The Obedient Wife (an erotic short story) (4 page)

Sherry’s face had been beet red, not a pretty color with her red hair. And her gray eyes had screwed up so tight they’d looked like shiny silver daggers as she’d glared. That’s when he’d had his first inkling that she was really angry. Not
you didn’t put your underwear in the laundry basket
mad, but furious. Over Lois Freely.

Didn’t she know her type was the last he’d be interested in? Selfishly ambitious—and she’d been rude to Benny, probably because Benny couldn’t leave off the cupcakes. No, she’d zoned in on Blake and clung like mosquito for her entire interview. So annoying. He’d come home in one hell of a bad mood only to walk in unprepared to negotiate a minefield of accusations.

What hurt most wasn’t the fact she’d thought he’d looked up the woman’s skirt because he’d wanted to. Looking away had been impossible. Public safety and all. Maybe he shouldn’t have blurted her panties had been pink.

The slap from Sherry’s fingers had stung his cheek. Then they’d both stared, holding their breath because they’d never gotten violent before. Not once.

For Blake, what stung more was the fact Sherry didn’t trust him. They’d been together since high school, weathered hard times while they’d both put themselves through college, and she didn’t trust that he couldn’t keep his hands off Lois Freely?

He’d been so pissed the day they’d fought he’d left to blow off steam, afraid he’d say something else he shouldn’t because he’d been so mad he couldn’t think. When he’d come back, he discovered the door was locked. And his key didn’t fit the damn Brinks.

Ever since, trying to nail her down to talk had been futile. No one was more stubborn. That should have been her campaign slogan—
Vote for Sherry Thacker, the Most Stubborn Woman in Texas
.

A voice cleared nearby, dragging him back to the subject at hand—the wet down ceremony.

“Might want to borrow a flak jacket from Josh at the
po
-lice station,” Benny said, both eyebrows raised high.

“I don’t need Kevlar to talk to my damn wife,” Blake muttered. He glanced down at his chest. He’d just finished tearing apart the old generator the station used during power outages. Grass clung to his skin, and he smelled like gasoline. “I’m showering first.”

The tone for a fire truck and ambulance sounded over the loud speakers, followed by the digitized dispatcher providing the address. Blake shook out his shirt and tugged it quickly over his head. “Get to the watch desk, Benny. Radio me when you have more details.”

Time to suit up. Talking to the mayor would have to wait until later. Truth was, he’d rather be swinging an axe to vent a roof on a burning building than face Sherry across her big wooden desk. Sherry in a snit was definitely scarier.

Each time he worked himself up to the point he could keep calm enough to be in the same room with her, he was set off by something she said or did. Not that he ignited like a blow torch. But something inside would begin to burn, and all his anger and sorrow, all his loneliness, would coalesce and he couldn’t keep cool, couldn’t keep his neck from getting hot. He’d stand there, fists curling at his sides because all he wanted to do was charge around that monstrous desk and pluck her from her chair to give her a hard kiss.

If he ever let it get to that, there’d be no stopping him from reaching under her skirt to scrape away her panties. In the blink of an eye, he’d be balls deep. And she’d like it. He knew she’d like it. She always had. Swore she wanted him rough and raw.
Always.

Hurt burned an ulcer in his belly. He glanced up at her shuttered window as the engine pulled out of the station.

Well, baby, I’m still here.