Page 7

7

TELL HIM

Janelle

I came home to silence.

No TV, no light hum from the fridge, no “hey baby” call from the back room. Just that still, eerie quiet that pressed in on my chest like something was wrong.

I dropped my purse on the counter, nerves tinglin’. Then I saw it—right there on the kitchen table, like some sick love letter.

If you want your husband alive, come here.

1000 Obsidian scribbled in red ink .

I ain’t never moved so fast.

Didn’t call the cops. Didn’t call nobody. Just grabbed my keys, heart poundin’, and peeled off like my life depended on it. Maybe ‘cause it did. Or maybe it was guilt burnin’ a hole in my chest like acid.

I knew who wrote that note. Knew it in my bones.

Fontaine.

The address led me through the cut, to a black steel gate that looked like it led to hell. I pulled up slow, tires crunchin’ gravel, blood ringin’ in my ears.

The gate slid open like it had been waitin’ on me.

I stepped into a foyer laced in black marble and gold trim. That damn smell of blunts hit me in the face like memory and sin. My heels echoed off the tile as I walked in deeper, throat tight, nerves jumpin’ with every breath.

“Shut the door, baby,” came that deep ass voice from the shadows.

I turned, heart jumpin’ to my throat.

He was loungin’ on a leather couch like a damn king. blunt in one hand, legs spread wide in a silk black suit. Shirt open just enough to show that carved chest and those tattoos lickin’ up his neck like secrets. His skin looked smooth and rich like melted chocolate, and his eyes… his eyes were full of fire.

I hated him.

And I wanted him.

“Where is he?” I snapped.

He smirked. “Damn, no ‘hi Daddy’? No kiss for old time’s sake?”

“You sick fuck!” I screamed, walkin’ toward him. “Where’s my husband?!”

“Safe,” he said, standin’ up slow. “For now.”

I got in his face. “I swear to God, if you hurt him—”

Before I could finish, his lips crashed into mine. Hot. Hungry. Like he been starvin’ since the last time I let him taste me. My hands balled up, pushin’ at his chest, but my mouth opened like it missed him.

“Don’t get your self fucked up for a dead man walkin’,” he murmured, breath heavy against my lips.

“I hate you.”

“Save that energy for when you creaming on my dick.”

I shoved him. Hard.

He grabbed my wrists and pinned ‘em behind my back, starin’ me down like I was prey.

“I told you, Janelle,” he growled. “You. Belong. To me.”

“I don’t belong to nobody!” I spat.

“You sure?” He dragged his mouth down my neck, and I gasped before I could stop myself.

“Tell me you ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout that bathroom,” he whispered, suckin’ a bruise into my skin. “Tell me your body ain’t screamin’ for me.”

I shook my head, lyin’ to both of us.

He smirked. “I’ll make you say it.”

The bedroom was dark, lit only by moonlight spillin’ through the blinds. He had me on the bed, wrists tied gently to the headboard with silk. Not tight. Not rough. But enough to make my chest heave with anticipation.

Fontaine stood at the edge, shirt gone, muscles flexin’ with every breath he took. His pants hung low, showin’ that v-cut and the top of that thick, hard—

I swallowed.

“You remember how I touched you?” he asked, climbin’ onto the bed. “How I made you cum on my tongue?”

I looked away.

He grabbed my chin, forced me to meet his stare. “Say it.”

“Y-yeah,” I whispered.

“Say you want me.”

“No.”

His mouth twisted into a grin. “Bet.”

His tongue hit me like a storm. Slow licks. Slow sucking. My body arched off the bed as he gripped my thighs and buried his face like he was searchin’ for heaven. I moaned, twisted, eyes rollin’ as he sucked my clit just right.

“F-Fontaine—” I tried to touch him.

“Move,” he whispered. “Don’t you fucking dare, Nelle.”

I shattered.

My back bowed off the bed, my body betrayin’ everything my mouth couldn’t say. When I opened my eyes…

I saw movement.

He turned me slightly—and I saw him.

My husband.

Blood on his forehead. Tied to a chair just outside the doorway, barely conscious. His eyes wide with confusion, fear, and heartbreak.

“Fontaine… what the fuck is wrong with you?!” I gasped.

“I told you,” he whispered in my ear, pushin’ his hard dick against my thigh. “You belong to me. And I want him to see.”

“N-no… this is wrong—”

But then he slid in.

And I forgot what wrong felt like.

He moved slow at first, like he was savorin’ me. My legs wrapped around his waist on reflex, body respondin’ before my brain could stop it.

“Tell him,” Fontaine growled, his lips by my ear. “Tell him this pussy mine.”

I shook my head, tears of pleasure rollin’.

He slammed into me harder.

“Say it.”

“F-Fontaine—”

Another stroke, deeper, heavier. My body betrayed me again, gettin’ wetter, my moans louder.

“Say it, baby.”

He hit that spot. That dangerous, forbidden, addictin’ spot—and I broke.

I looked my husband in his eyes… and whispered:

“This pussy his, f-fuck it’s all his.”

Fontaine roared like a lion, grippin’ my hips and poundin’ into me like he owned my soul. I came again, screamin’ his name, eyes never leavin’ the man I once said “I do” to.

But in that moment…

I belonged to Fontaine.