“It’s all right, Bennett,” Jack calls out, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I can fuck her next.”
It turns out that as Arthur pumps inside me, forcing me in and out of Bree, I’m absolutely helpless. Not only do I climax hard, but with Arthur slamming in over and over, and Bree crying out her pleasure underneath me, I find myself somehow doing it again. It’s so intense that my balls hurt. I end up lying there, utterly boneless and ravaged in Arthur’s arms, while Jack takes Bree doggie style. He even pulls on her hair, and she squeals as she orgasms.
I can’t wait for every night of my life to be like this one.
Over the weekend, we reorganize the office so we can bring over all of Bree’s streaming equipment. Then Jack hires movers to move her out of her apartment, ignoring her as she insists we could do it ourselves.
“No. I’m not going to throw out my back taking that couch to storage.”
I do love our buck who knows how to put his foot down. Bree pouts, but eventually agrees.
One by one, every item in her apartment finds a new home either in our house or the storage unit, awaiting our future house. The movers take all the furniture and boxes, leaving the apartment mostly empty. Bree stands in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded.
“Wow. It’s a lot bigger without all my stuff in it.” She chuckles to herself. She’s been in a much better mood ever since she made her decision.
With the contents of her refrigerator packed up in a paper bag, we load the car and leave her complex for the last time.
Bree sighs as we pull out of the lot. “Lot of memories at that place.”
“But lots of new memories to make,” I say, holding her hand.
I notice a car pull out of the lot behind us and follow for a few blocks, but I’m too enamored with my fiancee to care.
When we get home, it’s time to celebrate. We unpack Bree’s belongings, then I bring out the sparkling apple cider and concoct a bright and fruity mocktail. It feels like everything in the world is finally right.
Once we’ve gone through two bottles, I load up the recycling and head out back to drop it into the bin. It’s dark out here, reminding me how I kept meaning to install a motion sensing light but never got around to it.
Oh well. I’ll make sure there’s one on the next house.
While I’m opening the lid of the bin, I detect movement in the alley a few feet away. I jump out of my skin, and the tub of recycling falls out of my hands, landing with a clatter on the ground.
Arms encircle my neck.
“Don’t move.” Something cold and hard presses against my throat, and I fall completely still. “Move, speak, do anything, and I cut you open.”
I can’t see who’s gotten hold of me, but I’m certain now that there’s a knife at my neck.
He found us—GingerWatchman finally found us. This is a fact that really, really pisses me off.
Bree was supposed to feel safe here in our home. But this guy’s obsessed, and he needs to be stopped.
I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s dangerous. But I’m so angry at the fear this man has instilled in our lives that I can’t stop myself.
First, I jam my elbow backward. Yeah, that knife could slit my throat. Or the guy could drop it like he does now as he groans in pain. Then I spring for one of the cut two-by-fours laying by the trash, which Arthur, of course, didn’t put in the bin. By the time I’ve gotten my hand around it and turned, though, I find a surprisingly big human man standing there, the glinting silver knife back in his hand.
He lunges before I can move, and it’s hard to track him in the dark. But I swing the two-by-four anyway, and he shouts as it collides with some part of his body. Unfortunately, he’s still moving, and I gasp when the knife slices through my right arm.
“Fuck!” I stumble on something in the alley—probably more wood Arthur left out here—and lose my balance, which sends me careening down to the gravel. Pain shoots through me from where the man stabbed me in the arm, and now my face and knees are torn up, too.
But I have to get up. I flip over on the ground so I can look at my attacker, and he’s headed straight for me. I hold my hands up over my face to block, and…
SLAM! From out of nowhere, a dark shape rams into him, bowling him over. It’s a mass of brown fur, horns and hooves that I’m sure is Jack. He lands atop his opponent, the knife flashing in the light.
“You piece of shit!” Jack roars.
“Watch out!” I can’t let this guy hurt Jack, too. “He has a knife!”
But I shouldn’t have worried. The man is stunned, and in the meantime, Jack grabs his knife hand and twists it at the wrist. A scream of pain follows.
