KIER
I saw red the moment his filthy lips touched my wife's hand. And not just a fleeting brush, no, he had the audacity to linger. His mouth stayed there a second too long, and I recognized that smirk. I knew it too well. I had perfected it myself. Given it to countless women. The smirk of a man who just found something, someone interesting.
But his was about the chase. I knew Keenan.
Sure, I used to mess around. But never with another man's woman. Never with someone off-limits.
Yeah, some of the women I banged, cried, called me a jerk, cold-blooded. That's how I got the name Cold-Blooded Casanova. But I was always honest. I told them up front: no strings, just fun. And they agreed. But there's always one who thinks I can change him. Ridiculous.
The difference between me and Keenan? He's a snake in silk. A liar dipped in charm. He tells women he loves them just to see how quickly they'll spread their legs. Hearts to him are poker chips—easily won, easily lost, never cared for.
I saw it in his eyes as he kissed her hand—my wife's hand. The gleam, the twitch of his brow, the way his thumb brushed her knuckles like she was a new conquest.
My blood boiled.
Heat rose in my chest, threatening to explode. But I kept it together. Barely. My eyes never left them as his fingers slid over hers like he had the right.
What twisted the knife deeper?
She smiled at him.
Despite the rule.
The one she always followed.
No smiles for other men.
But there it was. A smile that lit up her face, made her even more beautiful—and it wasn't mine.
It was his.
I wanted to break his jaw. Shatter that smug face until he was unrecognizable.
And in that moment, I swear to God, He signed his own goddamn death sentence.
He left soon after, the crowd's attention turning to the stage. I stood there, seething.
She was by my side, her arm wrapped around my torso like nothing had happened, her eyes trained on the stage.
"You disobeyed me," I said, my gaze fixed ahead.
I felt her tense, her fingers tightening, then loosening as she turned to look at me.
She blinked up, wide-eyed, lips parted as if words were there—just out of reach.
I leaned in, just close enough for her ears only.
"You smiled at him," I whispered, my voice sharp with restraint. "And you let him touch you."
Her grip slackened. Her eyes flickered with panic.
And something else.
Guilt.
But deeper still… anger.
Genesis had never shown anger to me before. Not like this.
My little wife was pissed.
And I wasn't going to wait until we got home.
"Come with me," I said, and turned.
She followed, silent.
We walked out of the hall, eyes trailing after us.
But I didn't care.
Later – In the Restroom
The door slammed shut behind us. I locked it without looking back.
Her back hit the cold tile wall. I stepped in, boxing her in with my arms, my eyes burning into hers—rage, possession, lust all tangled in one volatile mess.
"You think you can smile at him?" I growled, voice low, lethal. "Let him touch you like that?"
Her lips parted—nothing. She tried, I could see it, but no sound came out.
That only made the fire rage hotter.
"Take off your panties," I ordered.
She froze, eyes darting, breath coming fast.
I grabbed her chin, tilting her face up. "No one will come in here. So do what I tell you."
She nodded, eyes lowered. Slowly, she reached under her dress, dragging the black panties down those goddamn legs I always needed around my waist. But not now. Not until she understood.
She held them out. I took them.
Brought them to my nose. Inhaled.
Eyes shut.
Fuck.
Then I slipped them into my pocket, never breaking eye contact.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pupils blown wide. I could see it all—the confusion, the heat, the thrill. Her thighs pressed together, trying to hide the way her body betrayed her.
She liked this.
The fury.
The control.
She liked it when I lost it.
So I gave her more.
I spun her around, one hand gripping her hip, the other yanking her dress up over her ass.
"Good girl," I murmured, my voice rough and low.
Then I brought my hand down…..hard.
Her mouth fell open,in a silent cry but she didn't pull away. Her fingers clawed at the wall, her knees threatening to give out.
"You want to let another man touch what belongs to me?" Smack.
"Smile at him?" Smack.
"You really think he can handle you the way I do?" Smack.
By the time I stopped at the fourth strike, her ass was glowing red and hot beneath my palm, her body trembling with each breath.
But I wasn't finished. Not even close.
I stepped in behind her, pressing into her, my breath hot against her neck.
"You're going to remember who owns you," I whispered, each word laced with possession. "Every time you sit… every time you catch your reflection and see that flush on your cheeks, you'll remember exactly who put it there."
My hand slid between her thighs—and the heat there made me groan.
"Look at you," I growled. "Dripping for me. Just like the filthy little wife you are."