When I saw this drawing, this story just poured out of me. Wrote it in two hours using the Office OneNote app on my iphone in a Starbucks. As always, it’s explicit and may make the shy reader or the strict idealist uncomfortable.
Meh. Be bad with me and read it anyway ?.
My husband’s mad at me. Pissed. Red hot.
If he grips that steering wheel in front of him any tighter, it’ll rip at the seams. He’s speeding down the Prospect Expressway having just pulled me out of a close acquaintance’s party at a no name club after watching me flirt with a sexy nobody for close to an hour. As he watched me be a bad girl, his patience was eerie. He sat at a distance staring. A silent threat. And somehow, his anger enticed me. To a stranger, they’d think he was cool, simply over there chillin’. But I knew only from stealing one glance at him from across the crowded space that he wanted to snatch me up and out of my seat then choke the guy dumb enough to entertain my nonsense.
“You’re doing more than the speed limit, Dante,” I told him.
We weaved in and out of traffic inside of his royal blue Lamborghini with suicide doors. My ass gliding over the custom made leather seats as he jerked the car left, right.
He hadn’t said over two words since he told me to get in the car less than an hour ago. This was after he forced me out the club’s exit with the pull of an arm.
I was being a petty labelle tonight. He wasn’t a flirter like me but he sure didn’t hesitate to flirt with them eyes of his. He held his stares a little too long with these women. Any fat booty chick to walk past him was enough to have his eyes trail along her backside as if he were studying the seams on her jeans. It annoyed me to no end because he didn’t have the decency to at least wait until I wasn’t around to gawk.
It didn’t matter how close in distance I was to Dante, he always had the nerve to turn his head in the direction the girl that caught his interest walked. So, I played his game and gave him a taste of his own medicine, only a different dose. A little smile here and a simple touch there with the bartender at the club we abruptly left from was enough to have him seeing red… or was it green?
The car came to a screeching halt in front of our townhouse as he turned the wheel left and right to park. He looked at me from the corner of his eye, his jaw tight. A moment later, he pushed the door open and stepped out. His basketball player physique casting large shadows below the street lamp as he made his way slowly around the car. No matter how pissed I made my husband, he still walked his way to the passenger side to lift my door opened for me every time.
“Thank you,” I said, with a little smugness, stepping out. I switched my hips away from him and toward our door.
We walked up the stairs in silence. I couldn’t calm the purrs of my kitty, it quivering in anticipation of being petted and stroked in the best way. See, Dante always took his aggression out on me through sex. He’d die before he laid hands on me. So, he resorted to beating it up. Headboard banging, hair pulling, filthy talking, straight fucking… type of sex. The kind that would have the neighbors ringing our doorbell in the middle of the night or calling the cops concerned that I was in danger all the hollerin’ I do in this house when he’s punishing me. We were loud, but we didn’t give a shit. We ‘re married. 8 years and forever more to go . We were on another level with ours. And as pissed as he was tonight, the neighbors better have them earplugs on deck.
I walked into our house first, stepping out of my heels and heading straight to our bedroom upstairs. When I noticed he wasn’t following me there, instead deciding to retreat to the living room, I wrinkled my brows.
Oh, he’s really mad with me, I thought to myself.
I’ll need to step my game up a little more.
I joined him in the living room, sauntering over to our built in bar, pulling out a glass flask filled with cognac and pouring out a little Henny. I walked the glass over to him, handing it over.
“I told you I want this shit?” he asked.
I smirked. “I know what you like when you’re stressed. So, here.”
“Stressed? Over what? That bullshit you pulled in that club with that broke ass fool? Please.”
I kept the glass extended waiting for him to take it.
“I don’t want it. You don’t even need to be talkin’, Tiffany.”
I sat the glass down on the glass table in front of him then brought my hands to the straps of my dress, peeling them down my shoulders.
“So… may I offer you something else?”
It was dark in the living room. We didn’t bother turning on any lights since arriving home. The street lamp outside gave the lighting needed for him to watch me undress. Even though it was too dark for him to make out any of my body parts, I knew my 37-27-42 silhouette was all he needed to see to chill out.
He kissed his teeth. Dante changed his mind about that drink soon after leaning forward to snatch it up and off the glass table… like I knew he would. That glass of cognac was in his grip when he brought it up to his lips to take slow sips, continuing to watch me seduce him.
“You like to look. I like to flirt. What’s your beef?”
“You should know better,” he said through a tight jaw.
“You ain’t me. We’re not equals.”
My man wasn’t trying to hear that shit. He was up and out his seat, brushing past me and headed up to our bedroom. Dante would take a long cool shower tonight, purposely making me wait. I thought about joining him but wasn’t in the mood to get wet and wild. I wanted it rough.
Letting the sweat sheen our bodies was where I wanted the source of our wetness to come from. And the longer he made me wait, the more impatient I became.
My feet padded the hardwood below me as I walked down our stairs to our bathroom on the ground floor. I peeled off the rest of my clothes and hopped in the shower to rinse off the odor of wines, spirits, and cigar smoke coating my skin from the club. I’d let my skin air dry as I walked back to our bedroom naked. If this didn’t give him a hint that I was willing to squash our beef our usual way, I wasn’t sure what would.
Imagine my surprise to return to our bedroom to see him dressed in his boxers and sprawled out on our king sized bed… asleep.
I growled to myself, bringing my hand to my waist. He was playing unfair. This wasn’t how it usually went. Where’s the care? The need to prove that no one else was worthy of his wife’s attention because the one who deserved it forever made her not want to need anyone else. I climbed in bed beside him hoping that the movement the mattress made from my sudden decent onto it would wake him but he didn’t budge. So, I moved in closer to him and placed a hand on his chest.
“Nah,” he mumbled, swiftly moving my hand away.
“So, we about to go to bed mad?”
He said nothing.
“I know your ass don’t mean that. You’re upset,” I whispered. I bit at my bottom lip, thinking. Finally I said, “It’s because he was fine, huh?”
He turned his head slow in my direction.
Got him, I thought to myself.
Don’t judge me. We all have our vices. And mine was getting him riled up. At least I’m bold enough to admit that. A man’s ego is a motherfucker.. it’s sexy too.
“You know he wouldn’t have hesitated to invite me to the bathroom to blow my back out if you hadn’t interrupted us, right?.”
Dante’s breathing became hella audible.
“And he had big hands, too. I’m willing to bet that his dick—”
Before I could finish my sentence, he was up and over me, his hands grabbing my wrist and pinning them overhead.
I fought back my smile as I tried to get loose.
“His dick, what?” he asked in my face, tightening his grip and strategically positioning himself between my legs. “You thinking about other men? For what?”
“Oh, you think it’s funny?” His grip got tighter, and I hissed at the pain. “You always doing this bullshit, thinking it’s cute.”
With that he flipped me over quick and grabbed a palm full of my hair, pulling hard enough to get me up and on all fours but easy enough to cause not even an ounce of pain.
“Why you always testing me, huh?” He slapped my ass with his other hand and I winced. the sound of the impact echoing around our bedroom.
I was silent. Breathing heavy. Just waiting. Anticipation swelling like the body of a rising wave.
Warm me up? For what? Nah. He would enter me hard. Because he had a point to prove.
It was like white heat, him sliding inside of me filled with so much anger. I was already wet from the drive home so that helped ease his passage. With each stroke he forced my view to the ceiling using my hair. His other hand found a home on the crease where my thighs and my hips met. Slapping noises echoed and competed with my moans and his grunts.
The way he worked me over had me putting in overtime in the sensation department. The touch of his swollen head penetrating me. The stiffness of his shaft entering and exiting only to do all of that again made it difficult for me to distinguish the thin line between pain and pleasure.
Intense strokes filled with pent up aggression. My body got weak the deeper he plunged. I lost my balance and leaned to the side and he followed me. He was still behind me, we both now lying down, when he grabbed my neck from the back and sexed me like he was hungry.
Like I hadn’t thrown it back at him that same morning before breakfast.
“Ah, baby, damn.”
“Yeah,” he spat. “I don’t even wanna hear it. Spread ’em,” he ordered as he palmed my thigh and opened my leg wider so I’d take more of him. Dante wasn’t playing with me tonight.
And that position must have not been doing it for him with calming his anger because soon he was on top of me, diving in once more, his hands gripping each of my wrists as his strokes became harder. More concise.
The headboard was pounding against the wall behind it, my voice echoing around us. The bed, I’m sure, would break if it wasn’t made of the highest grade wood. What had my attention was the skidding and grinding the bed’s legs were doing against the surface below us. But I had no time to worry about the permanent scratch marks that would be on our hardwood floor by sunrise. That’s just a casualty of war.
I was gripping the sheets tight in my hands when pressure built within, stirring. Me feeling like I would implode. My eyes were rolling as I braced myself.
“Uh huh,” he said. “Look at you. Talk all that fucking shit but this dick gets you together every time. Let me hear you talk that slick shit now. I dare you.”
I couldn’t even respond. I couldn’t organize my words fast enough. Whatever I was trying to say was coming out like gibberish. Tonight, he had me speaking in a different language.
My eyes were open again when I glimpsed his face. Dante was smiling proudly as I clasped my thighs around him.
“Say sorry,” he ordered, pounding harder.
“Huh? What you say, Tiff baby? Can’t find the fucking words? Hmm?”
He grunted with each stroke.
Fuck him, I thought as I tuned him out, shut my eyes, and prepared myself to come. When the time was right, I held my breath and angled my hips so he’d hit it right. One pulse, two pulse. Eventually I lost count. I creamed all over his shaft. His continued sexing of me making wet noises around us. I was pulsing uncontrollably. Lost in the motion. No longer in control. Moving where he moved because he had between my legs feeling just right.. It was like my heart dropped, my G-spot cradling it, that thumping inside of me rendering me still. He fucked me into submission.
He grunted as he bucked on top of me. Collapsing as he tried to catch his breath. I wrapped my legs tight around him and clasped my ankles together. Dante was the only man who could ever get it.
My man. My ace. My lover. We were still glued together when I pulled in my walls. I knew he loved when I did that.
“It’s aight,” he said cutting me off.
“I wasn’t finished,” I spat. “I’m sorry that I’m not sorry.”
He burst out laughing balancing himself up on his forearm to look at me. “God… why is my wife so fucking crazy?”
“I’m not crazy,” I said, smiling. “I just like it rough.”
Image Credit: @CarnivourCreates