He prodded at the gator with an oar, then certain the big reptile was indeed dead, carefully lowered the massive carcass into the bottom of the boat. The bull alligator was a prime specimen, not many scars on his hide. He’d fetch a damned good price. Feeling as if the night wasn’t a complete waste, Boomer checked his other snares, found the bait still hanging over the water without any gators attached. Might as well leave the traps baited for now. He could still get lucky.

He turned the boat back toward the dock where his truck was parked. He didn’t bother with gutting his prize, just wrapped the gator in a wet tarp, winched him into the truck bed, and drove back to the house, a small single-wide set on concrete blocks deep in the woods.

Boomer felt good. He’d go home, shower, then wake his wife and screw the devil out of her, just as he always did after a successful hunting trip. He could hardly wait, his hands clenched over the steering wheel as the old Chevy bounced and shimmied through the potholes in the gravel lane leading to the house.

Mindy Jo never complained about being waked for the sex, no siree. She was probably at home now, waiting for him, her cunt already wet. She loved it when the old testosterone was flowin’ fast and hot after the thrill of a hunt. He’d spend hours in the big old bed they shared, pushin’ her to the brink over and over again, rutting over her like a damned stallion.

She’d get so turned on she’d even let him slap her buttocks in the process. Man, she loved that!

At the house, he parked in the garage, put some ice over the tarp, then went inside. He decided to forget about the shower and see what she’d think if he smelled of the hunt…he’d done that a time or two and this morning it seemed like a damned good idea, so he stripped out of his hunting clothes, left the camouflage shirt and pants in a pile in the kitchen in front of the new washer and dryer, then walked into the bedroom.

King of the realm.

It was dark, the black-out curtains drawn, and it smelled of cigarette smoke and the damned cats she insisted on keeping around the place.

“Honey, izzat you all?” she mumbled, her face buried in the pillow.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “it’s me, all right, and I’m horny as hell. Caught myself one helluva bull gator.”

“Oh.”

He touched her thigh with a finger and she rolled away, making a disturbed, bothered sound. He didn’t buy it. Kneeling on the mattress beside her, his dick rock hard, he touched her again. “Did you hear me? He’s a big un.” He slipped his hand around her body, touching her breast.

“Oh, Boomer. Not now. Leave me alone.”