This is her Thursday.
“Later,” she purrs, making my dick twitch.
How she still has this power over me, I don’t know, but I’ll never tire of it, that’s for damn sure.
“Later,” I growl back at her, fire in my eyes.
She shivers a little, but I break our eye contact so she can carry on with what she’s doing.
I can’t resent today, not when the little get-together brings her so much pleasure, even though I want to fuck her against the kitchen counter and the book club has definitely impeded upon that. The house is back to being ours again, and though I hate that our nest is empty as much as she does, that I can fuck her against the wall again without worrying about anyone walking in on us, that I can eat her out on the sofa—the freedom is delicious. We’d never really had a slump in that regard, but now? I feel like a horny teenager around her once more.
Just last night, I’d spanked her on the kitchen table. Bursts of nine, like always…
Nine is only fitting, after all. Nine being the perfectly imperfect number. Lacking of ten, it’s mortal, and flawed. But, there are nine choirs of angels… and that fits both of us. She’s the angel and I’m imperfect.
When a knock sounds at the door, I grab my dick and readjust, hiding a smile when her lips part again and her pupils turn to pinpricks, shift then head out of the farmhouse kitchen over to the hall. We had this place reformed a while back. It’s a traditional farmhouse, but with all the modern amenities anyone needs. It’s bright and spacious, airy with the conversion we had on the roof that makes the ceilings high—perfect for long, hot summers.
When I open the door, I smile at the woman. I know who she is, because I’ve been watching her too, and I figure it’s fate that this is the friend Andrea was speaking of. She greets me with a small smile, and I can see shadows in her eyes that only someone who has been abused will understand. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen them, but it’s the first time I wonder if I should do something.
It’s been a long time since we felt the hand of God guide us, and I’m not sure if this is it, or if it’s just a prompt to get her some help.
I should have known He’d never leave things to chance.
“Come in,” I greet, stepping back and making sure I’m not in her path.
I’m a big man, and she’s a little thing. I don’t want to scare her further.
She walks in, shoulders hunching as she tries to pass me and I murmur, “Andrea’s in the kitchen. Would you like to take a seat or go to her?”
She blinks up at me like a frightened rabbit, and I’m unsure how to appease her fear.
“Nancy, come into the kitchen,” Andrea calls out from the kitchen doorway, her eyes on us.
Thinking she’s going, I reach for the front door just as Nancy moves toward Andrea, but for some reason, she sees me as a threat. She almost jumps at my approach, then shifts back into the table we have there for tchotchkes. It rattles so hard I’m surprised the antique doesn’t crumble at the sudden weight, but she does something, twists, and she gasps as her body collides with the corner of the console.
One second, she’s standing.
The next, she’s on the floor, cradling her side.
Surprise and anxiety lining her face, Andrea rushes over, and I drop down to my knees just as she skids to a halt beside us.
“Nancy! What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Are you okay?” I ask, knowing she must be hiding bruises under the baggy dress she wears, and I curse myself for having scared her, for making her jittery, and for making her feel pain. “Can we help you?”
Her eyes brim with tears as she gasps through the discomfort of whatever’s hiding beneath her clothes, and then she utters six fateful words.
Six words that have Andrea and me shooting each other a look, and I can almost feel the fingerprints of His hand as He holds my shoulder and steers us down the path He wants.
Fate sinks into me, as she whispers, “No. Only God can help me now…”