The Games We Play

48. Forty-Seven - Tess

Forty-Seven - Tess

We are raised to believe that the monsters in our closets and under our beds are make-believe and part of our imagination. But what if they’re simply reflections of our innermost thoughts and tendencies? The good part of our heart wars with the darkest desires, our moral compass spinning wildly until we decide what kind of person we are going to be.

Some of us choose to embrace the monsters and let them guide us, while others prefer the light and fight the monsters with prayers and nightlights as we fall asleep. I think there is another type of person who acknowledges their existence but sits in the balance of the light and the dark—never succumbing to either side and using the one that benefits them most—choosing the side, they need at the moment to survive.

I was never scared of the monsters. They became my friends and my comfort. With them, I was never alone and always had someone to confide in when things got bad .

When I killed my mother, they helped me. They held me as the new feeling of the darkness leached from my heart and spread through my veins. As time passed, Dad medicated me, and I left my monsters locked away in the depths of my mind. I wasn’t light; I was simply nothing. Barely existing.

I always found comfort in the darkness, in the shadows of the night. They embraced me without judgment and kept me safe. They’re where I found X.

He came along and reminded me of the friends I’d left behind in life. He gave me passion, and we played games. My monsters came back, and we became something incredible. I no longer felt lost or alone.

They had come back, and I had X.

Our darkest parts yearned for each other and formed a bond not even death could break. It tried. Twice now, I’ve nearly lost him, but I’m convinced our connection, our inner beasts, kept him here with me.

But even as we are both filled with darkness, I see the light in his eyes when he smiles at me from across our yard. It’s in his laughter as I spread cookie batter across his cheek, and he nuzzles my neck and then licks the batter from my skin. The light is in his touch as his fingers caress my skin and are careful to tend to every part of me. It’s in how he is attentive to my every need and isn’t scared to stand up to me when I’m being ridiculous.

X is both light and dark. He found a way to survive in the balance, and he’s mine.

I watch his relaxed features as he sleeps, the sun peeking in through our window, casting slivers of sunlight across his thick lashes. His body bears the scars and reminders of our close calls. Because of them, we never take a moment for granted. We’re freelance killers, and with that comes danger at every corner. We live for the thrill of finishing a life, stopping a timeline from existing so it can never intercept or end another one.

We live by our own rules and hunts, not taking orders from anyone, and we never will.

That way of life died with Darius and Nadia.

We’re free.

X’s eyes flutter, and he moans in his half-awake state. The P on his chest rises as he inhales deeply before falling again. “You’re watching me sleep again,” he murmurs, his voice rough and gravely.

“So,” I say with a smile spreading across my face.

“What time is it?” he groans as he rolls over, gathering me in his arm and sliding me against his chest.

“A little after eight. Last night was exhausting, huh?” I trace the letter on his chest with my finger and press my lips to the jagged curve.

“As a wedding night should be.” X squeezes me tightly and kisses his lips to my forehead.

“And what about the morning after?” I bite my bottom lip to suppress the girl-like squeal that wants to bubble out of me.

“Can you take it, Puppet? Were you not fully satisfied last night?” His hand travels down my ribs, and I squirm under the tickling sensation.

“I was. But then I slept, and it was like a reset button.” His fingers travel down my spine, and I arch my back, pushing my breasts into him. X growls his approval, dips his head to take my pebbled nipple into his mouth, and rolls me to my back.

“Well, Little Wife, let me remind you of what all we did last night.”

He moves to my other nipple and slides his hand between my thighs. His fingers tease my entrances, and I’m already wet for him. I’m always ready for X .

“We don’t have much time before we have to go. I’m afraid this will have to be quick,” X reminds me, and I pout, popping my bottom lip. X nibbles it and then kisses my nose. “I’ll be sure and take care of you tonight, after our—game.”

My body hums with excitement, and I lift my ass, my pussy clenching around nothing as it greedily waits for his cock.

He moves his finger and lines himself up with my center, slamming into me. My vagina aches from all the marital sex and positions X had me in last night. I cry out, and he stills, letting me adjust, then starts a steady rhythm.

“My fucking wife,” he says against my breast, and I run my fingers through his hair.

“If you’re a good boy, I brought some rope for our honeymoon tour,” I purr, and his cock jerks inside of me.

“Oh fuck,” he moans and bites on my shoulder as he quickens his pace. I scratch down his back, wanting him closer, wanting to become one with him.

His five o’clock shadow grazes my nipples, and the sensation sends shivers down my spine. I slide my hand down between us, and X leans back on his knees, lifting my legs to either side of his face, and I work my clit as his hunter-green eyes gaze down at me. My toes curl, and the orgasm burns through my core and nerve endings.

X kisses the instep of each of my feet and quickens his pace, shoving my body up the bed as he thrusts deeper and deeper inside like it will never be enough. He presses his hips into me, his legs tensing and muscles jumping as he comes and fills my pussy with his hot cum. I wrap my arms around his body and hold him close.

“Well, Mr. Collins. ”

X groans and pulls back to brace himself over my body.

“Nope, you still aren’t calling me that.”

I laugh and brush my thumb across his bottom lip. “Are you ready for our first day of marriage counseling? I hear the first year is the hardest.”