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“Why does that sound like another man has been in your face?” I smirked. “I have a better question. Why are you surprised?” “Stop fucking with me,” Denver growled, fisting the front of my blouse to drag me up against him.
I’m not gonna fucking chase you like we’re kids, Kensa. Grow the fuck up. I didn’t even want to be chased. But the fact that he’d reduced the actual issue to that, and then declared it beneath him… well… life was too short.
It was then that I noticed a large envelope–the kind that might hold divorce paperwork–sitting right on my nightstand. Torn in half. Ugh.
Denver said ain't no divorce lil bihh 😂
“Ay! Back the fuck up off my wife.” Holy shit.
He actually–bless his heart–stepped in front of me, between me and my husband, as if he’d assigned himself my protector.
Aww poor lil tink tink. Don't even know Denver about to lay you to to rest.
Denver smiled. Beautiful, but… terrifying.
Me? I wasn’t even a little surprised when Denver pulled the gun from the waistband of his exquisitely tailored, bespoke suit. Jeremy had no time to react to the sight of it before it was already under his chin.
You know what kind of man you got sis 😂😂
“What the fuck is this, Kensa? You’re trying to get somebody killed now? That motherfucker in your face–that’s who you were talking about last night?” “You’re the one holding a gun.”
Stawpppp Kensa 😂😂
If I see another motherfucker in your face, everybody in this bitch is gonna feel it.”
“You know what… fine. You want games, fuck it,” he growled. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was snatching up his blazer and the gun. “But don’t be surprised when you don’t like my rules.”
“You’re really about to lose your wife cause you don’t know how to listen?”
Tell his ass King.
Always with the perfect complement, the missing piece, the… missing fucking peace.
Denver loves his wife 🥹❤️
King whistled. “Shiiit. A wife who needs more attention is a dangerous thing. Real dangerous.
I'm talking about lethal. Cause someone is going to be willing to give it.
“Wow. You really are a fuck-up.” My whole face pulled into a frown as I dropped my gaze back to him. “The fuck?” “Your wife has been begging your ass for weeks to give her some face time, but you’ve got your ass in here acting confused about divorce papers. Yo–you’re deadass with this? Like… for real, nigga?”
Not King calling you the clown of the year.
Kensa just wants to be heard, and taken care of. Whatever that means for her. I know you love that woman, right?” Standing to meet him, I scoffed. “That shit ain’t even in question.”
I wasn’t sure she believed it, but when my wife wasn’t happy, neither was I.
“I said ’til death do us part, and I meant that shit. I’m not interested in running away just because it’s getting a little grimy instead of the picture perfect, squeaky clean existence you’re looking for. We haven’t even tried to muddle through it, and yet you’re in my face talking about we’re done. Ain’t no done, Kensa!” he asserted, with a harsh growl in his tone. “You are my wife, and nothing about that has changed. Whatever shit we gotta deal with, buckle up sweetheart and let’s do it. But what’s not about to happen is you walking away from me like those vows didn’t mean shit.”
“Good. Come on and sit down and eat then, to get the rest of your energy up. We’ve got plenty of arguing to do, I need your ass ready for it.”
“Turn around.” I did. And I followed his other directions too–“put your hands right there, put your foot up here, don’t you dare hold back a single fucking sound.” I did, I did, and I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Sir, yes sir 🫡
“I love you. I fucking love you. How do I get you to understand?” he muttered into my hair, driving into me hard as his arm around my waist slipped.
Whewww, that intimacy be hitting different with them three words.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips, as if I hadn’t heard him any of the other times. Maybe… maybe I hadn’t. Because I… met his gaze, and whispered something back–words I hadn’t spoken in months. “I love you, too.”
I hadn’t gotten much out of Kensa since we arrived, but I’d at least been able to gather that. As much as she swore she was done, she wasn’t actually done–she just wanted to be.
She just wants to be heard 🖤
The way my loyalty was set up, it wasn’t just about my family or the niggas I called my friends–my damn wife was my one and only, the person I’d ride hardest for, the one I… never wanted to fucking hurt.
She pulled a lip between her teeth, nibbling at it for a moment. “I guess we could eat together. If you want to.” “I’d like that, very much.”
How fucking callous would it have been of me, to seek relief of my sorrow from the person I’d hurt?
“Wow. We are really good at not just fucking talking to each other, aren’t we?” I asked, shaking my head. “Experts. Obviously.”
A little communication goes a long way.
I was going to suffocate. I was sure of it. But… fuck it. I was full of my husband, and what a way that would be to go.
That's what type of time you on Kensa 🙃🙃
I looked to Trace, who clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You already knew she wouldn’t take being kidnapped on the chin, right?”
Grief was a raggedy bitch who lived for drama. I’d be better prepared if I ever met her again.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “Like my family, and like Nessa’s. You want to know what her pussy tastes like though, so… you probably shouldn’t say stuff like that. That’s nasty, bro.”
😂😂😂😂
