Текст книги "This Man"

Автор книги: Jodi Ellen Malpas

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

When I exit the changing rooms, Jesse is inspecting some very high heels. The look of mystification on his beautiful face makes me melt slightly, but then he spots me, shoves them back and scowls at me. And I remember…I’m furious with him. I get my purse from my bag and hand my credit card over.  Five hundred quid for a dress? It is way too extravagant, but I’m being defiant. And I called him a child? This is ridiculous. Where did he get the idea that he has the right to call the shots of my wardrobe choice?

The assistant begins wrapping the dress in all sorts of fancy tissue paper. I want to tell her to shove it in a bag and be done with it, before Jesse resorts to ripping it apart. But I fear the poor girl might lose her job if she did something as common as that. So, I resign myself to shutting up and waiting patiently while she does her thing.

After an age of wrapping, folding, tucking in and punching in my pin number, the assistant hands me the bag. ‘Enjoy the dress, Madam. It really did look lovely on you.’ She flicks a cautious glace at Jesse.

‘Thank you,’ I smile. Now, how to get out of the store? I turn, finding Jesse filling the doorway, still scowling and still brooding. I walk with purpose, I don’t really feel, and stop in front of him. I’m really crapping myself, but I won’t let him see that. ‘Excuse me.’

He looks at me, then at the bag. ‘You’ve just wasted hundreds of pounds. You’re not wearing that dress.’ he says emphatically.

‘Excuse me, please.’ I accentuate the please. His lips press into a straight line as he shifts his tall, lean body to the side, leaving a gap for me to pass.

Stepping out onto the street, I head towards the office. I’ve only had forty minutes, but I’m not spending the rest of my lunch break arguing over touching in public and my wardrobe choice. Today started so well…when I was complying.

I feel his hot breath on my neck. ‘Zero,’

I yelp as I’m yanked into an alleyway and shoved up against a wall. His lips smash to mine, his hips grinding against my lower stomach, his raging arousal evident beneath the button fly of his jeans. He’s turned on by getting cranky over a dress? I suppose it’s better than being tortured. I try and resist the invasion of his tongue…a little. Ah…it’s no good. I’m instantly consumed by him and the need to have him all over me. I link my arms around his neck, accepting him willingly, absorbing his intrusion and meeting his tongue, stroke for stroke.

‘I’m not going to let you wear that dress.’ he moans into my mouth.

‘You can’t tell me what I can and can’t wear.’

‘Stop me.’ he challenges.

‘It’s just a dress.’

‘It’s not just a dress on you, Ava. You’re not wearing it.’ He pushes his groin into my lower stomach, a clear demonstration of what the dress does to him, and I know he’s thinking other men will have the same reaction.

Crazy man.

I exhale wearily. Buying the dress is one thing. Putting it on and making it to the pub, is another challenge entirely. I’m twenty six years old, and he said himself I have great legs. I decide I’m not going to get anywhere with this. Not now, anyway. I do, however, intend to discuss, in full detail, his illusions that he has control over my wardrobe. In fact, we need to talk about his unreasonableness full stop – but not now. I only have twenty minutes left of my lunch break, and I highly expect that conversation to take considerably longer.

‘Thank you for the cake.’ I say as he kisses every inch of my face.

‘You’re welcome. Did you eat it?’

‘Yes, it was delicious.’ I kiss the corner of his mouth, rubbing my cheek up his stubble. A low rumble escapes his lips as I hum in his ear and nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his lovely fresh water scent. I just want to crawl inside him. ‘I’m not supposed to be spending any more time on you until you’ve settled your bill.’ I hold onto him, squeezing a little tighter as he nibbles at my ear lobe.

‘I’ll trample anyone who tries to stop me.’ He licks up the edge of my ear, triggering a shiver to ride through me.

I’ve no doubt he will. The man is crazy beyond crazy. Why is he like this? ‘Why are you so unreasonable?’

He pulls back and looks at me, surprise at my question evident on his stunning, stubbled face. His frown line jumps into position. ‘I don’t know. Can I ask you the same question?’

My mouth falls open. Me? This man is crazy delusional. His list of misdemeanours goes on and on. I shake my head on a frown. ‘I’d better get back to the office.’

He sighs. ‘I’ll walk you.’

‘Half way, I can’t be seen to be entertaining clients for lunch without Patrick knowing, especially ones in debt,’ I grumble. ‘Pay your bill!’

He rolls his eyes. ‘God forbid Patrick should find out that you’re having your brain fucked out by a non-paying client.’ A small smirk breaks the corners of his mouth as I gasp in shock at his crude summary of our relationship. ‘Shall we?’ He waves his arm in the direction of the alley entrance on a smirk. Fucked? Well, we had, I suppose. But hearing the statement from him hits a nerve.

We walk towards my office, and the silence is uncomfortable – for me, anyway. I’m totally wounded by his statement. Is that how he sees me? Like a little play thing he gets to fuck and control? I wilt on the inside and, yet again, contemplate the agony that I’m setting myself up for. The man throws off so many mixed signals; my poor ego can’t keep up.

I feel his hand brush against mine, and I automatically pull it away. I’m really sulking. On a slight growl, he tries again. I say nothing but pull my hand away. I’m in a mood and want him to know it. He’ll get the message. He doesn’t. He grabs my hand again, holding it in a vice grip, to the point of pain. It’s what I would have expected. I’m beginning to read this man like a book. I flex my fingers, looking up to see his fixed glower fade into contentment, as I give up fighting and let him keep hold of me. Let him? Like I have any other option.

At this exact moment, the fates thought it would be riotously funny to send Matt’s friend, James, bowling around the corner and down the street towards us. I try my damnedest to free my hand, but he just increases the pressure around it.

‘Shit! That’s Matt’s friend.’ I spit urgently.

His scowl is back when he whips his face to mine. ‘Mouth, your ex?’

‘Yes, let go.’ I try to prize his fingers off, but it’s useless. After Matt’s “I want you back” plea, his subsequent “I’m so sorry” speech and general crappy situation at the moment, it would be unfair for me to rub his face in it.

‘I told you, Ava. I’ll trample.’ he warns, looking straight ahead at James, his face completely unaffected and determined, his grip harsh.

I try holding him back, giving me time to get myself free and avoid the impending disaster that would be James clocking me hand in hand with another man. I’m not one to cause anyone any unnecessary hurt, and this is completely unnecessary. Matt is feeling crappy enough, without Kate’s snipe being confirmed.

I continue to struggle and Jesse continues to be a complete twat. I am, quite literally, dragged closer and closer to James. It’s only seconds before he looks up from his phone and spots me. He might not look up. Maybe we’ll pass on the street and that will be it. Oh, I hope so, because there’s not a chance of me shaking Jesse off, and an even lesser chance of him being reasonable and letting me go.

As we near, I resolve to stop struggling and drawing attention to myself. James is pretty wrapped up doing something on his phone, the chances of him looking up getting slimmer by each step we take towards him. I mentally send a string of explicit language to Jesse, jerking my hand to reinforce my anger, but he just looks straight ahead, continuing with his purposeful strides.

‘Trample.’ he growls.

Just as we’re passing on the pavement, I start to relax. We’re nearly past James, but then Jesse speaks.

‘You got the time?’

WHAT?

The fucking stupid, stupid man! I die a thousand deaths on the spot as I’m forced to stand there holding hands with Jesse, right in front of James. I want to point to the dirty great big Rolex on his wrist, or yank it up and tell him the bloody time myself. He really is a self-absorbed, unreasonable rogue.

‘Yeah, sure it’s... Ava?’ James looks at me, his brow completely furrowed.

My brain’s in complete meltdown, trying to figure out what message it should be sending to my mouth. ‘James,’ I just about manage.

James does a tennis spectator performance, his eyes flicking from me to Jesse and back again. ‘Urhhhh…are you okay?’

‘Yes.’ My voice is high pitched and squeaky.

He regards me disapprovingly, which is bloody rich, considering he was Matt’s right hand man in all of his transgressions. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to get my knickers in such a twist. After everything Matt has done, what do I care if he receives confirmation of me seeing another man? Now, I just feel furious with Jesse for taking it upon himself to decide when and how things play out.

‘Time?’ Jesse prompts shortly. I hope I’m the only one who can detect the hostility emanating from him.

James turns his stare on Jesse, giving him the once over, faltering when he clocks the Rolex. I mentally plead for him to give Jesse the time and not poke the rattle snake. James can be as cocky as Matt, and upsetting Jesse would be a huge mistake.

‘Yeah,’ He glances down at his phone. ‘It’s ten to two, mate.’

Jesse doesn’t thank him. Instead, he releases my hand, throws his arms around my shoulder and pulls me into his side, placing his lips gently on my temple. I look up at him, shaking my head in dismay. He’s trampling. His upper body is puffing, and short of banging his fist on his chest, he may as well be pissing up the side of my leg.

James watches, all wide eyed, as Jesse leads us away from him. I’m completely speechless. He’s just made reference to our relationship as little more than fucking, and now he’s marking his territory. I’m so confused by all of this. If I had the courage, I would just come outright and ask him. Why can’t I do that? I know why. I’m worried about what he might say. These shallow waters are becoming trickier to navigate the more time I spend with this man.

As we near my office, he stops and gently presses me up against the wall with his body. He lowers his face to mine, his hot, minty breath warming my cheeks. ‘Why would you not want your ex to know you’re fucking another man?’

There we are. Fucking! ‘No reason, it’s just not necessary.’ I say quietly.

He reaches up, grasping my wrist to pull my hand down from my hair. ‘Now, tell me the truth.’ he demands softly.

How has he picked up on my bad habit so quickly? I’ve known my Mum, Dad and my brother all of my life, and Kate since secondary school. They’ve earned the right to this knowledge.

‘Answer me, Ava.’

‘He asked me to get back together with him.’ I drop my eyes. I can’t look at him. Not that I should care. After all, I’m only fucking him.

‘When?’ He grinds the words through clenched teeth.

‘It was weeks ago.’ I feel his hand tighten around my wrist as my muscles flex to raise my fingers to my hair. I’m so bad at lying.

He tips my chin up with his free hand so I’m forced to look at him. I’m not at all comfortable with the blackness burning in his eyes. ‘When?’

‘Last Tuesday.’ I whisper.

His eyes narrow as he starts chomping on his bottom lip. What’s he thinking? ‘He was your something important that came up, wasn’t he?’

Oh…dear. He’s going to go spare. I watch as his chest puffs in and out, slowly and controlled. I’m not frightened – I know he won’t hurt me. I’ve seen his reaction and subsequent prevention methods to a few bruises on my arse, but he’s just so intense in his reactions and approaches.

‘Yes.’ I admit quietly. I physically feel the ice air emanate from him at my answer. ‘I need to get back to work.’ I add. I need to remove myself from this situation.

His sludgy eyes bore into me. ‘You won’t see him again.’ It’s another demand.

This lunch hour has been a massive eye opener. He wants complete control of me, and I get absolutely no say in it – none at all. Is this what I want? My head is a riot of mixed feelings and doubts. Why did I have to go and fall in love with the ultimate, unreasonable, challenging control freak?

I wait patiently for him to release me from his grasp. I have no idea what to say. Is he waiting for my confirmation to his demand? Should I give it? I’m not likely to see Matt again, not after his performance, but should I have to give my word to a man that I’m, apparently, fucking?

He watches me carefully for a considerable amount of time before his forehead meets mine and his lips move up, pressing against my brow. ‘Go to work, Ava.’ He steps back. I don’t hang about. I leave him on the pavement and walk back to my office as fast as my shaky legs will carry me.

Pushing my way through the office door, I’m met by Tom and Victoria’s inquisitive faces. I must look as terrible as I feel. I hope they don’t start asking questions about Mr Ward, or about anything, actually. I think I’ll fall apart. I shake my head at them both as I make my way to my desk.

Sally walks out of the kitchen with a tray full of coffees. ‘Ava, I didn’t realise you were back. Do you want a tea or coffee?’

I want to ask her if she has any wine stored away in the kitchen, but I refrain. ‘No, thank you, Sal.’ I murmur, earning me a what-the-hell-is-going-on look from Tom and Victoria.

I focus my full attention on my computer screen, trying to ignore the ache dwelling deep inside me. Jesse has some serious issues with control – or power, as he calls it. I can’t do this – I can’t expose myself to guaranteed heartbreak. That’s exactly where this is heading.

My mobile rings and I’m grateful for the distraction from my turmoil. It’s Mr Van Der Haus. Is he back? ‘Hello?’

His light Danish accent rolls down the telephone. ‘Hello, Ava. How did you find The Life Building? Ingrid has advised me your meeting went very well.’

He’s ringing from Denmark to ask me this? Could it not wait until he’s back? ‘Yes, very well.’ I don’t know what else to say.

‘I do hope that lovely little head of yours is swimming with ideas. I’m looking forward to meeting upon my return to the UK.’

He’s called me from Denmark. He’s referring to my head as pretty. Oh, please don’t bless me with another inappropriate client. I’m having a hard enough time dealing with the one I’ve got.

‘Yes, I got your email too. I’ll have some schemes ready for you.’ I’ve practically finished the mood boards and drawings. It just came to me all of a sudden – at a moment when my brain wasn’t consumed with a certain other client.

‘Excellent! I shall be back in London next Friday. Can we meet?’

‘Yes, of course. Any particular day?’

‘I will have Ingrid contact you. She arranges my diary.’

I pout to myself. How lovely to have one person dedicated to organising your life. I would benefit from one of those at the moment. ‘Okay, Mr Van Der Haus.’

I hear him tut. ‘Ava, please. It’s Mikael. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, Mikael.’ I hang up and sit at my desk, tapping my tooth with my fingernail. I really don’t know if he’s just being super friendly or super friendly. He took my decline to dinner pretty well, so am I reading too much into this? This is Jesse Wards fault, or do I have easy written on my forehead? I instinctively reach up and rub my head. Christ, I’m a mess.

I retrieve my drawings for The Life Building, spread them out on my desk, and grabbing my pencil, I start making notes. I hear the office door open in the background, but I don’t look up. I’m on a roll with additional ideas. It’s a welcome, and very needed, distraction.

‘Ava,’ Tom calls. ‘It’s someone for youhoo!’

I look up, nearly falling off my chair when I see Jesse stood, bold as brass, at the front of the office. Oh, good God, what is he doing?

He walks, with complete confidence, over to my desk – all godly in his faded jeans, white t-shirt and ruffled hair. I notice Tom and Victoria tapping their pens casually on their desks as they follow his path to me. Even Sal has paused mid-fax, looking slightly confused. He lands at the foot of my desk, my eyes travelling up his body to meet his green gaze, the semblance of a smug, satisfied smile tickling the corners of his mouth.

I’m not sure what to make of this. He left me, not half an hour ago, with shaky legs and a mind racing in confusion. The shakes have returned, except my whole body is trembling now, and my mind’s a disorder of chaos and uncertainty. What’s he trying to prove here?

‘Miss O’Shea.’ he says softly.

‘Mr Ward.’ I greet hesitantly. I look at him questioningly, but he’s giving nothing away. I glance across the office, spotting three pairs of eyes flicking towards me at regular intervals.

‘Aren’t you going to ask if I would like a seat?’

I snap my eyes back to Jesse. ‘Please,’ I indicate one of the black tub chairs on the other side of my desk. He pulls one out, lowering himself slowly into the chair. ‘What are you doing?’ I hiss, leaning across my desk.

He smiles that self-assured, melt-worthy smile. ‘I’m here to settle an invoice, Miss O’Shea.’

‘Oh,’ I lean back in my chair. ‘Sally?’ I call. ‘Can you deal with Mr Ward, please? He would like to settle his outstanding account.’ I watch as Jesse shifts in his chair slightly, throwing me a critical look. I’m not being defiant. It’s not my job to take payment; I wouldn’t know where to start.

‘Of course,’ Sally calls. I see realisation hit her. Yes! It’s the same man that screamed at you down the phone, bulldozed the office and sent you flowers. Apparently, I drive him crazy! I throw her a don’t-ask-just-do look, prompting her to scuttle off towards the filing cabinet.

‘Sally will look after you, Mr Ward.’ I smile politely.

Jesse’s eyebrows shoot up, his frown line jumping into position. ‘Only you.’ he says softly, for my ears only. He makes no attempt to remove himself from my desk. He just sits there – all casual and relaxed, regarding me closely as Sally farts around at the filing cabinet.

Hurry up!

I nearly snap my pencil when I hear the familiar thump of Patrick’s heavy feet from behind me. This day just keeps getting better and better.

‘Ava?’

Glancing nervously up, I see Patrick stood at the side at my desk, looking at me expectantly. I wave my pencil in the general direction of Jesse. ‘Patrick, this is Mr Ward. He owns The Manor. Mr Ward, meet Patrick Peterson, my boss.’ I throw Jesse a pleading look.

‘Ah, Mr Ward, I know your face.’ Patrick puts his hand out.

‘We met briefly at Lusso.’ Jesse says as he stands and clasps Patrick’s hand.

Did they?

I see the pound signs ping into Patrick’s delighted, pale blue eyes. ‘Yes, you brought the penthouse.’ he chirps joyfully. Jesse nods his confirmation. I notice Patrick isn’t so worried about his outstanding bill now. Sally approaches with a copy of Jesse’s invoice and jumps a mile when Patrick snatches it from her dainty, pasty hand. ‘Have you offered Mr Ward a drink?’ he asks a stunned Sally.

‘I’m fine, thank you. I’ve just come to settle my account.’ Jesse’s husky tones reverberate through me as I sit, stuck like velcro to my chair, watching the polite exchange going on before me.

How can he be so calm and collective? I’m sat here, tense from top to toe, twiddling my pencil nervously in my hand and keeping my mouth firmly shut. It must be obvious that I’m uncomfortable, but Patrick seems oblivious.

Patrick waves Sally away. ‘You shouldn’t have rushed in just for this.’ He flaps the outstanding invoice in the air.

I scoff, following it up with a cough to disguise my reaction to Patrick’s casualness regarding the invoice he huffed about, only a few hours ago. He’s changed his tune.

‘I’ve been away. My staff overlooked it.’ Jesse explains. I release a thankful rush of air.

‘I knew there would be a perfectly reasonable explanation. Was it business or pleasure?’ Patrick sounds genuinely interested. I know different. He’s mentally calculating how much money he might be able to make out of Jesse. He’s a dear man, but he’s mad about turnover.

Jesse turns his eyes on me. ‘Oh, definitely pleasure.’ he says categorically.

I shrink further into my swivel chair, feeling my face turning a thousand shades of red. I can’t even look him in the eye. What is he trying to do to me?

‘I’d like to make some appointments with Miss O’Shea while I’m here. We need to get a quick turn around on this.’ he adds surely.

Ha! I very nearly remind him that he, supposedly, doesn’t make appointments to fuck me. But if I did that, I suspect I would firstly get the sack, and secondly, receive a sense fuck to rival all others. So, I keep my mouth firmly shut. Appointments? This man is impossible.

‘Absolutely,’ Patrick rumbles. ‘Are you looking for a design, or a design consultation and/or project manage?’

I roll my eyes. I know the answer to this question. After my perfectly exasperated eye roll is executed, I lift my eyes to Jesse and find him watching me, clearly struggling to maintain his serious face.

‘The whole package.’ he answers. What the hell does that mean?

‘Super!’ Patrick claps his hands together. ‘I’ll leave you with Ava. She’ll take good care of you.’ Patrick offers his hand and Jesse takes it, keeping his eyes right on me.

I’ve never been in a more difficult situation in my life. I’m sweating, fidgeting and sat so far back in my chair, I’m probably blending in with the leather.

‘I know she will,’ He smiles, turning his green pools back to Patrick. ‘If you give me your company bank details, I’ll arrange an immediate bank transfer. I’ll also make an advanced payment on the next stage. It will save any future delays.’

‘I’ll get Sally to note them down for you.’ Patrick leaves us, but I don’t relax.

Jesse sits back down in front of me, his irritatingly handsome face displaying an abundance of joy at my nervousness. The full package? Definitely pleasure? I should bash him around the head with my paper weight!

Dragging myself out of my dumbstruck state, I shift all of the drawings that are littering my desk and pull my diary over. ‘When are you free?’ I ask. I know I sound highly unprofessional and terse, but I don’t care. He’s taking his power trip too far now.

‘When are you?’

I look up, finding a green, satisfied stare. I lean in. ‘I’m not talking to you.’ I spit, rather immaturely.

‘What about screaming for me?’

My eyes widen in shock. ‘Neither.’

‘That may make business a little tricky.’ he pouts, his lips dancing at the corners.

‘Will it be business, Mr Ward, or pleasure?’

‘Pleasure, all the way.’ he answers darkly.

‘You do realise that you’re paying for me to have sex with you,’ I whisper on a hiss. ‘That, in effect, makes me a hooker!’

I watch as a flash of anger passes over his face and he shoots forward in his chair. ‘Shut up, Ava.’ he warns. ‘And just so you know, you will be screaming later,’ He leans back again. ‘When we make friends,’

I sigh heavily. It would be better, all-round, if I dropped this contract, right now. Patrick will keel over with shock, but either way, I’m totally knackered. Continue like this, I’m bound to be rumbled. Then he really will get to fuck me when he pleases. I’m losing control here. Losing control? I laugh to myself. Have I ever had control since this beautiful man trampled into my life?

‘Is something funny?’ he asks seriously.

I make a meal of flicking though the pages of my diary harshly. ‘Yes, my life,’ I mutter. ‘When shall I pencil you in?’

‘I don’t want to be pencilled in anywhere, pencil can be erased.’ His tone is smooth and confident. I look up from my diary and find a large, permanent, black marker pen being waved under my nose. ‘Every day.’ he states calmly.

‘Every day? Don’t be so stupid!’ I blurt a bit too loudly.

He gives me his roguish grin as he removes the lid from the marker. Reaching over, making a point of brushing his fingers over my hand, he pulls my diary away from me. I shiver, and he gives me that knowing look. Turning to tomorrow’s page in my diary, he coolly runs a line through the middle, writing “Mr Ward” across the page in big, black letters. He then skims past the weekend. ‘You’re mine then, anyway.’ he muses to himself.

What? Am I? Who says?

He arrives at Monday’s page and finds my ten o’clock appointment with Mrs Kent. Locating an eraser from my desk tidy, he slowly rubs it out, looking up at me when he leans down to blow the fragments of rubber from the page. He’s really enjoying this, while I’m sat back in my chair watching him trample all over my work diary, at the same time trying to gage how serious he is. I fear he’s completely serious.

He proceeds to put a big, black line through Monday as well. What is he doing? I glance around the office, noticing my colleagues have got bored of the Jesse and Ava show, knuckling down with some work instead.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask calmly.

He pauses, looking up at me. ‘I’m making my appointments.’

‘You’re not happy enough controlling the social aspect of my life?’ I’m surprised at how calm I sound. I feel completely ram raided. This man has untold front and confidence. ‘I thought you didn’t make appointments to fuck me?’

‘Watch your mouth,’ he cautions me. ‘I’ve told you before, Ava. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

‘For what?’ My voice is barely a whisper.

‘To keep you,’

He wants to keep me? What? For sex or more? I don’t ask that, though. ‘What if I don’t want to be kept?’ I ask instead.

‘But you do, by me. This is why I’m having such a hard time trying to figure out why you keep fighting me off.’ He returns his attention to my diary and sets about putting a line through every day for the rest of the academic year.

When he reaches the end, he slams it shut and stands. His confidence knows no bounds. And how does he know I want to be kept by him? Maybe, I don’t. Christ, I’m trying to lie to myself now. I’m going to have to buy a new dairy. I mentally applaud myself for backing up my appointments on my email calendar, a precautionary measure in case I lost my diary, not because some unreasonable control freak might erase them all from my planner.

‘What time will you be finished work?’ he asks.

‘Six-ish,’ I can’t believe I’ve just answered that without a second’s hesitation.

‘-ish,’ he mouths, putting his hand out over my desk. He wants me to shake his hand? I reach up, mentally demanding my hand not to tremble, and place it gently in his. The familiar fizzle flies through me when our hands connect, his fingers brushing gently over my wrist as he slowly strokes down the centre of my palm.

My eyes fly up to his. ‘See?’ he whispers, before pulling away and striding out of my office, collecting an envelope from Sally’s outstretched hand on the way.

Holy fucking hell! My heart is convulsing in my chest, and I’m breaking out in an uncomfortable sweat as I sit at my desk, frantically fanning my burning face with my coffee coaster. How does he do these things to me? Tom looks over at me with wide eyes and a whoa stare. I blow out a long, lung full of air in an attempt to regulate my hammering heart. He wants to keep me? What? Keep me and control me, keep me to love me or keep me to fuck me senseless? He’s already fucked me pretty senseless. He must have, because I keep going back for more. No, I don’t keep going back. I keep getting forced back. Is he forcing me, or do I go willingly? Oh, I don’t even know anymore. Oh Lord, I’m a fucking mess!

I start folding away my drawings of The Life Building before pulling my email calendar up so I can start transferring my appointments back into my diary.

Oh, I’m in some major deep shit. But he’s totally right...I do want to be kept by him. I’m completely addicted.

I need him.