Runner's Prize
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 11
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 11 - Young and driven to succeed, Tigh Raines has everything. A barren upscale apartment. His father, the company head, providing far too much advice. And a laser-like focus on the future, one that has no place for the rain-soaked beauty on an isolated park bench. She’s sobbing; he stops. Heat ensues.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic
In the spacious cab of the oversized white pickup, neither Daniella nor I spoke. Although dad hated it, the truck had carried me to and from college and now squatted, its massive engine a steady rumble, along a cracked concrete curb. Both of us scanned a grime-streaked brownstone clinging to the end of a block of similar homes.
Above a tiny front porch hung a wind chime of delicate golden butterflies. As they wandered listlessly in a gentle breeze, sunlight glinted off their metal frames. At a quiet sigh, I found her eyes glimmering in the same sunshine. Worry filled them.
“Mi amor, are you sure—”
“Yes.” I cut her off with an even tone, hiding the swirl of emotions within me.
No longer a choice, fight or flight had resolved, becoming only the former. The latter option had sailed into the trash as soon as I’d asked Parker to ready the truck. With Daniella beside me as we’d headed across the concrete river, I grew ever calmer. Tranquility before a challenge, another gift from dad.
Mid-morning on Sunday, few other cars filled the roadways, and it had been an easy drive. Which was good since my mind had recommenced its spinning, and a multitude of questions and future worries tumbled. Were they about her husband? No. Strange, huh?
No longer his, Daniella’s heart belonged to me. Whenever she glanced at me, her eyes blazed, confirming she wished to be mine. Each time I caught that regal visage, a grin would form on my face. Duh, I most definitely wanted her. Again, that simplified life swaddled us.
“Game time,” I muttered, shoving open the door.
After stepping from the truck, I walked around to let her from the passenger side. Although I got a quick flash of those eyes when my hand guided her to the sidewalk, they narrowed as her sneakers squeaked, sending her towards the home.
Behind her, I climbed a short flight of worn steps, halting as she lifted a keychain to the front door lock. When her gaze met mine, the world staggered for a moment. After I gave her a quick nod, she flashed a nervous grin, and the key snicked, turning in the brass lock.
As she eased open the entrance, the first thing to strike me was the darkness. Opaque curtains blocked every window. The second was the stench. Weed. Cigarettes. Spilled beer. Some stronger alcohol. A hint of fruity perfume. As my nose crinkled, she glanced at me, her cheeks darkening.
“I’m not a ... It wasn’t this messy, Tigh.”
Once I’d moved past her, we crept into the house, and after the door closed, my eyes adjusted to the dim light. A third detail came into focus. A variety of clutter covered every flat surface. Amid the mess glinted cups, glasses, and bottles, most empty. On distant wall shelves sat framed photographs, some toppled; books and magazines, all askew; and religious figurines of many styles.
At her quiet gasp, a fourth detail materialized. On a small table beside an overstuffed chair lay a twisted red bra. Sparkly and small, no way would it fit her, in size or style.
When I found her shadowed visage, she stayed silent, but both fists, balled at her side, trembled. At a sudden muffled noise from the upper floor, she jolted and stared at a darkened staircase entrance. As the shuffling footfalls grew louder, she slid backward, pressing her spine into my front.
Despite my hand, fingers wide, firm to her stomach, she tensed with each footstep on the creaking stairs. When a squat, rounded silhouette appeared, her breathing raced. After a low fart and burp, the shadow turned towards us.
The ungainly form lurched to a swaying halt. A disheveled white tank top stretched, revealing a bulging belly, and stained gray sweatpants hung far too low.
With a groan, she gripped my arm and shoved into me.
Already slowing, time simply stopped.
When the portly man found her, close-set eyes grew wide enough their whites gleamed. A wet cough cleared his throat.
“Aha, there you are, corazón. I’ve miss—” His slurred, phlegmy words ended when he noticed me behind her. “What the ... Quién es esta persona, Dani?”
“We’re here for her things, Arturo,” said a voice resembling mine, yet much icier.
“What! No, Dani!”
When the rotund shape wobbled into action, lurching forward, its blubbery arms rising, the fight option whipped into action. With the fingers on her stomach, I shifted her from pudgy clutching fists and dodged from his way.
After missing us, sending a blast of rancid alcohol into me, he tripped, his fall stopped only by the loud thump as a hand slapped onto a corner. As he hung there, shaking, and glaring at her, then at me, I tensed.
Closer, more details arrived. A face as round as the rest of him, with thick jowls. Stubble along a weak jaw that blurred into a flabby neck. Whether his wife noticed or not, pink lipstick smeared his cheek, and a quick sniff brought more of the same fruity perfume.
With a growl, he broke the silence, once more launching himself towards us. Perhaps once, he may have possessed muscle tone and speed, but that had been long ago. Despite gritted discolored teeth, his second charge also resembled an ungainly lurch, belly fat wobbling beneath the taut stained cotton. One thing though, he was focused, or more likely sought an easier target, and, ignoring me, went for her again.
“Stop it, Arturo!” flew from her as she dodged aside, slipping behind me.
Of course, he didn’t listen, as I’d expected. Instead, as his lumbering form twisted to chase her, it slammed into my outstretched hand. An audible “oof” left him as he jarred to a shaking halt.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, gringo?” He scoffed, giving me a quick scan. “What? You gonna beat me up, big man? Dani’s mi esposa. My wife.”
When he took another shambling step closer, angling towards Daniella, a growl built inside my chest. No sooner had his pudgy hand shot forward, attempting to grab her, than I swatted it away.
His other fist came for the side of my face.
Just as I’d predicted.
As that primal growl left me, I dodged the clumsy blow and thumped an open palm into the ribs below the exposed armpit. With a wail, he tumbled sideways, clutching his side.
“I’m her boyfriend, Arturo.” Again, that newfound icy voice appeared as I leaned towards him, balancing on the balls of my feet. “And, no, I won’t beat you up. But if you interfere, I will end this fight.”
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