Page 2 of Phobia
Of course, that had changed for me since I’d gotten myself a wife who would have clawed my fucking eyes out if I so much as turned my head in someone else’s direction.
Not that I was interested. She kept my hands full.
Sometimes, it surprised me she’d agreed to move here. Then again, I supposed the architecture of our town appealed to her preservationist tendencies.
Our local government and historical society made it impossible to change anything. Our homes and edifices were a hodgepodge of Gothic revival brick houses and carpenter Gothic homes laden with gingerbread trim and steep gables complimented by bargeboards on the edges. Wrought iron fences lined wide lots and tall ornamental trees, now naked and dormant, canopied the redbrick paved streets.
Katrina said the vibe of the town reminded her of the survival-horror video gameSilent Hill.
She fit right in.
Katrina’s head fell back against her seat, her lips vibrating with the exasperate raspberry she blew out. She lifted her black Doc Marten clad feet to the dash, her gray knit socks bunching over the edge of her boots. My eyes traipsed up the length of her long, lean legs, inspecting the hemline of her army-green plaid-print lace-trim dress bunched at the apex of her thigh and hip, giving me an eyeful of the winding floral and compass tattoo hugging around the curve of her thigh.
My teeth ached with the urge to bite her there.
She kept her attention on the house, swiping her tongue along the sugar that had gathered on her lips despite the lipstick. The gesture sent a flood of desire swelling in my cock, and I parted my legs a little wider to accommodate the growth in my gray joggers, drawing a tight breath through my nose.
I needed to get back into that car.
Taking a final drag on my cigarette, I dropped it to the ground, crushing it under my black Converses. The cold air made my nose run, and I rubbed my hands together to warm them. In about thirty seconds, they were going to be between her thighs and she was going to squeal with protest like she did every night when I came into the house from the garage where I did custom woodwork and I slid my hands up her shirt to palm her barely there breasts or cup her hot pussy.
Consider it my small act of service.
I was reaching for the door handle when the click of the locks engaging hit my ears. I tapered my eyes at her, my heart picking up speed at the flash of her mischievous smile.
Turning down the music, she leaned back in her seat, running the pad of her finger along the unlock button. “What do you say?” she asked, her proud neck elongating.
Bracing a hand against the roof of the car, I inclined my head, speaking into the gap in the window. “Now.” The threat rumbled in the back of my throat, the surge of blood rushing to both heads.
God, I loved it when she got like this.
Katrina pursed her bee-stung lips with thought, drumming the lollipop against them. “Mm, nope. That’s not it.” She flexed her legs, the tips of her boots pointing toward the house, the muscles in her calves tightening. Stretching one arm overhead, her tiny breasts pushed against the dress, the folds of her stolen denim jacket opening. Her alert, pierced nipples strained against the flimsy material, my braced hand drumming against the roof.
“Open the door, Little Rabbit.”
She flashed me a grin, her longer central incisors like those of a rabbit, revealing themselves to me. A long time ago, she’d admitted to being self-conscious about her teeth. But I loved Katrina’s teeth.
I loved that she hogged the blanket in bed, routinely left her empty shampoo bottles in the shower, and would sooner live out of a laundry basket than put her clean clothes away.
I loved her ever-changing hair, the playfulness in her eyes and the adrenaline junky she never kept contained with me.
I loved that despite the hell my brothers and I put through her, the resentment I’d hidden behind to deny her my love, she had loved me anyway.
She chose me.
She wasmywife, mine to hold, to fuck, and to love.
Which was what I suspected she wanted to hear. My eyes molted, heat spreading through me despite the frigid October chill as she waited patiently, teasing the lock button with the pad of her finger. “I love you.”
Katrina craned her head, holding a hand to her ear. “What was that?”
She was going to get it. Any stiffer and I was going to bust clean through the seam of these pants.
“I love you.”
Her features screwed up, and she fought to keep the smile in check, pursing her lips. “Hm?”
“I love you!” I shouted, pounding my open palm against the roof of the car, the blow spreading an ache through my fingers.
