Page 3 of Dead Bled Ringer
A knife
“You better come out, little girl,” my husband growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble that I’d never heard before. “There’s no point in hiding from me. I’ve been watching you through the windows. Stalking you for a while.”
I trembled with excitement.
It felt so special to be calledlittle girl.
Especially after the pounds I’d gained over the years. But maybe he’d finally realized after weeks of couples therapy that it didn’t help our relationship to remind me that I needed to eat healthier, that I had gained weight, that I wasn’t the 120 pound perfect doll wife he had married.
My breath caught as Henry made his way to the other end of the room.
Should I make a run for it?
I breathed in and out carefully, trying to make no noise at all, but hoping my wildly pounding heart couldn’t be heard in the stillness of the dark kitchen.
He started to go down the hallway, and I couldn’t help a wriggle of excitement that maybe I had fooled him.
Then suddenly through the fine damask fabric, I saw my husband’s massive body pause and he turned slowly around. Even through the ski mask, I could swear I knew the expression on his face—eyes narrowed, the harsh lines of his mouth and jaw tightened in concentration.
Henry began to stalk toward me as I tried to scramble backwards, heart pounding and slick wetness soaking my panties.
Then he bent down, the leather of his jacket creaking as he stooped to my level.
And he pounced.
I shrieked as Henry struck like a snake, his big hands biting down on my thigh. He dragged me out by one leg and put both booted feet on either side of my waist as he stared down at me.
He squeezed together, the hard boots digging into the soft skin of my hips.
“Get your goddamn pants down,” my husband growled in a low, menacing tone, and my skin crawled with excitement.
When had heeverused that tone on me? I fuckinglovedit.
The therapist had said to really commit to playing the part. Even though a few days ago my husband rolled his eyes at the idea of playing out my fantasies, now I could tell that he had been listeningwaymore than I thought he had been, because it was like he was fulfilling my every dream.
“Noooo,” I squeaked, following the script I’d hesitantly laid out with the therapist. “I don’t want to have sex with you!”
I wriggled around, trying to get on my stomach so I could escape him.
Even as I twisted sideways, I hated that my mind automatically went to wondering if my ass looked way too big and jiggly in the silk pajama bottoms, but him grabbing a handful of my curls and yanking made me forget.
“You’ll do what I want,” my husband hissed, and I heard the flick of a knife behind me.
“OK, Henry,” I yelped, “that’s too rough.”
But he only reached down and smacked my ass.
All right, if he was going to be like that. . .
I twisted harshly, even though it burned my stomach, and kicked out at him, my toe just barely managing to brush his heavy balls, but the momentary surprise was enough for me to wriggle out and then scramble away.
I hoped he wouldn’t chase me too fast, because I was enjoying this more than anything we’d ever done.
Panting, I raced for the door to the backyard and flung it open, stumbling down the steps and into the dark night.
But he was so fast, right fucking behind me, and I had to fly across the yard, looking desperately for a place to hide or a weapon, and I was so aroused I wasn’t thinking straight, so thrilled my husband was playing with me just how I wanted.
Finally I was all the way at the other end, and all I saw was a rake on the side of Henry’s big work shed. He had originally made it so he could do woodworking, but it was rarely used.
