“Come and join us brother.” Elijah crosses an ankle over his knee, leaning back.
“Get the fuck out of my home.”
He sighs and turns toward Russet. “Looks like our Thursday dinner dates are a thing of the past.”
Part of me realizes Elijah is saying and doing everything in a bid to push my buttons. He wants to piss me off. Normally, I’d ignore him, but tonight. . . tonight I might kill him.
And the shit-eating smirk on his face tells me he knows it.
Standing up he bends over, his lips inches from Russet’s forehead. The floor creaks when I step forward, my knuckles cracking. He straightens, placing his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. “Goodbye, then.”
Shouting females fill the living room. The door shuts behind Elijah.
Russet’s chest rises and falls. She’s wearing sweatpants and a crewneck. If she’d been in that tiny silk nightgown of hers this would’ve been so much worse. She doesn’t move, her lips parted and eyes wide.
She knows she’s fucked up.
“Get up,” I order.
“It was just pizza.”
“Up.”
She scrambles, almost bumping into the glass coffee table. I grab her elbow when she’s not quick enough and shove her over the arm of the couch.
I force down a lungful of air. Russet likes acting like a brat,but tonight if she thinks any pleasure will come of it, she’s sorely mistaken.
“What were you doing?” I ask, tugging her sweatpants down. “Damn it, Russet, you’re not wearing any underwear.”
We’re both shaking for different reasons. She trembles in my grasp, trying to lift her torso off the couch. I shove her down.
“Did my brother take them off you before he fucked you?” The thought of it brings murder to my mind.
“No!” She does everything she can to lift up. I tangle my hands in her hair, pulling. “That’s not what happens.”
“What happens? Let me get this straight. I’m off trying to further my education while you entertain my brother.”
A strangled cry catches in her throat.
“Oh, Russet.” She trembles against me. “This is going to hurt.”
“No. . .”
I shove her down, the slap ringing. “Count,” I order.
She begins to sob, my dick hardening at the waterworks like always. I own her pain just like I own her pleasure and I get off on the thought almost as often as the act.
“Count,” I demand. She can barely talk, her voice muffled against the couch and the tears.
“Please,” she begs after I get to ten.
“You’ve been letting my brother sneak in here.”
All this time I’ve been waiting for the shoe to drop. Just when I start to trust her, to think maybe she’s finally settling into this marriage she pulls something like this.
Why does she text me? Why did she order all those sex toys, goading me on?
It’s worse, knowing it’s gone on for weeks. Elijah and Russet sitting on the couch, eating pizza together, shouldn’t haunt me like it does. But it’s always easy for the bastard to cut through people's defenses.
