Jackson 

Michael is too quiet.

I know what's brewing inside that head of his. The same thing that's brewing in my head.

I am fuming. I am hurting.

She's been hurting for two fucking years because of that bastard. That ungrateful bastard.

How dare he take advantage of our girl?

She's been nothing but good to him. All he does is spend her money with that whore he's been seeing. I don't understand why Samantha kept up with this for so long.

My ears perked up when I heard loud crashing sounds downstairs. I heard Michael's loud angry roars and dashed out of the room.

I walked into the lounge area to see Michael wreaking havoc. The coffee table was upside down, broken into shards, with all the contents spilt. The couches were shoved, and there was a broken glass thrown on the wall, with liquid dripping down. He was panting, standing in the middle of the mess. His eyes looked up at me, and I pursed my lips.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened. Michael is an angry man. He gets angry quite easily. Even though he's the gentlest person – well, outside the bedroom – he's also a physical man. He's never afraid to throw in a punch when you piss him off.

It can even get very dark. I've witnessed it. He's never been rough or abusive to me. Or Samantha, our best friend. I love that no matter how much I tend to rile him up, he's never been physical with me. He's quite calm and collected. Sometimes he treats me like I'm his most precious possession.

Fuck if I don't love that.

He's my dream man. The day we both figured out our feelings for each other was like a breath of fresh air. We went from being friends to being in a relationship. I'd never regret making that decision. He's everything I've ever wanted in a person.

Even though the both of us tend to get naughty and bring in a third person, it's usually for a sexual purpose and nothing more. We like sharing with whoever we allow into our bedroom. We made a rule.

Whoever we bring, we use a different room and not our master bedroom. We value our privacy and our space.

We don't fall in love with that person. Never. We have ourselves, and it's been that way ever since. I'm quite smitten by him, and I'd like to think he is too.

I love everything about this man. He's not one to talk. He keeps to himself. To anyone outside of our group, he's a mysterious, quiet man. We've known each other our whole lives, so we are comfortable with being vulnerable and open to each other. He's fun to be with when he lets loose.

He also takes his work very seriously. I, on the other hand, tend to drag out working. I love my job. Honest truth. I just have one of those 'oh fuck it' days. Michael knows how to snap me out of those. I've lost count of how many we've fucked at the office. We've had people walk in on us, and Michael makes no move to stop.

I love how he's not afraid to express himself. If he needs me to do something for him, he tells me right away. He's straightforward about it too. He made it his mission to let me know how 'celestial' I am when we're fucking. He tells me he loves my moans, my body, the faces I make, and how good I feel when he's inside of me. It always makes me blush. I still get flustered because for a long time I've been insecure about how I am.

To anyone, I come across as a masculine person. I'm leaner than Michael, but I sure do pack a few muscles here and there. I'm 5'8", and Michael is 6'5". I don't particularly possess boyish qualities. I was never a twink, which is what most men prefer. I'm quite manly and dominant-like. When I'm with Michael, though, that's all out the window. The man brings out the boy in me. I love every moment of it. With him, I can be vulnerable and open. I love being his submissive because he takes good care of me, and we both tend to our needs when we finish being sexual.

Michael likes it raw and rough, and I have to admit, I live for that. I love how he manhandles me and is still caring. Sometimes he fucks my brains out until I'm on the verge of passing out from so much pleasure. I know I can trust him to take good care of me when I'm most vulnerable. It's the best feeling in the whole world.

I could never ask for a better man than him. And he's hot, so that's a bonus.

I trudged down the steps to where he is. He hadn't moved, and he was still panting. Despite the outburst, he was still angry. I could see that. When I stepped closer, he stepped back. "Don't come closer," he warned quietly. "I don't want to hurt you, love," he said.

"It's okay," I reassured him, closing the distance between us. "I know you won't hurt me." I took his face in my hands. "You never gave me a reason to be afraid of you." I gave him a soft smile, which he couldn't return.

Yep. Still angry.

I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him. He did the same, tightening his hold on me. He let out hot breaths in an attempt to calm himself. When it didn't work, he let out a growl. "I can't..." he stammered under his breath.

"I know." I pulled back to look at him. I know he's struggling. I know that whatever's on his mind, it's dark and vicious, and it won't let him go. I know that he wants to go to that bastard who hurt our girl. I know that he wants blood. "I can help with that." His eyes found mine in confusion.

Pulling back, I took his hand in mine and led him back upstairs. He followed silently, not questioning me. I walked in our bedroom and stopped at the foot of the bed, turning to him. I eyed him to see any reaction. All I saw was hesitation.

Anger and sexual desire are strong, overpowering forces. They are both forms of passion. When a couple engages in ravenous, unbridled sex because they are angry or enraged, it's the best thing. It tops lovemaking for many reasons. It serves as a make-up tool when words can't be exchanged, to avoid saying hurtful things. It is the only exception to riling up your partner and giving him or her a good spanking – with consent, of course – without the fear of abuse. We both may not be able to walk the next day, but it's worth it.

And I'm quite a pain slut for Daddy Michael. He might not be mad at me, but we're both angry. For our girl, Samantha. We're furious. I'm the calm one in this group, but that doesn't mean I don't crave blood just as much as Michael does. I tend to throw punches here and there, but I can control myself. That comes with giving people a calculated, slow, painful revenge. I like to drag out my punishment.

And when I finally see that bastard, I'll show him that I can be a monster too.

No one messes with our princess and gets away with it.

Looking up at Michael, I bunched up my T-shirt and pulled it over my shirt. His eyes lowered to my abdomen, and I saw lust flashing in his eyes. "Jackson, we can't," he said, stepping back.

"I trust you," I said, gripping his forearm. "I do. With my life. You know I don't mind a little pain. We both need this. To blow off steam", admittedly, we've never had angry sex. It's always the hardcore dominant pleasure, and it was in control. "I'm pissed off too by what happened. By what that imbecile did to our girl, and I'm scared I might just kill him when I see him," I said

Michael eyed me, debating whether to give in or not. "I'm yours." I closed the distance between us, taking his face. "Yours to do whatever you please. I can handle it. I promise. And if it gets too much –

"Your safeword," he said, his chest rising and falling. His eyes shone with a new light. The fire is licking what's left of his control. He gripped my waist, and my heart jumped with anticipation. He nodded to himself. "You know I love you, right?" He tells me.

"And I love you," I said, pecking his lips softly. He lets me take control for a moment. "I trust you," I whispered against his lips. He lets out a growl when I nibble on his lower lip, pulling it.

Before I could even blink, Michael swiftly turned me around until I was facing the bed. He pushed me down until half of my body was lying on the bed. Moving my hips up in the air, he yanked the jeans down and my underwear too. If anything, I was turned on by all of this. My cock throbs painfully.

Samantha

"Thank you, Lauren. We're done for today," I said, fighting back a yawn. I'm super tired.

Thank God it's Friday.

I can go home and rest. No work to bother me.

"Have a good afternoon, Mrs Collins," Lauren, my secretary, smiled briefly before walking out of my office.

I finished up working on my desktop before logging off. I grabbed the important files and put them in my bag. My phone rang as I was tidying up. I smiled when Jackson's name flashed on the screen.

"Hey," I put him on loudspeaker as I walked around.

"Are you busy?" he asked.

"Uh, just cleaning up stuff. I'm leaving the office in a minute," I said.

"Good," he said.

"Why do you—" I trailed off when he hung up. Weirdo. I went on with getting everything I'd need before leaving. I passed by a few employees, and they greeted me. "Have a good day," I said to the guard by the door as he opened the door for me.

"Thank you, ma'am. "You have a good day as well," he said, bowing a little.

Right in front of the door, Jackson was leaning against his sports car, wearing shades. He was yet to notice me.

"You said you were coming out in a minute. "I've been waiting for 11 minutes," he complained right away. I rolled my eyes.

"Hello to you too, bitch," I greeted. He gave me a death glare, and I stuck my tongue out at him. He took off his glasses and eyed me for a split second before pushing himself off of the car. He opened the passenger door.

"Hop in," he said.

"My car's over there." I pointed at my car, where my driver, Jordan, is waiting for me.

"He'll take it to your house; it's fine," he persisted. I pouted, walking over.

"But I wanted to go and rest. I'm tired," I whined, looking up at him.

"Oh, you poor cute thing," he said, mocking me.

I got in, and he took my bag to the back before getting in as well. He eyed his watch for a second before pulling out into the road.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked him.

"To the woods," he joked, smirking. "Got any last words? For your loser of a husband, perhaps?"

"Hey, don't talk about him like that," I said quietly, looking outside the window.

"Whoa, I didn't hit a nerve, did I?" I ignored Jackson, leaning against the window and closing my eyes. The soft purr of the engine lulled me into a deep slumber.

"Samantha?" I hummed when I heard a voice calling my name. "Samantha?" Someone shook me awake. I blinked my eyes open and looked around.

"What happened?" I found myself yawning as I looked at Jackson.

"You've been overworking yourself again, have you?" Jackson eyed me sideways.

"It's work. "It's bound to happen," I said, drawing another yawn.

"You're not always this tired, Samantha. Not even your husband wears you out like that."

"Well, thank you for reminding me my sexual life is a road kill," I mumbled getting out of the car with a grumble. Jackson chuckled under his breath, catching up to me. "Why are we here anyway?" I looked up at the restaurant.

"You have to eat," was all he said.

We walked in the familiar place, tables surrounding the place with barely a passage to walk through. Jackson led me to a private area. Our private area.

Michael was already seated at the table. He stood up when he saw us and pulled out the chair for me. "What happened?" He eyed me. I groaned.

"Do I look that bad?" I asked instead.

Michael sat down in front of me. Jackson was right next to me, on my left. There was an empty space on my right. It's only fair that Michael wanted to be as close to Jackson as possible. Their chairs were almost touching. I love their relationship. They are open and affectionate with each other.

And very kinky.

I shook the thought out of my head.

"I already ordered. Is that okay with you?" Michael asked me.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm starving." I grabbed the glass of wine and took a sip.

"So what's wrong with you?" Michael enquired. I eyed him briefly.

"What do you mean?" I asked him. "There's nothing wrong," I shrugged.

"You're lying to us, Samantha?" His brows furrowed, pointing at himself.

The three of us were friends from way before. From when our parents became friends and introduced us to each other. We hit it off since then. Michael and his mother moved here from Brooklyn because of his abusive father. His mother had been hiding Michael from the moment she found out she was pregnant.

Hence why she ran and started a new life in another city. The best decision she made for the both of them. And thank God, Michael wasn't there to witness it all.

Jackson's parents were divorced, and he'd been staying with his mother until he and Michael started their business. Now they both live together in a huge mansion. flashy, if you ask me. My house is modern and not over the top. I liked my space like that.

We were blessed with an unbreakable bond. Being the only girl in the group, I was their princess. Always. They treated me like royalty. Never a day where they mistreated me.

My two gentlemen.

We had a rocky situation when I married my husband, Martinez. He was jealous of them and constantly accused me of cheating with one of them. Granted, I spent my time with them – the majority of it. I still made time for Martinez and the business.

I wasn't going to abandon my friends now that I'm married. Michael and Jackson don't like Martinez that much. I love Martinez. That's all that matters.

Martinez wasn't financially stable when I met him. Growing up in a wealthy family, I had enough money to take care of him. Now, he works at a construction company. I still take care of him because he's my husband and I love him. You take care of the one you love, don't you.

"Did Lanky ass do something?" I glared at Jackson. They call my husband Lanky Ass. Every time. At this point, I don't think they remember his name.

"Seriously? What's wrong?" Michael asked, seriously

Michael was the oldest at 31 years. Jackson was 28, and I was 26.

The waitress walked in with our food. She looked like the typical flirty type of girl, her uniform a little loose on her chest, showing off her bust.

While my chest was almost flat, I envied those kinds of boobs. Men go for bigger boobs. As a woman, I do possess an hourglass shape with an ass for distraction. Which is why men tend to try their luck with me.

For my Nick Minaj ass. It's annoying as fuck. Even when they see the ring on my finger. As a successful businesswoman, I'm quite known, and people basically know about my life. They are aware that I'm married.

"Enjoy your food," the waitress said, his eyes lingering on Michael, who wasn't paying attention to her. She walked out then.

"She was totally checking you out," Jackson pointed out, eyeing Michael.

"Well, I was checking out your cute ass in those jeans," Michael said smirking when colour rushed to Jackson's face.

I went on to stuff my face while they eye-fucked each other. "Earth to the lovers. I'm also here," I said.

"Wanna join?" They both said, turning to me. I scrunched my face at them. I was used to their flirtatious behaviour around me. I can't say I'm immune to it. "What a lady you are. talking with food in your mouth," Michael said, his eyes roaming my face.

"You're avoiding our question, Samantha," Jackson pointed out.

"That's because there's nothing wrong," I pressed, stuffing more food in my mouth so I don't have to talk. Michael caught my hand and took the fork.

"Don't think we haven't been noticing your behaviour changing. Not to mention you barely keep to our schedule lately," Michael listed off. "And you're always tired. And don't say it's work. You've had this business for five years, and it was never this bad. Already ruled out your lanky lack of sexual engagement," he smirked while I rolled my eyes.

There we go again. Why did I tell them again? Well, I've discovered that I'm a Dominant. Well, in the bedroom. And I like...kinky stuff.

Martinez doesn't.

He never even considered giving us a chance. He'd shut me out and called me 'controlling'. And we haven't been doing so well in bed. I can't even remember the last time he touched me. He's always away on work. When he comes home, he's tired, and I'd have to sleep frustrated sexually.

This has been going on for about 2 years now. At first, I thought that he must be really worn out from work. He works really hard. I thought eventually, he'd snap out of it. I thought he'd give our sexual life a chance.

Instead, he cheated. With my secretary, Lauren. Yep, I have to stare at the same woman who's been sleeping with my husband for a long time now. I'm not one to start the drama, because I know my dirty laundry will be out in the news. I can't handle that drama. I confronted Martinez, and he admitted and apologised.

I was an idiot for forgiving him and giving him a second chance. It took me those two years to realise that I deserve better. That he'll never change. That I need to walk away.

"And you called me one time, in the middle of the night, drunk and crying. Twice," Jackson said.

"I cry when I'm drunk," I lied, avoiding his eyes.

"You don't," Michael said, and I looked away.

I haven't told them about all this, and I'm surprised they didn't catch anything. I must be really good at hiding this.

"Okay, fine." I placed down my fork. They're my friends. They deserve to know. I know they'll support me no matter what. "There's something...that I need to tell you guys." I cleared my throat and looked up at them.

"I'm going to...file for a divorce..."