Page 88 of Buckled in Barbwire

This is what a tragic makeover looks like. My domain has been taken hostage by a pastel princess. Bright splashes of her favorite shade litter every surface.

There’s a neon rug laid out in front of my black leather chair in the corner. Model horses form lines all over my formerly organized shelves. Rhinestones gleam under the overhead light. My gray drapes are tainted with gauzy fabric. It even smells like sunshine and sugar.

Paisley’s sigh is far too pleased. “I love what they’ve done with the place. Not that I saw it before.”

A grunt is the extent of my reply. It’s reminiscent of that glitter bomb she sent me. Sparkles stick to everything, never to be bland again. A crooked grin touches my lips. This room is much like myself.

Her giggle is sweet enough to make me momentarily forget about the horrible injustice. “Guess they mixed my things with yours. What do you think about the color scheme?”

“Pretty damn symbolic,” I mutter.

I’m a minimalist, which used to be evident by my lack of clutter and belongings. Dark in style. Not to mention clean and simple and straightforward.

Meanwhile, she’s splatters of bright sunny hues and radiance spread over every surface. I’d complain about my retinas burning if I didn’t halfway love this woman. Fuck, maybe this arrangement isn’t too bad.

She doesn’t realize how much control she holds over me. Or maybe she does but chooses not to use it. My wife isn’t the type to hold a person’s weakness over them… unlike me.

But her soft snicker isn’t necessary. “Your space is all mine, husband.”

If that’s how she wants to play it…

My arm bands tighter across her legs. “And you’re really stuck with me now, Twinkles.”

She stiffens and flops slightly as if trying to retreat. I almost dare her to defy me and run across the estate. The chase would end with her splayed in a very different position.

As if hearing the threat of my hunt, she clears her throat. “Your bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment.”

“Which is why you fit right in.” I glare at a fuchsia lampshade as if it offends me.

Paisley wiggles in my clutches again. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Egyptian cotton sheets covered in a frilly blanket? “Beat my expectations once again, wife.”

My stride is a purposeful stomp toward the atrocity. She huffs but doesn’t complain about her upside-down predicament. At least until I toss her onto the California king.

“Hey!” She immediately flings upright, batting blonde hair from her face. “That’s no way to treat priceless cargo.”

“Don’t get your tits in a twist, Twinkles. I’m about to show you how it feels to be mine. All. Night. Long.” I prowl toward her, my rapid pulse throbbing in my cock. “And just to be clear, you’ll never want it any other way ever again.”

Her gulp is audible. “I want to take a shower.”

My forward motion slams to a halt. “Alone?”

“You can join me,” she whispers.

That’s all I need to hear. My fingers circle her ankle and pull her to the edge of the mattress. Paisley squeals when the abrupt movement lifts her dress. In an upward swoop, I remove the unwanted garment completely. That leaves herin nothing but her bra. The scraps of her ruined underwear are tucked safely in my pocket. A fiery blush almost has her blending into our newly improved background. Her legs cross as if that will contain her modesty, but my wife can’t hide from me. This growing obsession could find her in soundless pitch black.

My mouth waters at the sight of her exposed flesh. The urgency to taste her has me rushing to strip bare. I grip the bottom of my shirt and yank. Pearl snaps fly open in a dutiful surrender. A shrug slips the parted fabric off my shoulders, adding it to the discarded pile. Then I’m reaching behind me for the collar of my white tee to wrench the material over my head.

Paisley’s eyes pop wide at the slick motions and my naked torso. “Very efficient.”

“The faster to fuck you, wife.”

Practiced routine undoes my belt, whipping the leather free from the loops. Paisley shivers at the crack splitting through the air like anticipation. Her stare is laser-focused on the bulge in my jeans. I’m harder than a fence post and eager to ditch the confinement.

“Wanna do the honors?”

She’s already nodding while scooting toward me. Delicate fingers open the button, sliding the zipper down with careful precision. The gentle touch slides under the elastic waistband of my boxers, shucking off my pants and briefs in one fell swoop.

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