Page 65 of The Stallion
With a deep groan and dip in the mattress behind me, strong arms wrapped around my body, pulling my back against a warm chest. My husband nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck with a deep inhale.
“Quit staring at that ring and admire me instead.” He grumbled into my hair, and I giggled, rolling my lips together and snuggling further into his body.
“I admire you more than enough during the day. Besides… You don’t sparkle in the light.”
“If I start to sparkle in the light, we’ve got far bigger problems than you and that ring, sweet girl.” Dallas yawned as he released his hold on me and rolled onto his back to stretch out. I followed, turning to face him with my chest pressed up against his side and a leg draped across his hips.
“What’s the plan for today?” I asked, drawing lazy circles around his toned abs, tracing the dips between them. And, as if on cue, his phone chimed with a notification.
Without pulling his body away from mine, Dallas stretched an arm out to reach for his phone that had been resting on the end table.
After picking it up, he frowned, glimpsing the notification preview on the lock screen before opening up the message.
“That’s not—” I let out a subtle gasp as I peeked at his phone, trying to read the text and seeing the nameDustinin the top left corner.
Dallas only gave me vague details about Dustin, stating that he was at the highest level you could be in the MUR—a position only passed down to those born into the Slate bloodline.
“It is. We’ve finally been given your test, and it’s scheduled for tonight.” He dropped his phone onto the bed with a heavy sigh before rolling onto his side and holding me close. Our breaths mixed as the tip of his nose rubbed along the bridge of mine. “Are you ready for this?”
A rhetorical question—one that I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.
I knew this day was coming. I spent whatever alone time I had on my phone, browsing the internet for things that would land me at the top of an FBI watchlist.
Blood was never an issue for me, but the act itself was my biggest hurdle to overcome. I wondered if I would be forced to torture and maim instead of ending things quickly—like with a bullet to the head or even a violent stabbing.
I avoided any conversation on the topic until now, just wanting to enjoy the little bubble of paradise we had created a little longer before it was all taken away.
“Remember, sweet girl, I’ll be there every step of the way, right at your side. All you need to do is pull the trigger.” Dallas pressed his lips against my forehead as I closed my eyes.
He was always so reassuring and comforting. I never felt unsafe when he was near.
My husband, my fierce protector, my love.
When a wife is tested, their husband is allowed to assist up until the final moment where she is required to draw blood—make the kill.
It's a team effort based on trust and communication; without either, the test and relationship will fail.
I wasn’t playing a role anymore.
Our marriage wasn’t meaningless.
I was his wife—his equal.
And he was my husband, devoted and possessive.
The lines no longer existed, and my morals weren’t up for question.
Dallasbargedintothewalk-in closet just as I had finished pulling up my tight-fitted, dark wash skinny jeans. My favorite pair, with bronze zipper accents that trailed up the length of my calf, stopping at the crease just behind my knee.
Unceremoniously, he tossed a new pair of matte black Louboutin heels on the floor beside my feet with a smug grin before resting his shoulder against the doorframe. He eyed me up like a meal as he crossed his arms over his chest and dragged the pad of his thumb along his lower lip.
“A little excessive, don’t you think?” I furrowed my brows, bending over and reaching for the trendy stilettos.
Holding one of them up, hooked on a single finger, I pursed my lips as I inspected and admired the bright red glossy sole that complemented the shade of my hair.
“If you think I’m just going to execute my first task with my wife and not go all out, then you’ve forgotten who I am,” Dallas smirked, licking the corner of his lips while turning his hip over and lifting his heel to show off the matching soles of his jet black sneakers—they just so happened to be Louboutin as well,shocker.
“Right… the presumptuous show off, how could I possibly forget?” I mocked with a roll of my eyes as I dropped the arm holding the shoe, still pinched between my fingers.
