Page 19 of Two Wrongs
‘Excuse me. Sorry,’ she murmurs, though from Ivy, not a word is uttered in response. Just as well, I think, because as they leave, my wife’s eyes rise to me again.
Finally. No more of this hiding bullshit; her gaze is bright and angry, and right now, she looks like she wants to lean across the island, slide her hand to the back of my neck, and pull hard...
... smashing my face into the marble slab.
The thought makes me smile, and my smile seems to make her more mad.
Maybe now we’re getting someplace.
It all reminds me of this one time at a bar when a girl came onto me. It was before this mad fame hit. I didn’t do anything, didn’t encourage her or brush her off. I didn’t need to because, in no time, Ivy was winding her way around me and sliding her fingers into my hair. To anyone looking on, she was this dark, sensuous thing, staking a claim on her man. And she was, but not remotely with thatcome fuck me, babyintent. Even with her tits squashed up against me and her breathy voice in my ear, I swear I felt the shift in the air as she leaned in, taking my head with both hands. She looked square into my eyes and whispered I was working my way to a Glasgow kiss. Excited? Fuck, yeah; I was rock hard and also a little terrified. She kissed me full on the lips—a long, passionate kiss—smiling sort of secretly as she pulled away. A Glasgow kiss sounded great—I imagined all kinds of things. It wasn’t until later I learned to be kissed Glasgow style wasn’t a treat. She’d just threatened to slam her cranium into mine; to head-butt me.
Sweet, mild Ivy has her jealous side. And I loved it. And I love how she’s looking at me like she wants to hurt me, ‘cause at least she’s looking, right?
‘How many,’ I say.
‘What?’ she asks, a line drawn between her brows. A line I inexplicably want to reach out and smooth away with my thumb.
‘How many women do you think I’ve screwed since you left?’
She flinches then grates out, ‘How the fuck am I supposed to know?’ She’s still watching me, and that she’s swearing is a good sign. ‘I don’t even care—’
‘Darlin’, play along. We’ll both guess. Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never thought about me or asked yourself who I’m fucking these days. I know I’ve thought of you.’ Tortured myself with images of Ivy and another man. Men, even. ‘But I guess it’s easier for me. I have a lot more material to work with, seeing as how you already set the scene for me.’
Set it so fucking well.
‘You’re such a conceited arsehole.’ She pushes away from the island, the feet of the stool punishing against the tile, but the sound isn’t as bad as when it topples. The clang is almost deafening, but she isn’t waiting around.
I spin in my seat, catching her arm as she brushes by.
‘And you’re a cunt.’ My fingers are punishing even though my voice is calm.
‘Suck my dick, Dylan,’ she spits.
‘I do suck lady dick pretty well, as you know. And I’ve had plenty since you left.’
‘Good to know,’ she says, stepping into me, almost between my splayed knees. ‘Because I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s dick these days.’
‘Come on,’ I goad. ‘How many men have you fucked since you left?’
‘That has nothing to do with you.’
‘I’m still your husband, babe. Like it or not. You think you can hurt me any more than you already have? Not gonna happen. Want me to go first?’
‘I don’t—’
‘No?’ I watch her pissed gaze, trying to ascertain her overriding emotion. I see anger and fear, but something else is also lurking there.Pain?‘Sit the fuck down.’ I loosen her arm, pushing her a little ways. ‘You tell me how many, and maybe I won’t say. How about that?’
She doesn’t return to her seat, not that I expect her to, her gaze no longer for me, but over my shoulder somewhere.
‘You’re making no sense.’
‘No? I want to know how big of a slut my wife is, and clearly, you don’t care enough to want to know about me.’ I tilt my head sideways in an echo of our mutt. ‘Or maybe you don’t want to know ‘cause it’ll hurt. Play the game, babe.’
Because I want it to hurt. Again. And again.
‘You’re perverse.’
‘Just the way you like me, right? Look.’ I tap the papers again with my index finger, drawing her attention there. ‘Fuck enquiring minds. Gotta make sure the ink dries for the right reason.’
