(From my Tumblr: @hoosurdaddy) ❤️🔥❤️🔥
They didn’t even try to hide it anymore.
The tension. The jealousy. The dark, furious need.
And you? You thrived in it.
It was almost too easy.
One night, Love cornered you first—dragging you into the kitchen while Joe was still upstairs shelving books like the good little husband he was pretending to be.
Her hands were trembling as they grabbed your face, pulling you into a kiss so hard it hurt—teeth clashing, breathy gasps swallowed between desperate mouths.
“You’re mine,” she hissed against your lips, voice cracked and furious. “Not his. Don’t you dare forget it.”
You whimpered, letting her mistake your eagerness for submission. You let her shove you back against the counter, her thigh wedging between yours, grinding against you until you whined softly, your fingers curling in her shirt like you couldn’t bear to pull away.
She smirked, satisfied—and didn’t see Joe standing in the doorway, frozen, watching.
Didn’t see the way his hands clenched into fists. Didn’t see the raw violence simmering behind his pretty brown eyes.
You did.
You smiled against Love’s mouth and made sure Joe saw it.
⸻
Later that night, the fighting started.
Loud.
“You treat her like a toy!” “You think you’re any better?! You only love her when she’s playing into your little good girl fantasies!” “At least I don’t pin her down like a fucking possession!”
You curled up under the covers, pretending to be asleep, your body aching deliciously with anticipation.
You heard the crash—something shattering downstairs. A chair? A lamp? You didn’t care. You wanted them bloody and desperate for you.
You knew what was coming before it happened.
The door slammed open. Joe. Breathing heavy. Wild-eyed. Blood dripping from a split in his lip.
“Get up,” he growled.
You blinked up at him, all innocent confusion.
He grabbed your wrist—hard enough to bruise—and yanked you out of bed. His grip was bruising, punishing, desperate.
“You wanna be hers so bad?” he spat. “Fine. Let’s see how much you like it when she’s not fucking breathing.”
Your stomach twisted—not in fear, but arousal.
You let him drag you downstairs. You let him shove you against the wall, his body caging you in, his anger rolling off him in choking waves.
Love stumbled out of the kitchen, a knife clutched in one hand, blood smearing the handle. Her eyes were wild.
“Let her go!” she screamed, voice raw, broken.
Joe only pulled you closer, his hand slipping into your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat.
“No,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Not until she chooses.”
Choose? Choose?
You almost laughed.
You leaned into Joe’s touch, your mouth parting, your breath hitching like you were about to cry.
“I…” you whimpered, glancing between them, making sure they both saw the way you shook.
“I want…”
You saw the hope flicker in Love’s broken face. You felt the way Joe’s whole body tensed against yours, ready to tear her apart.
And you smiled.
“I want both of you,” you breathed.
They broke at the same time—Love dropping the knife with a clatter, Joe slamming his mouth against yours so hard you tasted blood, both of them crashing into you like a tidal wave of need.
Hands everywhere—pulling, gripping, bruising. Teeth scraping. Bodies colliding.
No gentleness. No love.
Just filthy, violent want.
You kissed Joe while tugging Love against you by the hair, making her watch— You clawed at Love’s shirt while Joe shoved your thighs apart with rough, demanding hands— You owned them both now, and they fucking knew it.
And you were never letting them stop.