Page 49 of Fighting the Odds

Laughing, I turn back around, picking up the discarded toothbrush. I’ve just lifted it to my lips when a hand lands across my ass, the pop bouncing off the bathroom walls. The sting shoots through me and I know I will have a red handprint there later.

“What the hell?” I cry as I whip around to face him. He’s wearing a sly grin from ear to ear and gripping his cock through his gray sweatpants, adjusting it

The heat in his eyes is proof of just how much he liked it. This man is going to be the death of me. Maybe we can grab some on the way and have a quickie at the strip club.

He leaves me alone in the bathroom to finish getting ready. I figure I’ll do most of my makeup here, so all I have to do is get dressed when I get there. Thankfully, most of the bruises have faded, and the others I’ll cover with foundation.

I invested in the good stuff that’s waterproof not long after I started, so I wouldn’t sweat it off while Sarah used me as a punching bag. No way in hell did I want people asking questions.

I finish up, and grab the extra bottle of coverup I have here, just in case someone has used the one I keep at the club. I step back into the bedroom and find Cyrus with his back to me, his head bent forward, looking at whatever is in his hands. I’m guessing it’s his phone.

I take a moment to look at him. He’s muscular, evident through his clothes. And today he’s blessing the world with a perfect view of his tight ass in his practically painted on blue jeans paired with the club shirt. Not hard to pick it out since there’s a girl with her tits hanging out on a stripper pole on the back of it.

“What are you doing?” I ask softly, after clearing my throat.

“One of the guys from my dorm wanted to know a couple of things and if I wanted to go to a party this week.” He slides the phone into his back pocket and avoids looking me in the eye.

“Oh, okay. You told him you were going, right?” There’s something he’s not telling me.

While I wait for him to answer, I move over to my dresser. Thankfully, my bag is already sitting on top of it and I check it, making sure my wig is in there. Once I’m sure it has everything I need, including the coverup for my bruises, I zip it up. I just need my baseball cap now.

I look around the room, not seeing it, then drop to my knees and check under the bed. Man, I wish I hadn’t done that. It’s the lost world of socks and dust bunnies under there. Now I know what I’m doing tomorrow. I’m sure Sam’s looks just as bad.

“Ahh, there it is!” I cry out in triumph as I shimmy my body underneath the frame, toward the headboard, and grip the brim of the hat with the tips of my fingers.

I skillfully scoot my way back out from under the bed, and stand up, only to find Cyrus staring at me with lust in his eyes, and an erection in his pants.

“You should add that to your act. It’s every married man’s wet dream.”

“Shut up.” I give him a playful swat on his chest, but his reflexes are quick and he catches hold of my wrist. Pulling me close to him, he kisses me like a man starving. “I can’t wait to get you home and in our bed. Before you say anything, it's ours from now on. It became ours the moment I slipped my cock inside of you.”

“O…o...okay.” I stutter, squeezing my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure building.

“Got everything you need?”

“Yeah. Hat, wig, cover up and bag. I’m good. Now how about telling me who else was on the phone? No secrets. Remember?” I remind him.

His eyes drop to the floor, and he pulls a deep breath in, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling.

Shit, it must be bad!

He moves over to the bed and sits down on the edge, clasping his hands together, still not looking at me.

My stomach churns with worry and my pulse rises, as a mixture of emotions—anxiety, nervousness, fear, and apprehension—all take a turn running rampant through my body.

I walk slowly toward him, taking tiny steps until I’m standing in front of him. I drop down on my knees, placing my hands on his knees.

The movement has him raising his head, staring intently at me with glazed onyx eyes.

“Who was it? Is there someone else?” He’s been with me all this time, so I know it’s not likely, but there’s always a chance I’m wrong.

God, I hope I’m not!

His eyes go wide, and I swear his skin goes pale. “No. Fuck, please don’t think that. You are and will be the only one for me. It’s just. Shit. Some guys on my floor wanted to know if I was at the club tonight, and if I was, they were going to come and hang out,” he finally blurts, running his hand down his face.

Why is he upset about that?

“Okay, what’s wrong? Haven’t they come before?” I’m not getting why he is so apprehensive about it now.

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