Recollections

Smut VIII

Jealousy is a Dangerous Game

I walk in the door, breathing out harshly. I glance around, seeing the house completely empty. I quirk a brow, listening for anything to queue where he is. I shuffle around, checking room after a room. I huff, becoming more impatient. Usually he's all over me when I get home.

"Where are you?" I whisper to myself. Suddenly I hear a loud bang and jump, making a loud but quick noise in surprise. He's still working?

I hear him burst out in laughter, his voice saying something I can't distinct, and then I hear his laugh again. My heart beats for his voice. I hum in curiosity and walk down the hall to the garage door. I open it and see him standing with whatever tool he was using in his hand, his work shirt hugging his stature tight, showing just about every muscle on his body and every form his body holds. Then my eyes catch on a woman. A woman I realize I've never met or even seen.

I clear my throat, closing the door extra hard in case he's too entranced in the woman's "entertainment." She's dressed in tight jeans and quite the flattering top, exposing her pale shoulders and graceful neck. Her face structure is gorgeous, and I couldn't hate that fact more. Her shoes are gorgeous but flimsy, the thin heel adding to her height by at least 5 or 6 inches.

"Baby, you're home," He greets, his eyes snapping to me, then quickly going between me and the woman. "She wanted to check out my work." Saw my posts online. "

"Mm, I bet she did," I mumble in response, my arms crossing. I keep my eyes trained on the woman, not even bothering with him right now. "So, what do you think so far, then?"

"Great," She acknowledges. "I'm not disappointed." Her gaze doesn't veer much from me, though her eyes gleam with her intention. That last comment was aimed directly at me.

Finally my eyes move to the man to my right, seemingly oblivious to this woman and her ways.

"Her husband's car needs some work," He tells me. I nod.

"I'm sure it does. So, what does your husband do then?" I interrogate her. My eyes don't leave from him this time. He catches on quickly that I'm not happy, but he says nothing and doesn't look at the woman.

"Um," She begins. "He works construction."

"Oh does he? And where is he now, then?"

"He's working late," She lies.

"This late, huh? Construction. In the dark?"

I squint my eyes in suspicion, trying to tell the man beside me, "do you not see her intentions with you?" Finally I turn to her, wishing my looks could kill. She didn't come here for what she says she did. It's plain as day. I huff at the fact that he clearly doesn't realize that and isn't catching onto my message, either.

"Babe, stop. We don't know," He interrupts our conversation, turning to the woman in her flimsy heels. "I'm sorry about her. Anyway, you were asking?"

Her "sweet" seductive smile forms back, schoolgirlish and reeking of whore. "I was asking what other work you do. You must do something else with those muscles, no?"

"Nope, this is my work. There's a reason I employ myself," He responds, smiling that charming little "customer-service" grin. She chuckles lightly.

"So, you must work out a lot then, huh?" She continues. He opens his mouth to speak, but I shove my hand against his mouth, his balance faltering back in shock while I turn my head to her, my passive aggressiveness as strong as ever.

"Actually, yeah. He works me out a whole ton. Right babe?" I don't turn to him, my hand pulling back and resting onto his shoulder, my nails digging into him from the grip. My knuckles turn white, my body tense and ready to smack her to hell if she tries anything, though the woman simply glares straight at me.

"Y-yeah," He stutters.

"See? Yeah. So, he works me out, but this is his only paid job. I bet you get worked out for money, huh?"

Her eyes widen. I can practically see the steam pouring from her ears as she stutters to find a response. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she finally finds a response. "Excuse me? I'm married."

I smirk, glancing at her up and down. "Clearly," I exaggerate with sarcasm dripping in the single word. "I don't see a ring, sweetheart, and clearly you didn't look for one." I add at the end, turning to shoot a look at my partner before turning back to stare daggers at the bitch.

"You may not be married, but we are. Clearly you had some ideas in mind about what you wanted with my husband, seeing those nice photos of him and his 'work' and all, and clearly you thought he'd want anything to do with you. Sorry to break it to you, honey, but you ain't it. Those heels scream 'cheap' and your hair looks like it was done by a little girl. You don't need any car done, you just wanted to be worked out by someone else's partner. Kindly, fuck off. Or not so kindly. I don't really give a shit."

Her eyes stare at me widened, this time her mouth staying clamped shut. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in me, but I don't turn away from the woman. Eventually, after enough time of silence and struggling to find a comeback, she simply flips her hair in the sassiest way possible and struts off in her heels. She gets in a vehicle just outside the opened business garage door and reverses out without delay. Only then do I turn to my husband.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing?" I growl, stepping a few steps away from him. His eyes scream a lot of different things, but he doesn't let out one word. "I asked a question."

"I don't know what to tell you. I was working, finishing up, and she pulls up and starts asking me about my work and what I do."

"Oh, because she couldn't clearly tell that by the 'posts' she saw online? Just what posts did she tell you she found? All of your mechanic work is posted of just the work. Not one photo has you in it. But your personal social account has nothing but you and your videos of you working out."

I watch him for a moment, but his eyes soften. "Okay. Okay, it doesn't make sense when you think about it. But I'm not going to turn down talking to someone if they come talking about work-"

"There's a difference between your job's work and your 'work'! Come on! She clearly just wanted to feel you up!" I shout at him, his chest heaving down in a deep exhale. "How many times did she touch you?"

"What?"

"How many times did she touch you?" I repeat. He shakes his head, but his eyes show no naivety.

"She didn't-"

"She did. I know she did. Where did she touch you?"

"My love, I'm serious-"

"So am I," I interrupt again. I walk up to him and grab his ear, pulling him down to meet my level. "Where did she touch you?"

He stays silent, his face scrunching every time I shuffle my grip on him. His eyes watch mine as he sighs. "She brushed my arms a couple times and touch my shoulder once."

I feel like my body could burn as hot as hell right now, my eyes glancing over where he mentions.

"You need to be cleansed of her grime," I growl, pulling him towards the door without loosening my grip. "And then you need to be rewashed with me."

I can hear a noise emit from him, but I'm dead set on getting him to the bathroom. Quite literally, he's washing any piece of him that came into contact with him; then I'm reclaiming him, and he'll have no say in how.

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