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“Okay.” I fidget, watching him put on his watch and his wedding ring.
“I’ll see you later.” He struts dramatically toward the door.
“Wait!” I rush across the room to stand in his way. “Kiss me goodbye.”
“Why?”
“I’m your wife. I want a kiss goodbye.”
He growls, lowering his head. The kiss makes my knees go weak, and he gets caught up, too. But he breaks it, swearing under his breath. “Now be a good girl.”
I plop onto the bed. “Sure, I’ll just be here…touching myself.”
Kieran rolls his eyes and leaves the room.
O’Rourke-1, O’Rourke-0.
I’m just not sure which O’Rourke is really winning.
A few days later, after sleeping in Kieran’s bed only to be held all night and nothing more, my phone beeps, and I see it’s a text from my elusive husband.
Him:What are you wearing?
I smile and type:Your shirt.
I started wearing the ones he strips out of when he gets home. The ones not covered in blood, that is. Last night, the one he took off had tears in the sleeve. From a knife, he said, but he wasn’t cut. He tossed it aside and stared at me. I was ready for him to take me, but he said he was too worked up from hurting people for hours and just needed to sleep it off.
His hold strangled me most of the night, but I let him use me for comfort.
Him:And?
Me:Nothing else.
Him:Good girl.
Me:Do you need something?
Him:I need something very badly. Did you touch yourself today?
Me:Maybe.
Him:Brat. And, wife?
Me:Yes, husband?
Him:Go pick out a dress.
Me:For what?
Him:Tonight.
My heart thrums with excitement.Tonight?
Him:Aye. I’m taking you out on a date.
Me:Where?
Him:You’ll see. Be ready at six.
