Page 94 of The Stallion
“I guess you’ll just have to find out once we reach their room.”
With almost perfect timing, the elevator doors opened with a single chime, and I backed inside the car, resting my palms along the back handrail, waiting for him like a tease.
Dallas followed me inside, his eyes fucking me harder than his mouth did earlier.
Unable to resist the temptation, I squeezed my inner thighs together at the memory, and my husband smirked when he noticed the subtle movement.
Leaning casually against the corner of the car, he slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, with a handgun securely concealed in the back of his waistband.
“You’d make for a terrible poker player.” He teased out of nowhere, watching the numbers on the floor panel increase as we ascended to the twenty-ninth floor.
“Good thing I hate to gamble,” I bantered in response, rolling my eyes and shifting to stand up straight.
When we reached our floor, we stepped off together, hand in hand, before Dallas guided me toward our target’s suite.
Tonight, we were to play the interested, unsuspecting couple. Looking to enhance our sex life with a night of swinging.
I didn’t know how long my husband had planned for us to skirt around our actual reason for being there, and that was the only factor that made my stomach twist with nausea. The thought ofhaving to get close enough to fucking a stranger, or worse—watching my husband fuck another woman.
Dallas rang the doorbell to the suite—because, of course, bougie guests have top-tier things. I wouldn’t have expected any less of them.
The door opened slowly, at an eerie pace, before our hosts greeted us in the entryway. My husband ushered me in from behind, and I proceeded inside with a confident stride, sizing up our targets with subtle hawk-like eyes.
As we entered, I glanced around the suite, admiring its immaculate cream and gold interior.
While standing in the foyer, I beheld an open, spacious living room. It had a large sixteen-person cream sectional couch complemented by a dark wood coffee table and a huge flat-screen TV mounted above a modern electric fireplace.
To the far right of the lounge space was a generously sized master bedroom, separated by frosted glass French doors trimmed with shimmery gold crown molding—a Stardust staple.
The plush carpeting looked brand new, an almost identical shade to the couch, and all I could think of, from the moment we entered, was how much of a shame it would be to stain everything red this evening.
“Bella, would you like to escort Mr. Conrad into the lounge while I take his wife to assist with drinks?”
They were already working to separate us, and the fake names weren’t helping my sudden rush of anxiety from the realization. Itightened my jaw at Oliver’s request, immediately setting my sights on Bella, with her plastic fucking everything.
She was infuriatingly perfect—a blonde fucking bombshell, and I wanted nothing more than to rip the cunt’s head off the second her arm looped through that of my husband’s.
“Come along, darling. What would you like to drink?” Her husband offered, taking my hand and guiding me toward the bar cart along the far left wall, pulling out various bottles of wine and hard alcohol to choose from.A vodka Red Bull? Maybe a double?
Even though I had turned my gaze to him, I still focused all my attention on Dallas. My heart rate continuing to accelerate as I subconsciously felt Bella’s greedy fucking hands exploring his body while she flirted with him on the sofa.
“Wine, please. Red.” Taking a deep breath, I picked up an empty wine glass, holding it out in front of me as he poured a generous serving of Chianti.
In the deep burgundy reflection, I could see the two behind me and started losing my ability for self-restraint, my vision turning as red as my fucking hair and my hand tightening around the stem with enough force to snap it in half.
This was so much fucking harder than I thought it would be—tolerating another woman’s hands on my husband. With the shows, it was easy; he avoided working the audience as often as possible, and even when he did, they were never allowed to touch him lower than the belt, and I was never around to see it.
With a giggle that sent a vile chill up my spine, nothing morethan a reminder of Tahlia—I fucking snapped.
Immediately smashing the top of my wine glass on the edge of the cart, I turned and sprinted across the room, the broken glass stem gripped firmly in my hand as I launched myself at Bella, pinning her in a straddle on the couch where she had been situated.
“What the fuck?!” The man barked as his wife screamed in a panic, and Dallas just started laughing menacingly, pulling the gun from behind his back and pointing it directly at him.
“Oliver, I’m surprised you’re even asking that fucking question.”
“You motherf—”
“Get this fucking psycho bitch off of me!” Bella frantically shrieked, cutting off her husband while she fought against my weight, and I attempted to stab the stem of the wine glass directly into her neck.
