An Excerpt from "The Upper Hand"
By Gwen Masters
Boyd and I had been fighting. It happens to the best of relationships, I’m sure. But for us, even the mildest argument was a rare thing. To be reduced to yelling and screaming and tears was unheard of in our house. In fact, it had never happened before. In the end I had opened the door and ordered him out. Looking back, I didn’t recognize that angry woman that had emerged. All over a speeding ticket. Was it really over just that? Hell, now I felt so ridiculously silly…
I sat on the couch in the dim living room, my eyes on the colors in the big area rug. I couldn’t notice them, though. I was worried about my Boyd, who had run out of our house with my hurtful words ringing in his ears. He had revved up that big SUV and tore out of the driveway without a second glance, already breaking the speed limit by the time he reached the stop sign and sailed right through it.
Figures, I had thought. Speeding again. But that was such a minor offense…why did it set me off? All I knew was that I missed my man. I was holding the cordless phone, considering calling someone, but I didn’t know where he had gone.
I don’t know how long I sat there before I heard it. The soft sound of the engine in the distance. He was driving slowly for once. Then I heard the crunch of gravel as Boyd pulled through the gate. I dropped the phone I had been holding. I stepped to the picture window and watched the headlights dim, then disappear as he parked. He sat in the vehicle for a long moment, then climbed out and made his deliberate way up our steps. I took a few deep breaths as my heart went crazy…what had started our fight again? I tried hard to remember, and couldn’t. Only Boyd consumed my thoughts.
I met him at the door.
Boyd was beautiful to me then. His blonde hair, always a little too long, fell across his forehead in disarray. I watched as he brushed it back with one long motion and raised those trusting eyes to mine. He hesitated at the doorway. I had driven him away, and now it was my turn to bring him back home. I smiled at him hesitantly, my love for this man overriding any petty differences or insults that we had hurled at one another. Like all good relationships, we had found our connection again. We were both so angry, but he was home.
“Welcome back,” I said to him.
“I decided that it’s my goddamn house, too.” He said this flatly, staring at me with nothing but challenge and desire in his eyes. I raised one eyebrow at him in a gesture of defiance that I simply couldn’t hold back. That was all it took to light a match to the dry tinder of his anger.
Boyd bolted up the porch and went straight for the door. He pushed it with a force that knocked the doorknob from my hand and then I was in his strong arms. “Damn you,” he whispered softly, then took two long steps and pushed me against the wall.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him hard, my tongue sliding quickly into his mouth and teasing his tongue, pulling back before he had a chance to respond. It only made him angrier. I could feel every muscle in his body tense as he pushed me against the cool surface. One hand slid into my hair and yanked back, hard. I squealed in pain and protest, only to have the sound disappear into a moan as his teeth found my throat. I arched up against him and was rewarded with a sharp sting on my thigh as Boyd slapped it.
“Boyd?” I questioned, already breathing hard.
“Shut the fuck up…I am in control here!” he declared, thrusting his body up against me so hard that he took my breath away. I could feel his cock through his slacks, already harder than I had known him in a long time. His fingers curled into my hair and I gasped aloud, only to feel another sharp sting on my hip. Tears sprang into my eyes, yet my body surged to life. I wanted to fuck him, but he was scaring me.
I started to speak and thought better of it. Right then Boyd lifted me above him slightly and one hand found his pants, quickly unfastening them and pulling them down. I felt the heat of his cock only a second before I felt him enter me.
Boyd plunged deep with one long thrust. My body wasn’t ready and I cried out in pain, only to feel his hand come down hard against my already-red thigh. “You fucking bitch!” He nearly shouted, his anger finally getting the best of him. His hands ripped my nightshirt open…buttons flew everywhere, pinging sharply against the hardwood floors. His hands found my breasts and his fingers pinched my nipples hard, making me cry out.
“Don’t you ever throw me out again!” he hollered.
Read the whole story in the Who's Your Daddy Anthology!