Blood In My Husband's Boxers Novels & Stories

"It wasn't my blood, I had no cut, then who the fuck owns it?" I got my answers the night I found out my husband was a murderer, or maybe a body part broker or a cadaver trader. The blood on my cleavage that day—was he the one? Had he tried to kill me? My eyes went wide as I remembered covering my mouth to stop any word from coming out, even though I knew I couldn't make one sentence correctly without stuttering after two years of not talking to anyone.

As he wondered where the doctor had found the men’s clothing she gave to him, he remembered her telling Pym to go get her husband's clothes. “I should leave the bathroom before the husband comes in and misunderstands.” He said and left the bathroom. As he entered the examination room again, the doctor looked up and her eyes widened. "Those belonged to my husband," she said, her voice quiet and eyes looking said. "He– he passed away a few months back. Rogues, they got him in the woods while he was trying to go to a neighboring pack for business."

"Eight weeks ago, you were a virgin." My blood turned to ice. "Don't." "I didn't know then. I found out after." He pulled something from his inner jacket pocket — not a check this time. A folded piece of hotel letterhead. "The housekeeping staff found blood on the sheets. They reported it. Standard protocol." I remembered the pain. The way he'd paused, confused, when I'd winced. The way he'd looked at me after — like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve. Then he'd fallen asleep.

I pushed open the door to the powder room, only to stop dead in my tracks. A woman stood inside, her back slightly hunched, one hand gripping the edge of the marble counter. Blood trailed from her nose, smeared across her upper lip and staining the lace sleeve of her dress. In front of her stood a man in a decorated military uniform, blocking the doorway like a barrier. “Are you okay?” I asked the woman directly. “She’s fine,” the man said quickly, too quickly. “She’s bleeding,” I replied, my voice sharper now. “My wife fell,” he added, pulling her into his chest like a shield.

I saw blood being flushed into the water. My heartbeat quickened as I remembered the entire incident. I returned from the restroom with my eyes closed. "Mr. Kashyap! Your wife has requested you?", the doctor said. "All right," I said as I entered the OT with the doctor and saw my wife drenched in sweat, tears, and blood. "Jaan, Are you okay?", I inquired. "J.J.ji", She said this while holding my hands and entering a semi-conscious state of mind. "Doctor! What is the matter?", I nervously inquired of the doctor.

He carefully kicked the door open and gently placed me on the bed, removing both my shoes in one go. “I'll shower and join you in a bit,” he murmured, pulling his shirt over his head as he walked to the bathroom. His back muscles flexed with each movement, and I couldn't tear my eyes away. The sound of the bathroom door shutting snapped me out of my horny stare. “Wait, he's my husband, so I can touch him,” I said to myself, chuckling as I decided I was going to join him in the shower. I quickly climbed down from the bed and sat at the vanity, taking off my jewellery in record time. As I opened a drawer and brought out a little jewellery box, I noticed a sticky note placed neatly on it. I fro

Xavier was meant to inherit both mafias, which meant my future was far worse than Pier and Francine’s. A knock on the door echoed. I hurriedly searched for anything that would remove the foul taste in my mouth. A complete set of personal care products, unopened, rested on the shelves. I reached for the mouthwash, gargled it before opening the door, revealing my husband. “Are you alright?” he asked, face void of any emotion. I nodded. “You?” He nodded as well. “You have blood on your clothes,” he commented, as if that’s the most important thing we should worry about.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. My breath catches in my throat at the sight before me. Standing before me is my husband in a white shirt stained in deep red, blood soaked down to his sleeves and dripping off his fingers. His eyes behind his clear glasses are dull, his jaw is tight, but I can see a look of surprise when his gaze falls on me. Forgetting all the hate I have for him, I surge forward. “Oh my God, Ian! What happened? Are you hurt?” My hands fly over his body in a panic, checking his chest, his arms, trembling fingers searching for wounds.

This was war. All of my bravado faded by the next morning when I had to rush Roman to the medical center. He could barely even walk. A few hours had passed since Tara ran the tests. But I was freaking out. I had gone to speak to Nigel and the others to make sure they kept my husband's whereabouts discreet. Roman was hunched over in bed when I walked in. He held a basin in his hands, his shoulders shaking as another harsh cough tore out of him. Dark red blood splattered the metal.

“You all right?” I stretched out my blood-covered arms. My shirt and pants were drenched. My fingers ached when I wiggled them. I smiled wryly. “My wife has been fucking her half-brother our entire marriage, Daniele.” My words died in my mouth, my throat becoming dry. Felix got up with a wince. He stepped over the corpse and almost slipped on the blood. “Fuck,” he growled before he stopped in front of me. He held out his hand.