Romans & histoires Blood In My Husband's Boxers

He fell and I gasped. “Are you okay?” I heard a familiar voice. I got out of that safe room and I saw My husband which looked like someone who's from an army war and who just survived. I ran into his arms unquestionably and he groaned in pain. He had blood on his face.“Come on.” He said. We walked out of the office and I was welcomed by blood across the walls, dead bodies, used bullets, bulletholes. “Fuck.” Jerald mumbled as he touched the wall. Jennifer looked at him with worry in her eyes.

A lampshade beside the bellend's bed was suddenly turned on, revealing my so-called husband casually strutting his way toward me. Holy moly. Such a feast for my eyes. He was half naked, not wearing anything on his upper torso. Arrogantly parading his muscular chest and six-pack abs to me. My eyes went further down and I noticed the enormous bulge inside his striped boxers. All of a sudden, my mind went haywire. Am I seeing it for real? Why can't I bloody take my eyes off of it? What the hell is wrong with me? I wanted to slap myself right there and then.

"No. It's too dangerous." I snort. "Now you know how I feel." He disappears into the bathroom, still shaking his head, and a shower starts up, water drumming against the tiles. Steam curls into the room. Thickens the air like mist. Quietly, I push to my feet and tug my sweater over my head. He thinks he can hide his happy tears away from me? Nope. No way. My husband may be a big, brutal boxer. He may pound his opponents and roar for the crowds. But this side of him, this gentle, secret side... it's all for me.

I had no idea where this blood came from, and I felt a wave of fear cascading through me as I realized my husband was the one to put it there. I placed a hand over my aching stomach and stifled a groan as I took a few unsteady steps toward the bathroom. I quietly opened the door, turning to glance in terror at the bed where Alexander still lay asleep. My heart skipped a beat as he stirred, and I momentarily stopped breathing. I stumbled into the bathroom, barely managing to close the door behind me. Slumping against it, I was engulfed in a wave of pain and confusion. My head throbbed against the hard surface, but I stayed still, trying to compose myself.

A very low groan escaped his throat as his dick became harder and poked me again! "I'm sorry" he whispered, "I just cannot hold it". Hold the hell? I have a huge dick poking my back and all he said was he can't hold it? What the hell is his body even sticky? Turning back to look at his body I froze. Sticky, yes! Normal, no! He is covered in blood. "Holy fucking smoke!" I screamed, "You are covered in bl.."

Your daughter is a soldier, Mama. I put the box on my lap and inhaled a long breath before slowly lifting the lid off. My vision blurred momentarily as panic set in at the sight in front of me. Blood, lots of blood. And grime and fingers—human fucking fingers inside a box. “W-what . . .” my mouth went dry as I struggled to find my voice, “—the fuck?!” I screamed, yanking the thing off of my lap. The box flew to the other side of the room, the . . . thing inside it jumped out of the box and onto the floor from the impact of my throw.

I'm denying him his privacy. I'm about to lie back down when I hear a sharp inhale from inside the bathroom. I'm instantly up on my feet as I speed walk to the door in my blue pyjama pants and white crop top. Gently opening the door, my eyes meet Ivan's reflection as he's standing in front of the mirror, clutching his right arm tightly. I look around him to see tissue papers coated in red. Blood. "Oh my God!" I gasp as I stand frozen by the door.

“It is your wedding and I am the one getting a gift? I got a really generous partner. What is in there?" “I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. Open and check it yourself." He opens the box and the metallic stench of blood immediately fills the air. He takes a look inside the box and I can tell by the way his body stiffens that he just went into shock. What did he think? That I would never find the bastard that he set to monitor and steal from me?

But who? I followed him straight to our room, my head filled with dread as I fumbled with my fingers. I noticed how tense his body was. He slipped one hand into his pocket, and old blood stained his shirt. There were shadows under his eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed with his back hunched and his elbows resting on his thighs. I was so nervous my hands were shaking. “Tell me what happened.” I made my face look adamant as I watched my husband drag his fingers through his dark, unruly hair. “Who died this time?”