Blood In My Husband's Boxers Mga Nobela at Kwento

How funny. "I haven't seen you in so long. It's like I even forgot I had a husband," I greeted him. I saw his brow rise at my remark as he climbed up slowly. His long sleeve remained tidy despite the faint blood marks on the side, as well as on the coat that hung over his shoulder. The blood is not his. He went and had some fun.

He placed his hands over my mouth, his other fingers still stretching my core. “Be quiet Mrs, You were such a good girl, let’s see if you can take my cóck, just as good.” He lifted his hands from my mouth as he moved to unbuckle his pants. When he finally released his cóck from his briefs, I felt a new set of tears brim in my eyelids. He lined the cóck perfectly with my entrance. As the tip pressed against my entrance. I heard a yell from the other side of the room. “Are you insane!” My husband screamed as he stood, his chair scraping loudly against the hospital tiles. My heart skipped, I had forgotten he was in the room with us.

Her eyes brought out tears, but I still could not control my urge to stop and ask why. I continued, turning her over and banging her from behind with the pressure of release my fluid. But then we got interrupted when a sound burst out from the door. I was still inside her but then I came out from her speedily, putting my boxer on. I walked to the door, and I opened the door just to see what stormed my heart deeply... Blood. I opened the door just to see from afar... my friend, drunk and badly injured. I rushed to him, with all my sexual hormones weakening because of this sight…The bloody sight.

I didn’t know tears slipped out of my eyes until he wiped it away with his thumb. “You’re my wife. No one can ever come close.” I felt like my heart would burst from the overwhelming feelings. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Let’s go inside, you’re getting cold.” I nodded, finding it hard to get any word out. When I pulled back, I noticed the faint red mark on his chest. He noticed I was looking and spoke. “Is that blood?” I exclaimed. “Eric’s blood,” he replied casually. Shock surged through me. “What?!”

As soon as it landed, the door burst open. Trembling in fear, unsure of what had transpired, all that was evident was Philip's wetsuit, torn by knives. Dark, wet stains covered the white sheets beneath him, and I realized in horror that it was his blood. Tears streamed down my face as I watched them quickly take my husband away.

The wind gave me shivers. I knew I should have brought a jacket earlier, I thought to myself. But I did not move but stared at the woods. I stood up not waiting for another minute and walked in the direction of my husband. I called out his name and stopped when I saw the back of David. "David-" my voice cracked when I saw a red color spreading on his white blouse. David slowly dropped to the ground and so did my heart. In front of David's bleeding body was a man wearing a black jacket, a mask that only covers his eyes, and a knife covered in blood. My husband's blood. My eyes only stopped at the blood on the knife being wiped by the man with his finger and he smiled at it.

When they saw Sur Shadow and I approach, their voices died down and they all stopped to look at me. No one said a word as we made it to the door and walked in. As soon as I looked at the bed, I let out a loud gasp, one filled with terror. There he was. Barlion, my husband, was laying on the bed on his back, the bed sheets turned red with his blood and a small man pressing a white cloth over the wound on his chest. Sir Shadow helped me get close an tears slid down my cheeks as gazed over his oddly pale skin.

My wife was on the other side, in pain, possibly injured, and I couldn't be with her. I couldn't protect her. I couldn't do anything. "Sir?" A nurse approached me carefully. "You're bleeding. Let me take a look at that." I looked down at myself for the first time. She was right. I was covered in dirt and blood. My shirt was torn. My hands were scraped and bleeding from breaking down the warehouse door. There was blood splattered across my jacket. Victoria's blood, from when Daniel had shot the gun out of her hand. "I'm fine," I said, my voice hollow. "I don't need help. My wife needs help."

My husband, Jaxon Murray, was a renowned medical expert and owned a big company. He was participating in a clinical drug trial when someone tampered with his medication. Under the influence, he ended up entangled with an intern—ninety-nine times, right there on the lab table. When he regained clarity, he rushed home, locked himself in the bathroom, and submerged himself in the tub without food or water as he waited for me to return from work. "Lauren," he said, "my medication was switched during the trial. I made a terrible mistake. But I paid her off and had her dismissed. She'll never appear before me again." I wept miserably, clutching my belly that had once again failed to carry life.

I brought it inside and set it on the kitchen counter and opened it. The photograph was on top. Me and Rydan. One I recognised from the earlier months, before any of this, taken in the kind of moment that neither of us had been thinking about photographs. The image had been printed on standard paper and it had been sitting inside whatever had been smeared on the outside of the box, and the edges of it were stained with the same dark red. Hen blood. The smell of it reached me a second after the recognition, the specific, particular smell of something animal that had no business being in a box on my doormat.