bursts into the room, as expected, once Tippy Tom leaves. “What in the holy hell was that?”

“A reaction to some strange guy in my house that looked like he was reaching for a gun. Nine, I don’t want any men in this house when I’m not home nor do I want them alone with you even if I’m here. I told you that already.”

“This was business. He’s an agent.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s the King of England, if he has a dick then I don’t want him alone with you. This is the last time I’m saying this. Period.”

She gives me a stunned look at first, as if to say, who the fuck do you think you’re talking to. She can see I’m a bit agitated. I lock eyes with her to let her know I mean business.

“Is that an order, boss?” she asks, squinting at me.

I slide my hand down my chin.

“More of a mandatory request,” I shoot back.

“Those two words don’t go together, Trig.”

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