Page 56 of Dragonfly

She slaps me in the arm.

“So did you, Damien! And what happend? I tried to kill uou… I tried to give you the same justice you just dealt out for me… and you didn’t fucking die. And now I’m here, that asshole tried to claim me, and you’re trying to act like my hero? No. No. If you think someone should die because they hurt me, you should be first in line.”

Is that how she feels? I’m so glad that, for once, my wife is being honest with me.

“Fair enough.” I hand her the hilt of the stiletto. “Go right ahead.”

Savannah takes it with trembling fingers; not because she’s upset, though, but because she’s furious. She’s steady enough as she closes them around the top of the knife, eyes locked on the splash of shiny red blood that coats the blade.

For a moment, I don’t know what to expect. I’m ready to dodge if she does strike, but there’s a better chance that she’s bluffing?—

Without telegraphing her move, she slashes at me. It’s wide, thought, not even close to my skin, even if the murderous look on her face makes it clear that it was a good attempt.

To be honest, I would’ve been disappointed in her if she didn’t at least try.

I lash my fingers around her wrist, jerking it down so that she can’t try to stab at me again.

And it hits me a second later.

She could’ve killed me. I handed her the weapon and, if she really wanted to, I highly doubt I could’ve dodged it so completely that there wasn’t even a scratch left on my skin.

Savannah could’ve killed me—and she didn’t.

And everything that happens next is because she had the chance and she didn’t take it.

I twist my hand roughly, forcing her to drop the stiletto to the floor. The clang echoes around me as I throw her arm up, pinning her against the door at her back. My other hand goes to her throat.

“What’s that, husband?” she bites out, and I can’t tell if she’s frightened—or excited. “You’re gonna choke me now?”

If I did, it would only be because it heightened her arousal to cut off some of her air.

“And let you out of this life when you promised it to me,” I coo. “Not fucking way.”

Her eyes flash angrily. “Then what do you think you’re doing?”

“This.”

I kiss her. With my hand a necklace for her pretty, pretty throat, I squeeze just enough to make her gasp in a breath. Once her mouth is open, I dive in, taking advantage of it.

I kiss her, plundering her mouth with my tongue. Our teeth clash, this intimacy another battle, but the way I swallow her breaths, tasting her tongue, sucking her lips until I’m sure they’ll be swollen… I kiss her and, in this position, there isn’t anything she can do except take it.

And then she proves me wrong. Because Savannah doesn’t just take it.

She kisses me back.

I have one arm thrown up over her head. Her other hand goes right to my side. For a second, I think she’s squeezing me there because she’s trying to find my healing scar, see if I’m still in pain from her stab.

I’m wrong. The deeper the kiss gets, the more she touches me. Her hand on my side. Her heel rubbing up and down the length of my calf. Her head angled as far back as she could move it so that our chests can connect at the same time as she wordlessly begs me to kiss her.

I don’t know if this is another trap. If she’s trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Only knowing the stiletto is on the floor and there’s no way she can reach it is the reason why I finally let go of her hand.

I needed one of my own. If she’s touching me, I’m going to take advantage and touch her. Squeezing her tit through her dress, I break the kiss just enough to press my wet mouth against her cheek.

“Tell me to stop, wife. If you don’t want this… I won’t stop on my own. You have to tell me to stop.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say ‘yes’. She doesn’t say ‘no’.

She doesn’t say ‘stop’...

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