Page 119 of Vicious Butterfly
“I don’t like him better. He fucks good, but he chews so loud—can’t fucking stand it. He’s not permitted to eat in my presence.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I know who it is before I pull it out.
Ethan’s lips curve into a smile. “That’s Ryan,” he declares.
“Then why are you happy about it? You don’t like Ryan.” I’ve had to force Ethan to treat Ryan the way my husband should be treated all along. “And how could you know that?”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not just Ryan; I don’t like anyone new. And I know because you get all dewy-eyed. Don’t worry, your reputation as stone is safe; it’s only by an amount someone who knows you would pick up on.”
That has to end. No more softness for Ryan. I’d like to be able to ignore the text; hell, I’d like to be able to say that I read the text because there’s every chance he could be in trouble. But the reason I look is much worse—I look because I want to see what he’s said. Period. Missing him has become a constant, every minute of every day ache. I can’t get work done. I don’t give a fuck about the hockey team. Or, correction, I don’t give a fuck about pretending to give a fuck about the hockey team. All I want to do is steal Ryan away to a desert island and live out my days there with him. But if I did that, ignoring him would be infinitely harder. Staying away from him would be impossible.
Okay, bad plan. Must rework the plan.
Dollface
You know what’s slutty?
Everything about you, I want to say. God, the last time I fucked him. The way he moaned. The way he chased my cock with his ass when I teased him. All of that? The sluttiest.
But I can’t banter with him. Banter is off the table. Banter is a form of flirting, and flirting is how you get closer to someone, not push them away.
Besides, whatever comes after that sentence will be something that enrages me.
He hates the distance I’ve put between us. Fair. I hate it, too. But he’s made it his life’s mission to antagonize me. I’m not someone it’s safe to antagonize, and I’m trying to find a way to put up with it until he gets the message. Until he stops caring. As long as he obeys me, that’s what really matters.
He belongs to me. The end.
I’d never planned on keeping a husband anyway. Things changed when my brain decided to hyper-focus on Ryan. I got sidetracked. But all of that’s fixable.
Dollface
My hockey jersey. It got destroyed in practice. It’s all ripped up. You can see my tattoos peeking out.
Hmmm. That’s not that bad. He’s said worse. Don’t love the idea of him strutting around like that, but at least he’s mostly covered.
Dollface
When I take the rest of my gear off, I look like a slutty hockey whore.
What the fuck?
Me
You’d better not be taking your fucking gear off and parading your ass around the locker room.
No answer.
Ryan!!!
Dollface
Jealous?
Me
Jealous??? I’m more than jealous. You don’t know what jealous means by my definition, dollface.
An image comes through. Holy shit. He does look slutty in that ripped-up jersey, especially with the face he’s making. There’s blood on his swollen upper lip. I fucking hate when I’m not the one to mark him but can’t help the rush of blood filling my cock at the sight.
