I wink at him, then skip out of the room. Not my problem.
Chapter 22
Dominic
The door swings shut behind my psychotic wife, and I stare in wonder.
She stabbed me.
My wife just fucking stabbed me.
I look down at the hilt of the steak knife sticking out of my thigh, and chuckle.
She’s a firecracker. A fire spitting dragon. And it’s exhilarating to experience the bite behind that bark. I can’t believe I ever thought she was a boring, porcelain doll.
I truly didn’t realize why she was getting upset at first. But when it dawned on me, I figured it was a good lesson on getting thicker skin. She needs to be tougher and learn how to handle criticism. Plus, I was only voicing her sentiment.
But once I figured it out, I might’ve continued taking jabs at her because that red face and the smoke spewing from her nose were fueling me.
I look down again and hiss out a breath. Fuck, it’s starting to hurt. I assess the situation and note that a few stitches should fix this.
I take out my phone and call the Syndicate doctor, Dr. Anderson.
He picks up on the third ring.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks sassily. I swear him dating Matthias’s maid, Dotty, has made him gutsy.
“I need some stitches in my thigh. Now.” I’m not giving him an option, mostly because I need to make sure this doesn’t get infected.
“It’s Sunday evening. How the hell did you get injured enough to need stitches?” His sighs of exasperation annoy me. It isn’t his place to question me.
“I pissed off the wrong person.” Or maybe the right person. Because if anyone else stabbed me, they’d pay greatly. But my rebellious wife… I feel no need to avenge my thigh. I’m more amused than anything.
“Where are you?” The jingle of his car keys and the sound of a car door closing echo through the line. He’s not far from here, so he shouldn’t take long.
“At home. Meet me in the dining room.” I’m not risking further injury by walking around.
“How did you get injured in your own home?” The question is understandable, but not excusable. It’s none of his damn business.
“Just come over,” I bark into the phone then end the call.
It takes him fifteen minutes to arrive, and in that time, I bask in my situation.
My sexy wife feels so passionately for me that she stabbed me. Yes, it may be feelings of anger right now, but that means I can turn them into lust.
Unfortunately, that train of thought leads me to a pretty uncomfortable position. My cock hardens at fantasy of her lusting over me. Of what we could do together. Of what we will do.
When Dr. Anderson arrives, I have to place my napkin on my lap to hide my issue. It doesn’t last long though, because once he pulls the knife out, the pain overwhelms me. Thank God, because the last thing I’d want him to find as he demolishes my slacks is my boner.
He cleans the wound, and that shit hurts. A weaker man would be plotting his revenge, but I don’t. I do wish she were here though. And not just because I want her to witness the consequences of her actions, she should have to do that.
But because she should be seated next to me and watching as Dr. Anderson stitches and glues me. I wouldn’t even wince, and she’d be impressed by my endurance. She’d be here, by my side. When he starts sewing me up, she’d gasp and grab my hand.
Slap!
The sound echoes through the room before I can even feel the sting in my leg. What the fuck? Dr. Anderson just slapped my leg.
“Go shower off the blood once this dries.” His eyes narrow in suspicion. “I’m only giving you pain medicine if you tell me what happened.”
