She had been staring at my onyx cut ring for months now, the strange heart shape I always wore. It was my sole piece of jewelry besides things like cuff links and I have no idea why it had become the only piece I wore and never took off. It had absolutely zero meaning to me, none at all. People asked all the time. Was it given to me by a family member? Nope. Gave it to myself. Symbolism? A fucking heart, are you stupid? No one puts symbolism in a gay ass, widespread picture like that.
Well, alright, except for now when I was the idiot putting symbolism in it. Tuesday’s ring was a ruby – I wasn’t settling for goddamned garnet in her engagement ring so I found the perfect ruby with the right depth and shine – and it was heart cut just like mine, except hers had small diamonds creating an outline.
“Yes.” The whisper made me blink and then turn to her. She stared up at me sleepily, still stretching. My heart thundered and I swallowed nervously, but she grinned shyly at me. “The answer is yes, but you have to give me one of those massage things you do.”
I beamed. “It wasn’t going to be phrased as a question anyway.”
She giggled and held out her hand while I took the ring and fitted it perfectly on her finger. Her eyes went a little wide at the sight of it when she wore it though. “It’s huge.”
“Get used to wearing red,” I answered and she laughed while I obliged her request and kneaded her shoulders, stroking away all the tension that I had created.
“You’ll have… have to… match the clothes…”
I didn’t bother answering because she was already out again, this time wearing my ring as well as my collar. I had every intention of finishing her well earned massage and then getting breakfast and coffee ready, but I never made it that far. The feel of her so relaxed beside me made me feel relaxed and I ended up tucked back in beside her, holding her close to my chest. My right hand rested close to her left, the black heart shining beside red.
I smiled and decided that I didn’t even feel the need to push her for a wedding. This was enough for as long as it took her to feel comfortable. She could have the rest of our lives if she wanted, although I hoped she’d agree fairly soonish. If our businesses were intertwined through marriage it could give her more benefits and we could build other interests for her together. Both of us being business owners also meant she could comfortably keep all of our bank accounts separated without torturing herself in guilt over it, like I knew she would if given half the chance. She was brilliant with the accounting work, too, so she could take over all of my own accounts, and just give me the end of the month records, eventually. It would be an act of trust that would draw her out of her relationship phobia and give her some power over me. Power that I knew she wouldn’t do a thing with, except keep my books for me. My mind went through all of it, ways to coax my little Tuesday out in hopes for her to set a date.
It turned out I didn’t need to even overthink all of that. She had an idea when she woke up and it was actually soonish. Tuesday really impressed me with it because she asked for a logical two years of engagement and then we could start to plan the wedding. It was actually more than I’d dared hope for from her skittishness, although she seemed to be worried that she was asking for too much. I replied to that by grinning and shrugging, telling her that two years was 24 times I would get to torture her during that sensitive time of the month and I wasn’t upset with that. “Ivory!” She laughed though, throwing a pillow at me and running from me through my apartment.
And later that night we played Scrabble. Because we’d bonded over games, we played games in every aspect of our lives, and I safely knew that we would keep playing games together as we grew. It was why I was so certain of marrying her. So long as there was a Breakfast at Tiffany’s topic we could go back to when things seemed rough and so long as she never tired of taking my kinks, we would be just fine. And our kinks were soul songs to each other.
Once upon a time, I had craved for more thrill at nights and that’s how I found her online. My Tuesday, who’d been named that because she was born on Tuesday. My Tuesday who was so real and down to earth.
And now I didn’t crave for anything else except for more of her.
Oh, one last thing. The key to her apartment? Don’t worry. I used it. I had to send her to get her things from her apartment when we decided to move into mine together. And no, we didn’t decide on my apartment for a sexist reason. It was just because I had the dungeon in my penthouse and Tuesday loved my bed. Also because she didn’t give a fuck.
But I had her go and start packing when she thought I was out of town with my brother. The night before I had taken the Beretta apart, stripped it down and removed the firing pin, kept it unloaded, and put the safety on. I held it with me while I hid in her closet.
She definitely wasn’t expecting me either and I had to clap my hand over her mouth to muffle her screaming, wearing a ski mask just for old time’s sake. At first, I didn’t say anything, just lifted the 9 mm threateningly, keeping it right in front of her eyes, pointed away from both of us. “Are you going to be a good fucking girl for me, Tuesday? Because here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to rape your little asshole and when I’m done, you’re going to tongue bathe my cock clean of how filthy you are and it might take a while. You see, I want to make sure you taste yourself off me and get the full flavor of it. And then you’re going to wash that down with all the piss I’m going to give you straight from my cock and you’re not going to spill any. And you won’t give me any problems, will you?” I nuzzled her temple while she couldn’t take her terrified eyes off the gleaming Beretta. When she didn’t immediately answer, I shook her with the hand that still covered her mouth. “You give me a fucking answer when I ask you a question, you little bitch. Are you going to give me any problems, Tuesday?”
She trembled, whimpered, and finally shook her head no. For a moment, she shook with a body spasm that made me worried I’d thrown her into the bad kind of panic. But then it subsided too quickly to be that. So I lifted her little skirt to feel her pussy and make sure she was okay that way instead.
She was more than okay. She had cum coating her thighs, that spasm having been her orgasm from this setup alone, and I could feel it dripping from her. “Horny fucking whore.” She groaned to my foul degradations and I smiled, inhaling the scent of her hair and her fear.
God, I loved Tuesday. I loved her more than dragons loved jewels and fire.