Ficorpio
Chapter 1
After my husband nearly drowned saving me, a tall, powerfully built man carried him out of the water in his arms.
Without warning, a stream of spectral comments appeared before my eyes.
[Ahhh! Here it comes! The iconic first meeting where the big, dominant hero gives our sweet little receptive mouth-to-mouth!]
[The second the hero sees him soaking wet, he can barely control himself. And that’s how the obsession begins. He’ll take him over and over until he finally gets bored.]
[This is all that disposable woman’s fault! Our precious boy has been sullied because of her. She deserves to end up dead at the bottom of the lake.]
[As long as he stays untouched after this, who cares? Heh heh.]
That was when it hit me.
I was the disposable supporting woman in a male-male romance novel.
And my husband’s virtue was seconds away from disaster.
I charged forward, raised my hand, and slapped the man so hard his face snapped to the side.
“You’re trying to steal my man? You must have a death wish!”
My husband, Julian Mercer, was devastatingly beautiful.
His milky skin seemed to glow, always touched with the faintest hint of pink. His limbs were long and slender, perfectly proportioned and utterly lacking in menace.
Most dangerous of all were his innocent doe eyes, perpetually soft and misty, as though they were holding back tears.
One look at them was enough to stir something in anyone’s heart.
The first time I saw him, he was reading beneath the cherry tree at the University.
Petals drifted on the breeze, settling softly and silently across his shoulders.
He looked like the god of beauty himself had descended into the mortal world.
I was lost at first sight.
People said anyone looked beautiful beneath falling cherry blossoms.
But when Julian and I stood together under that shower of petals, he looked like an exquisite spirit who had stepped out of a dream.
I looked like a brawler who had wandered into the wrong photograph.
And so I spent ages trying my hardest to win Julian Mercer over.
Having been single my entire life, I had absolutely no idea how to pursue someone.
My roommates told me to play to my strengths.
I racked my brain.
My looks were average, and I wasn’t exactly brilliant.
My greatest asset was my physical strength.
So whenever Julian studied at the library, I volunteered to replace the five-gallon water jug in the study room.
Chapter 2
Whenever Julian ate in the cafeteria, I worked my part-time shift behind the counter, tossing a heavy steel wok through the air. Sunlight streamed through the window, making my biceps gleam.
My roommates collapsed in despair.
“Tessa Hale, other people strut like peacocks when they’re showing off. You look like a plucked chicken making a spectacle of itself.”
“At this rate, Julian might not fall for you, but there’s a very real chance he’ll start calling you boss.”
Their words nearly crushed my confidence.
But none of us could have expected the sudden turn of events.
Julian confessed to me.
…
It happened beneath that same cherry tree.
His ears were scarlet, and laughter shimmered in his eyes.
He was as beautiful as spring.
“Tessa.” His clear voice trembled slightly with nerves. “Will you go out with me?”
“I may not be as strong as you, but I’ll do my best to protect you too.”
His gaze was sincere, full of admiration and awe.
It felt like a giant pizza had dropped straight out of heaven and landed in my lap.
I was so ecstatic that I hoisted him over my shoulder and sprinted three laps around the tree.
My thoughts snapped back to the present.
Ten minutes earlier, Julian Mercer had leaped into the water without a moment’s hesitation to save me.
He had completely forgotten that he couldn’t swim.
In that split second, despite being unable to swim myself, I thrashed my arms with sheer brute force and somehow managed to keep my head above water.
Then I fought my way toward him.
But the instant my fingers brushed Julian, a dark figure surged past me.
As though he’d been waiting for this exact opportunity, the man wrapped his arms around Julian and swam for shore.
By the time I dragged myself out of the water, he had already carried Julian onto dry land.
The stranger was taller than me and much more heavily built.
Against the man’s bronze skin, the deathly pale Julian looked like a delicate flower in his arms.
That was when rows of glowing words abruptly appeared before my eyes.
[It’s happening! The iconic first meeting! Our big, dominant hero is about to give the pretty receptive lead mouth-to-mouth!]
[Love at first sight! He can barely control himself after seeing Julian soaking wet. Can’t wait for him to screw him senseless until he gets bored!]
[Why hasn’t that disposable woman drowned yet? She’s tormented our precious Julian long enough. Can she just die and get out of the story already?]
[Seriously, why does the receptive lead in a romance between men even have a wife? Was the author out of their mind?]
[Hehe. Isn’t it hotter when a straight man gets turned? The contrast makes it better!]
[Exactly! It’s all that woman’s fault. Our sweet little bottom isn’t even untouched anymore.]
[As long as he belongs only to the hero from now on. Hehehe.]
Chapter 3
My waterlogged brain began racing.
So that was it.
This world was the setting of a romance novel between men: The Flower in His Grasp.
I was nothing more than the disposable supporting woman who was supposed to drown here.
And my husband, Julian Mercer, was the receptive male lead whose ass was about to be thoroughly wrecked.
The Spectral Commentary Feed kept scrolling.
[Just imagine the receptive lead—who keeps insisting he’s straight—locked in a dark room and fucked until his eyes lose focus, forced to beg and wag his tail. Absolutely exquisite.]
[Now that’s a true connoisseur.]
[Look! He’s already awake, but Damian doesn’t care. He won’t stop until he’s kissed him senseless!]
The man closed his eyes and leaned toward Julian.
I took off like I had rockets strapped to my feet.
In three pounding strides, I reached them. One arm swept Julian against me. With the other, I hauled back and slapped the lust-drunk expression straight off the man’s face.
“Where do you think you’re putting that filthy mouth?”
I glared at the hand still resting far too low on Julian’s body.
“And keep your dirty paws to yourself. If you don’t want them, I’ll chop them off. Don’t think I didn’t see where you were grabbing him. What kind of rescue involves groping someone below the belt?”
The slap left the man reeling. His cold, handsome face immediately began swelling like an overinflated balloon.
The comments raced past even faster.
[Lady, what are you, a rabid dog?]
[How dare she hit Damian Cross?! He’s a titan of the corporate world! She ruined that gorgeous face!]
[I can’t take this! Damian, turn her into dog food!]
Damian flew into a rage and swung at me without hesitation.
The designer suit stretched across the legendary muscles the commentators claimed had survived a hail of bullets. Every one of them tightened as he charged, packing enough force to rearrange an ordinary person’s skull.
Unfortunately for him, I was no ordinary person.
I was a woman with the heart of a hunting eagle.
As a kid, I’d used every boy who bullied me as a practice dummy. As an adult, I mastered boxing, kickboxing, martial arts, and just about every other way one human being could legally flatten another.
My personal record was knocking out an entire lineup of hulking men at the Fight Gym without stopping to catch my breath.
Eventually, I became a professional MMA fighter.
Brute force worked miracles. That was my creed.
So I backhanded Damian across the face again.
“I hate men who hit women. Trash.”
Damian hit the ground.
The commentary feed trembled.