A Domineering Veto (Part 1)
"What about you?" Alison did not attempt to hide her intentions.
She had gone to great lengths to prepare for tonight, carefully selecting this nightgown from a large pile.
Jack had originally thought that, since he came home late, she would confront and argue with him.
The smile on his lips deepened, and his eyes brimmed with delight.
He gently embraced her, but when he remembered the injury on her chest, his brow furrowed slightly.
He let her small hands wrap around his neck and slowly moved his large hands over her nightgown.
This made Alison's heart race as if she were back on that first night when she waited for him in the apartment, her heart filled with fluster.
Suddenly, his hands stopped.
As she looked at him in confusion, he bent down and lifted her firmly and securely into his arms.
His full lips touched hers, and her arms remained tightly wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let go.
He walked steadily and powerfully.
As he kissed her, he carried her toward the bed.
A faint smile played at the corners of his lips.
Thankfully, it was just a bruise—something he could handle.
He lay back on the bed with Alison in his arms and flipped the light switch. The room plunged into darkness.
In the darkness, Alison could only feel the man's fervor and passion—a flame she had ignited and could extinguish only she.
"Honey...I love you..."
"Alison, you're fucking beautiful..."
"I'm close...baby..."
He'd only taken her once tonight before lulling her to sleep.
Alison soon fell into a deep sleep, but Jack tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
The pain in his chest grew more intense, and his stomach cramped from a night of hard work and barely eating.
He hurried into the bathroom to wash up.
When he saw the bruise on his chest, his expression darkened.
This time it was just a bruise.
What if next time it were a fatal gunshot wound?
He carefully rummaged through the first-aid kit, pulled out the medicated alcohol, and quietly made his way downstairs.
In the living room, he tore open the package of medicated alcohol.
As he warily rubbed the bruise on his chest, he recalled the intimate moments he'd shared with Alison in bed.
He smiled.
As long as she was happy, he was willing to endure the pain.
After rubbing the area for a while, the pain eased slightly.
He wondered if Alison would be just as passionate tomorrow as she had been tonight.
After putting away the bottle of medicinal wine, Jack strode toward the kitchen.
He'd only taken a few sips all evening, and now his stomach was growling in protest. He needed to find something to eat.
He flipped on the kitchen light and saw the trash can overflowing with his favorite dishes.
Though they were all mixed, he could still recognize them at a glance.
He froze in place.
He glided his fingertips across his phone screen to check tonight's call log.
It turned out that Alison had asked Sophia to call him and invite him over for dinner, but he had been too busy to make it back at the time.
In the middle of the night, Jack dialed Audrey's number.
It rang only twice before she picked up.
Her voice was low and hurried. "Is something up?"
Jack asked, "When you left tonight, did you know who was cooking at our house?"
"The madam," Audrey replied without hesitation.
"Then why didn't you tell me?" Jack pressed.
Audrey froze, momentarily speechless.
Jack took a deep breath as if processing this new information, then barked, "Why didn't you tell me?"
Audrey began to explain. "Jack, does this have anything to do with the case? If so, I'll report to you every morning, noon, and night from now on."
Her voice carried a hint of coldness and petulance.
Only then did Jack realize. "I'm sorry. This isn't your business."
He hung up, realizing it was himself who had refused to come home.
Jack dug a few pieces of cake out of the fridge and wolfed them down.
Early that morning, Alison woke up to the noise of her two little ones.
She fed the children, changed their diapers, and carried them downstairs to leave them in Skyla's care.
Back in the bedroom, it was dim, with the curtains still drawn tight.
The man in bed seemed utterly exhausted. Not even the children's earlier crying had managed to wake him.
Alison sat down gently on the edge of the bed; she couldn't bring herself to wake him.
A moment later, the man opened his eyes, his deep gaze resting on her delicate face.
"Why are you up so early? Do you want to sleep a little longer?" he asked softly.
With a gentle pull of his large hand, Alison fell into his embrace.
His hand brushed her cheekbone, making her chuckle. "Stop messing around."
"Do I look good?" He played with her long hair, his fingers brushing her skin.
"No," she said, extending her slender fingertips to tap his face gently. "You're so ugly."
"If you've been staring at someone this ugly for seventeen minutes, how long would you stare at someone handsome? One hundred and seventy minutes?" He laughed as he called her out.
Alison blushed.
It turned out he'd been awake the whole time.
"I'd love to look a little longer, but you might not let me."
"At least you have a little self-awareness," he chuckled, teasing her.
"Jack, you're so mean," she said through gritted teeth.