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What I see in his dark irises is an apocalypse of storms. Fire and brimstone. And I’m certain mine are no better.
She’s got the energy of a storm. Ominous, electric, unpredictable.
This woman needs a target for her anger. Someone to blame so that she hurts a little less. And without even thinking it through, I decide I can be that person for her.
“What’s wrong, husband? You look like you can’t decide whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”
“Kill you or fuck you, Tabby?” My voice drops lower. “Oh, I’ve decided.” “Fuck,” she mutters, teeth strumming her bottom lip as she glances away. “Yep. That’s the one.”
“Friendly reminder that this marriage is fake,” she mutters, focusing just a little too hard on the table where our friends sit. “Nothing fake about how wet you are right now.”
Now it’s worse, because she’s here. With me. And she’s got me twisted into knots—ones I don’t feel especially inclined to untangle.
“Tell me I should stop, Tabby. Tell me I should stop, and I will.”
Tabitha Lynn Garrison. Rhys Malcolm Dupris.
But something about it hurts. I’m still on the outside. Still on my own. I’ve got a pretend family—but not a real one.
“Her name is Tabitha, not that you need to know. Because you? You’re going to keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and a jagged line splinters through my chest as I watch another three tears roll from her lashes, each one a shot of pain to my heart. I’ve been through some shit in my life.
But having to watch Tabitha cry might be the worst of it.
Tabitha’s hands clench into tight fists, the sound of her hollow whimpers like death by a thousand shards of glass. “You let me believe…” Her lips smack, a disbelieving huff leaping from them. “I was awful to you.”
Her body lurches on a sob, and watching her hurt like this almost brings me back to my knees. This. This is why I didn’t tell her.
Someone who cares put together this room, and it makes my heart fall hard on a heavy stutter step. No one has ever put a room together for me. But Tabitha did.
He kept the truth from me. He came back for me. He’s sacrificed for me repeatedly, and I can’t for the life of me see what I’ve done to deserve that loyalty from him. He tells me almost nothing with his words, but everything with his actions.
“Comfort me. I need you to touch me right now, Rhys.”
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to fuck me.”
“You think you can take it?”
He’s fucking beautiful. And infuriating. And mine.
“Desperate to fill my wife’s tight little cunt once and for all?”
“Been dreaming about bending you over since that first day you waltzed into my house, Tabby. So yeah, I’d say I’m desperate for it.”
“But I think what I’m most desperate for is seeing you come. Right here, riding my cock, where I can watch you.”
“Fucking beautiful,”
I’ve always kept myself locked up tight. But I’ve never had a Tabitha. Someone so fierce and loyal on my side. I’ve watched the way she is since first meeting her. Protective and always looking out for her family. It seemed so foreign to me, like something I could witness from afar but never have for myself.
Not where it hurts to breathe, and I can’t focus on anything because all I see is her.
Does love start off as obsession? Because that’s what I am. Obsessed with my wife.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want to do a single thing without him there with me.
“Let me guess, you hate me? And that’s why you’re fucking soaked for me.”
“Of course you can. Fucking look at you. You take it like you were made for me.”
“Enjoying the view of the mess you made?”
She smiles as I turn, and my heart stutters in my chest. I feel like I should pinch myself when she looks at me like that.
“Tabitha, wipe that smirk from your mouth, or I’ll fuck it off.”
“You can take it.”
Every eye in the stadium is on him. But his eyes are on mine the whole time.
“Because even at your worst, I still love you, Rhys.
God, she drives me nuts—in the best way. Calling me on my shit left and right.
“I pinky promise to always come back.”
