Текст книги "This Man Confessed"

Автор книги: Jodi Ellen Malpas

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

I shift in my seat and in my subconscious, I hear his laugh. The soft, low one. Then I feel the wet warmness of his tongue on my toe. I smile, being snapped from all of my mental assessments of my beautiful husband. I open one eye, and I’m greeted by his smile, reserved only for me.

‘Dreaming?’ he asks, biting down on my little toe.

‘Of you.’ I sigh. ‘Tell me when we take off so I can put my head between my legs.

‘I’ll put my head between your legs.’ He sucks my toe, and I shudder.

‘Just tell me.’

‘Look out the window, baby.’

I frown and gaze out, expecting to find runways and planes, but instead, I find clouds. ‘Oh!’ My relaxed state falters, just for a split second, before I register no movement. There is hardly any sound, either. It’s really peaceful. I look to the side and see our waters placed on a highly polished table, and then I peek down the aisle and see the perfect woman pottering around at the other end of the jet. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I ask, settling back in my seat.

He kisses my toe. ‘And miss the sounds and looks you were making?’ He drops my foot. ‘Come here.’ I don’t stall for a second. I unclip my belt and virtually dive onto his lap, nestling my head under his chin and wrapping my arms around his neck. ‘Go back to sleep and dream of me, lady.’

He doesn’t need to ask twice. Our early start and long drive has taken it out of me, and I don’t want to be beat when we land wherever we’re landing. I still haven’t asked, but I don’t care. It’s going to be warm, sunny, and just me and Jesse.

* * *

I come to, still tucked into Jesse’s body. I can hear him quietly speaking, but it’s all muffled. A little groggy, I pull myself up a little and find the perfect woman hovering over us. ‘Welcome to Malaga, Mrs Ward.’ She blasts me with an insincere, part-of-the-job smile.

‘Thank you.’ I return her smile, although mine is weaker, but definitely more sincere. Malaga? Like Spain Malaga? Like near to Marbella Malaga?

‘My beautiful girl’s back.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘Enjoy your flight?’

I look at him through my fog of sleepiness and note a stubbled, hazy, smiling face, and a dishevelled mop of dark blonde. ‘Do I yank your hair in my sleep?’ I croak, reaching up to pat it down.

‘You do a lot in your sleep. I could watch you forever.’

I make to move, but get absolutely nowhere. ‘I need to stretch.’ I complain, wriggling.

I hear a click, and I’m instantly free. ‘I needed to belt you in.’ He helps me to my feet and watches as my arms raise, nearly touching the ceiling of the plane. Oh, that feels too good.

‘Aren’t I supposed to be belted into my own seat for landing?’ I ask, ‘With my seat in the upright position, my table stowed away, and all of my belongings tucked neatly under the seat in front?’

He raises a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Yes. I very nearly had to trample the lovely lady.’ He stands himself and pulls my blouse down, which is riding up my navel from my stretched position. He holds it in place until I’ve finished. ‘Done?’

‘Yes,’ I yawn, as he releases the hem of my top. I know this is probably a sign of things to come over the next couple of days, but he’d better lighten up and fast because I’ve packed my bikinis, and I’ll be wearing them.

As we emerge into the bright sunlight, I smile, the heat hitting my face and warming me to the core. Or warming me further. I already have a lovely, peaceful warmth coursing through me, and that’s only going to increase over the next few days. Taking the steps down to the tarmac, we’re immediately greeted by a smart Spanish man, who hands Jesse a set of keys. Then I spot the DBS.

‘Really?’ I blurt. ‘We couldn’t have taken a taxi?’

He scoffs and signs the paperwork presented to him. ‘I don’t do public transport, Ava.’

‘You should. It’ll save you a fortune.’

Handing back the paperwork, he makes quick work of putting me in the wrong side of the car, throwing me off a little. Once he’s buckled me in and I’ve gathered my bearings, I settle in the familiar, if a little warmer, softness of the leather seat and listen to the bumping and banging of the luggage being loaded into the boot.

Jesse jumps in and slips his shades on. ‘Are you ready to be binged on for the next three days?’

‘No, take me home.’ I grin and lean across, planting a kiss on his lips.

‘Not a chance, lady. You’re all mine, and I’m going to make the most of it.’ He returns my kiss, palming the back of my head to pull me closer.

‘I’m always yours’

‘Correct. Get used to it.’ I’m released before he hastily rams the Aston in gear and screeches away from the Jet.

‘I am used to it.’ I muse, resting my elbow on the door and settling my head so I can watch the unfamiliar world go by. It’s all very boring and concrete-like for quite some time as we make our way out of the airport and away from the hustle and bustle of central Malaga, but then we hit a coast road, and the sight of the Mediterranean meeting the sky holds my attention for the rest of the journey. Mansun sing about a Wide Open Space, and the smell of heat mixed with the kicked up dust of the well-worn road overpowers the usual lingering scent of fresh water, leaving me resentful of its intrusion on my nose. Apart from that smell, it’s blissful. We cruise along in a comfortable silence, the stereo in the background keeping us company, Jesse’s hand resting on my knee, and mine clutching it. I sneak a peek of his profile and smile before I close my eyes, relax further into the leather and think of the tranquil, undisturbed time ahead of us.

* * *

I’m not asleep, but my eyes come open when the road beneath the tyres becomes bumpy and the car starts jolting all over the place. I look to the road ahead and the first thing that strikes me is the appalling condition of it. There’s rubble all over the rut riddled surface, leaving Jesse negotiating the prestigious car with care. I’ve never known him to drive with such caution, but it’s blatantly obvious that any faster, then he’s likely to take out the bottom of the car.

‘Where are we?’ I ask, searching around for any sign of something appealing. There is nothing, only derelict land, this hideous, dusty, shambles of a road and a few houses. No, not houses, shacks would be more apt. There can’t be any people living in them.

‘This is paradise, baby.’ Jesse says, deadly serious. I almost laugh, but worry is preventing it. I’ve seen paradise, in pictures mainly, and this couldn’t be any further removed. I’m about to demand that he turn around, but then a colossal set of wooden, planked gates come into view and my attention is captured by the high, whitewashed wall stemming from each side and stretching out into the distance. And then I see it.

Paradise.

There is a sign on the wall next to the gate and it says Paradise. He cannot be serious. Paradise? Not only is it not paradise, but could he have picked a cheesier name for a place to stay? Paradise? Those walls don’t look like they’ve been touched by any white-wash paint in two decades, and I’m starting to feel nauseous from being tossed around in this lovely car. He’s brought me to this dump? He has me to himself for three days and he’s brought me here? I would rather sleep in the car. My tranquil mind isn’t feeling so tranquil, not now that I’m surrounded by this most un-tranquil vista. Yes, it’s quiet, but the whole deadness of our surroundings is just making it feel eerie, rather than peaceful.

‘Jesse…’ I’m not sure what to say. He doesn’t seem in the least bit perturbed by all of this, which leaves me thinking that he’s been here before. If he has, then why would he return? I’m not given any explanation, he just flips a switch and smiles fondly as the wooden gates start to creak open. He has been here before. I choose to keep my mouth shut, despite my better judgment. I’m not staying here. No way.

I’m having a good mental sulk in my seat when we breach the gates and we’re immediately closed in by darkness, a canopy of the greenest green I’ve ever seen, draping over us and the driveway ahead. Clusters of white flowers are spotted here and there among the foliage and the most potent fragrance is seeping into the car, even with all of the windows closed.

‘That smell.’ I sniff deeply and exhale on a sigh.

‘This is nothing. At nightfall it’s pungent.’ Jesse breathes in deeply himself, humming in pleasure as he exhales. I’m totally intrigued. He’s mentally reminiscing.

Whilst the smell is heavenly, I’m still concerned by our location, but then the sunlight flickers towards the end of the concealed driveway and the shards of flashing lights stabbing at us through the windscreen makes me squint, even through my shades. It’s like a light has been abruptly switched on and all of a sudden, I’ve been transported to…

Paradise.

My breath catches in my throat, and I unclip my belt to sit forward, blinking to ensure that I’m not imagining this. The grimy, concrete and wasteland jungle is no more, and in its place is an idyllic haven, bursting with greenery, neatly trimmed lawns and pergolas dripping in pompoms of red flowers. We’re suddenly not moving anymore, and I waste no time ejecting myself from the car, shutting the door and absorbing my new, improved surroundings. I start walking across the rumbled, cobbled driveway towards the terracotta villa up ahead, not bothering to wait for Jesse, or even to check that he’s following. I take the steps up to the veranda that circles the entire property and turn to get the full view of the grounds.

Paradise.

When I think that I’ve taken it all in, I turn my attention back to Jesse, finding him sitting on the bonnet of the DBS, legs stretch and crossed at the ankles. His arms are folded over his chest, too. And he’s smiling. ‘What’s my beautiful girl thinking?’ he shouts over to me.

My hand reaches out and pulls a stray leaf from the shrubbery hanging from some trellis on the veranda. I smell it and sigh. ‘I’m thinking that I’ve just officially arrived on Central Jesse Cloud Nine.’

‘Where?’ The confusion and amusement in his tone is clear.

I grin, drop the leaf, and start running towards him, only vaguely registering his increased amusement as he stands and readies himself for my attack. I launch myself at him, my body taking up the usual baby monkey style hold, and I tackle his mouth, full of enthusiasm. He doesn’t stop me. He holds me under my bum and smiles around my brute force.

‘It’s my most favourite place in the world.’ I say, easing up on his lips and looking down at him, noticing immediately that his wayfarers are still fixed to his face. I pull them off so I can see all of him.

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, despite it being transparently obvious that I’m delirious with delight.

‘Delirious.’ I thread my fingers through his hair and give it my usual little tug.

‘Then my work here is done.’ His mouth goes to my neck and bites lightly before he disconnects me from his body. ‘Let me get the cases.’

‘I’ll help.’ I say automatically, following him to the rear of the car. I‘m soon halted when he turns and flashes me a cautionary look. ‘Okay, I won’t help.’ I hold my hands up and fetch my bag from the car instead, then follow Jesse back towards the single storey villa.

He drops the cases briefly while he tries at least three different keys in the lock before finally arriving at the correct one. The door opens, and I’m ushered in to complete darkness, with only slices on light penetrating the gaps between the closed shutters. I can’t see much, but I can smell, and that perfume is rife inside, too, the potency incredible and lingering everywhere.

‘Wait here.’ Jesse instructs, dumping the cases by the door and disappearing outside again. I stand, gazing around the walls for a light switch, but I can’t see a thing, even with the faint light pouring in from the doorway. And then it’s like a spotlight has hit a blackened stage when a sudden gush of sunlight shoots across the room and collides with the wall opposite. Then there’s another, this one coming from another window, the arrow of light sailing through the first beam, creating a bright cross of light in the dimness of the room. And another, then another. I watch as the space transforms into a busy crossroads of light lines until there is no more darkness, just sunlight streaming in from every window and door. My sensitive eyes want to close, but it’s impossible when there is so much to focus on. The walls are smooth and white, the floor is laid in giant honey coloured flagstones, with cream rugs scattered randomly and a giant U shaped couch facing the doors that lead to a pool surrounded by bright green grass. And beyond that, a beach.

‘Oh wow,’ I breathe, walking tentatively forward, my excitement building the closer I get and with the more that comes into view. Before I know it, I’ve crossed the terrace, padded my way over the lawn, and I’m standing, fiddling with a cast iron gate that’s getting between me and the beach.

‘Here,’ Jesse’s hand is suddenly on mine, and a key is inserted into the lock, opening the gate and allowing me to pass through.

Ten wooden sleepers formed as steps and covered in sand and grass take me down to the beach. It’s deserted, and as I look each way for any sign of life, I realise we’re in a bay. There are no other properties in sight – no beach bars, no hotels, not anything. It really is just us, this beautiful villa, and the midnight blue warmth of the Mediterranean.

‘Still on Central Jesse Cloud Nine?’ he whispers in my ear, slipping his forearm around the tops of my shoulders and pulling me back to rest against his chest.

‘I am. Where are you?’

‘Me?’ he asks, kissing my cheek softly and sliding his palm onto my tummy. ‘Baby, I’m in paradise.’

I close my eyes on a contented smile and sink into his body, my hand finding his on my stomach, our fingers intertwining and feeling each other. Central Jesse Cloud Nine really is Paradise.

* * *

We spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking, taking delivery of groceries and Jesse gives me a guided tour, showing me the six en-suite bedrooms, all with doors leading to a different part of the veranda. The kitchen, which is white and modern, has wooden stained worktops and little touches like the suspended wooden grid with cast iron pans hanging over the cooking area to maintain the rustic feel of the villa. As an interior designer, I’m in awe. I couldn’t have done a better job myself. The bedrooms are all plain walled, but with sumptuous fabrics dressing the beds and billowing voile hanging at the windows. Sporadically placed canvases take the edge off the sparseness of the plain walls and all of the randomly placed rugs break up the vastness of the flagstone flooring that runs through the entire villa. This place features in Jesse’s history, I’m sure, but I don’t press it. He told me only that the renovations have been underway on and off for many years, so I gather he owns this place. But I didn’t have it confirmed.

Now we’re sat at the gigantic wooden table between the kitchen and the lounge space with a jug of ice water, and the questions are not prepared to stay in my brain for much longer. This place holds significance somewhere in Jesse’s life and my curious mind is struggling to hold back.

He watches me with a small smile as I lift my glass to my lips before he proceeds to quench his own thirst, still keeping his eyes on mine. I’m desperate to ask, and he knows it, but he’s making me suffer. Instead of volunteering the information that he knows I’m craving, he’s going to make me ask, and I promised myself that I would never push him for information on his history again. It doesn’t matter to me anymore, but its lack of importance clearly fails to prevent the inquisitiveness in me. I can’t help it.

I’m thankful when he speaks before me, preventing me from firing off a round of questions. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

I can’t prevent the surprised look from jumping onto my face. ‘Are you going to cook for me?’ There’s no Cathy here, and he knows I hate cooking.

‘I could’ve had staff, but I wanted you to myself.’ He grins that roguish grin. ‘I think you should look after your husband and fulfil your obligation as my wife.’

I cough a little at his arrogance. My obligation? ‘When you married me, you knew I hated cooking.’

‘And when you married me, you knew I couldn’t cook.’ he counters cockily.

‘But you have Cathy.’

‘In England I have Cathy to feed me, which is a good job as my wife doesn’t.’ He’s serious now. ‘In Spain I have my wife. And she’s going to make me something to eat. You did a good job with the chicken.’

He’s right, I did, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it, although I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy watching him eat it. I was looking after him for a change, and with that thought I’m oddly keen to prepare a meal for him. ‘Okay,’ I stand up. ‘I’ll fulfil my obligation.’

‘Oh good. It’s about time you did what you’re told.’ he says candidly, no smile, no humour. ‘Get to it, then.’

‘Don’t push it, Ward.’ I warn, leaving him at the table and making my way to the fridge. It doesn’t take me long to decide what to cook. I grab some peppers, chorizo sausage, rice and mushrooms, along with some lamb cutlets, and transport them to the worktop before locating a chopping board and a knife.

I set to work, halving the peppers and deseeding them, and then chopping the mushrooms and sausage finely and frying it all off. I boil the rice, chop some fresh bread and pan fry the lamb. And the whole time he sits and watches me busy myself, with no offer of help and no attempt to make conversation. He just quietly observes me fulfilling my obligation to feed him.

I’m halfway through stuffing the peppers, when he appears in front of me, leaning across the counter from the other side. ‘You’re doing a great job, lady.’

I pick my knife up and wield it at him. ‘Don’t patronise me.’ I’m shocked when his relaxed face flashes black and the knife is snatched from my hand.

‘Don’t fucking wave knives around, Ava!’

‘Sorry!’ I blurt, glancing at it in his hand and quickly appreciating my stupidity. It’s a nasty looking blade, and I’m brandishing it about like it’s a rhythmic gymnast’s ribbon. ‘I’m sorry.’ I repeat.

He places it down carefully and seems to gather himself. ‘It’s okay. Forget about it.’

I gesture towards the table for anything to do, other than apologise again. He doesn’t seem happy at all. ‘Do you want to lay the table?’

‘Sure,’ he says quietly, maybe thinking that he’s gone a bit over-the-top, I don’t know, but his withdrawn mood and my scorned state have formed a clear tension.

Jesse leaves me and quietly lays the table for two, while I finish preparing dinner.

‘Here,’ I slide his plate in front of him, but before I can pull my hand away, he grabs it and looks up at me with sorry eyes.

‘I over-reacted.’

I feel better already. ‘No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t be so careless.’

He smiles. ‘Sit,’ He pulls my chair out, but as soon as I’ve lowered myself, he stands. ‘We’re missing something.’ he informs me, striding off and leaving me wondering where he’s gone. It’s not long before he’s back, holding a candle in one hand and a remote control in the other. He finds some matches, lights the candle and places it in the centre of the table, then pushes a few buttons on the remote control, filling the villa with a distinct male voice. I recognise it immediately.

‘Mick Hucknell?’ I ask, a little surprised.

‘Or God. Either will do.’ He smiles as he takes his seat.

‘You’re willing to share your title?’ I ask, picking up my blunt knife and safe fork.

‘He’s worthy,’ he replies casually. ‘This looks good. Eat up.’

I acknowledge his nod at my plate with a small smile and carve my way through a piece of lamb, resisting the urge to brandish my knife again when Jesse leans over, looking at my meat. He’s checking how well it’s cooked. I help him out, turning my plate so he can see the centre of my lamb cutlet. He should be happy. I like my steak medium, but I love my lamb cooked thoroughly.

I stab a piece with my fork and bring it up to my lips. ‘May I?’ I ask, completely serious and with no hint of a smile on my face, which is good because I’m matching Jesse.

‘You may.’ he says, slicing through his own lamb and taking his first bite. He chews, nods and swallows. ‘You can cook, wife.’

‘I’ve never said I can’t. I just don’t like doing it.’

‘Not even for me?’

I flick him a look to gage his expression, and it’s as I feared. There is no humour and he’s not pouting at me playfully. I know where this is heading and whilst I do actually like cooking for him, I wouldn’t want to do it every day. ‘I don’t mind.’ I answer coolly.

‘I like you cooking for me,’ he muses. ‘It’s kind of normal.’

I pause and place my knife down. ‘Normal?’

‘Yes, normal. Like what normal married people do.’

‘Normal, like the wife cooks and the husband eats? That’s a bit chauvinistic.’ I laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s still concentrating on his careful cutting and eating. He wants normalcy? Then he should try being a bit normal himself. But do I want him to be normal? No, I don’t. He wouldn’t be Jesse if he was normal. We wouldn’t be us if he was normal. I take another bite of lamb to busy my mouth, instead of calling him a caveman. We’ll never be normal, not completely, and I hope we’re not.

He shrugs, rests his cutlery on the side of his plate and sits back in his chair, slowly raising his eyes to mine as he chews purposely slow. What’s going on in that head of his? The greenness of his gaze has me engrossed, making me slow my own chews down to mimic his. ‘Isn’t this normal?’ he asks, his voice low and throaty.

‘You mean having dinner together?’

‘Yes,’

I shrug a little. ‘Yes, this is normal.’

He nods mildly. ‘What about if I spread you on this table during dinner and fuck you? Would that be normal?’

My eyes widen a little in surprise. I don’t know why because that would be perfectly normal for us. ‘Our normal is you taking what you want, when you want it. You can chuck in a meal cooked by your wife, if you like.’

‘Good,’ He collects his knife and fork. ‘I like our normal.’

I frown at him. What was the point of all that? ‘Is something worrying you?’ I ask.

‘No,’ He answers far too quickly.

‘Yes, there is.’ I fire back, and I think I know what it is. ‘Are you suddenly considering the possibility of no wherever and whenever with two babies around?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Look at me.’ I demand, and he does, but he’s looking at me in shock. I don’t give him a chance to scoff at my order, or ask me who the hell I think I’m talking to. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

His shock turns to a glower. ‘Wherever, whenever.’

‘Not with two babies around.’ I could laugh at him. He has. He’s suddenly well aware that his possession over my body is going to be curbed. I return to my dinner, delighting in this revelation. I can’t believe he hasn’t thought about this already. ‘They’ll need a lot of my attention.’

He points his fork at me. Not his knife, but his fork. ‘Yes, you’re primary role will be the care of our children, but a close second, and I mean a very close second, will be for my indulgence. Wherever, whenever, Ava. I might need to control my craving for you to a certain extent, but don’t think that I’m going to sacrifice devoting my life to consuming you. Constant contact. Wherever, whenever. That’s not going to change, just because we have babies.’ He stabs at a piece of lamb and yanks it off the fork with his mouth.

If wanting me to cook for him was chauvinistic, then I have no idea what that little speech would represent. ‘Even if I’m knackered from night feeds?’ I’m poking.

‘Too tired for me to take you?’ he asks, shocked.

‘Yes,’

‘We’ll get a nanny,’ His lamb takes another vicious stabbing, and I mentally laugh my socks off.

‘But I’ve got you.’ I remind him.

He sighs and drops his knife and fork to his plate. ‘You do,’ His fingertips go to his temples and start rubbing calming circles. ‘You do have me, and you always will.’ He reaches over and takes my hand. ‘Promise me you’ll never say I’m too tired, or I’m not in the mood.’

‘You’re the one who tells me I’m too tired!’ I practically screech. ‘It’s okay for you to knock me back.’

‘That’s because I have the power.’ he says frankly. ‘Promise me.’ he presses.

‘You want me to promise you that I’m here for you to take as and when you please?’

He looks away, only very briefly, before returning thoughtful eyes to me. ‘Yes,’ he says simply.

‘What if I don’t?’ I’m being insolent for the sake of it. I’ll never be too tired for this man, but his sudden epiphany is really quite amusing. He should have thought about all of this before he nicked my pills.

He laughs, and then the arrogant swine only leans back and pulls his t-shirt over his head, revealing himself in all of his clean cut perfection. He looks down at his chest, as if refreshing his own memory of just how incredibly flawless he is. My eyes are on that chest, too. I might even be salivating all over my lamb, but I’m defiantly resisting his tactics. I drink in his godliness, my eyes skipping over every hard piece of him, my mind making a mental note to refresh my mark. It’s fading. ‘You’ll never resist this.’ He gestures to his torso.

My eyes whip back up, seeing self-assured, bright greens. ‘I’m used to it.’ I rip my greedy stare away from the equal perfection of his face and back to my plate. My eyes are not happy and are pulling in my sockets to get another fill. ‘It kind of gets the same old after a while.’ I add as casually as I can.

He’s on me in a second, pulling me from the table and taking me down to a rug on the floor. I don’t get a moment to register what’s happened until I’m barely breathing and he’s coating me completely. ‘You’re a shit liar, baby.’

‘I know.’ I concede. I’m crap at it.

‘Let’s see how used to it you are, shall we?’ He moves my arms to my sides and sits astride of me, pinning me in place. I’m immobile and suddenly very concerned by this situation. I’ve been here plenty of times before, and most of them I came out the other end a very unhappy girl.

‘Jesse, please don’t.’ I beg, for very little purpose. I know it will get me entirely nowhere. He’s in a trampling mood, his sudden realisation of how he might be side-lined sparking his animal instinct to stake his claim, and probably mark me, too. He’s like a lion.

‘What?’ he asks, despite knowing damn well what. ‘You’re used to it.’

He’s fully aware that I was feigning nonchalance. I’ll never get used to it, and I’m so glad. I’ll look at him this way, appreciate him this way and become consumed with desire this way for the rest of my days. And I can’t wait. That desire is coursing through my veins right now. It’s always lying dormant in the background, simmering gently, ready for a few right words or a touch. Then the simmering transforms into a fizzing, deep in my tummy, and then impatience, and then torturous pleasure until explosion, whether it’s of the soft, rollover kind, or the mind-bending, screaming kind. I’m starting to fizz now. My tummy muscles are squeezing and he’s probably aware because unlike previous encounters lately, he’s resting on my stomach. Has he had enlightenment that he won’t hurt his babies, as well as being enlightened that I won’t just be his anymore?

My current position and the relentless beat between my thighs is not helped when he raises to his knees and starts unbuttoning the fly of his jeans. This is going to be painful. If he’s going to go full force into dominant Jesse, then I want to make the most of it, and I have no hope of seizing the opportunity with my body and arms pinned down. I feel a yell of frustration brewing and as hard as I try to pull my insatiable eyes away from those abdominals as his hands work his jeans, I’m failing miserably. Used to it? Fucking ridiculous thing to claim.

‘Jesse, let me up.’ I don’t bother wriggling because it will only tire me out, and I’m storing my energy for what I hope is to come.

‘No, Ava.’ He pushes the waist of his jeans down a little, revealing his tight, white Armani’s. This is getting harder.

‘Please,’ I plead.

There’s a glint of victory sparkling from his hooded eyes, even though we both know he’s not done yet. ‘No, Ava.’ he repeats on a husk, slipping his thumb into the waistband of his boxers.

I catch a glimpse of his dark blonde mass of hair and the unmistakable taut, smooth flesh of his cock. ‘Oh God,’ I close my eyes in hopelessness, hating him and loving him all at the same time. Keeping myself in darkness, I’m beyond mystified when I don’t get the familiar bark to open. I’m not mystified for long, though. Not when I feel movement, and then the sensation of something solid and wet slipping across my lips. Natural instinct kicks in and my lips open, but I don’t get mouth penetration. This might result in my throwing up, but I’m still praying for mouth penetration. I open my eyes to be met by his stomach from where he’s dropped a hand by my head so he’s leaning over me. Glancing up to find his face, I know what I’ll discover, but it doesn’t stop me. I know what look I’ll find, I know it’ll drive me insane with lust, and I know that I’ll be able to do fuck all about it.

And there it is. My Lord, braced on one stupidly solid arm, his obscenely addictive eyes dropped low, his sickening long lashes fanning that stunning face and with a little flick of my eyes, I’m staring at that stomach and chest which should be deemed a hazard. With the added bonus of him holding himself, grazing my lips with the broad magnificence of his cock, I’m ruined. ‘Mouth.’ I demand calmly.

‘What do I do to you, Ava?’ he asks, clearly confident of the answer I’m going to give and teasing me with another dash of contact to my lips.

‘You fucking cripple me!’ I yell on a pointless writhe.

‘Watch your fucking mouth,’ he practically groans the words out, only heightening my simmering state and my aggravation.

‘Please!’

‘Are you used to me?’

‘No!’

‘And you never will be. This is our normal, baby. Get used to this.’ He slides himself into my mouth on a moan, and I accept willingly, elatedly, eagerly. I moan around his invasion, I suck, lap and bite, but I don’t have full control. He’s retaining the power, but I don’t care. It’s contact. ‘Keep it gentle, Ava.’ He forces the words out, and I glance up to indulge in the strain on his face as he watches my mouth indulge on his arousal. ‘I love your fucking mouth, woman.’ His free hand creeps behind my neck and locks on my nape, holding me in place whilst he gently thrusts forward, slow, evenly, deliciously. No hard necessary, but that’s not to say he isn’t fulfilling his obligation to be dominant Jesse. He’s worked out the happy medium in our normal relationship, even if I haven’t, but I’m beginning to get it, and he is doing a bloody fine job of showing me the way.