This Man Confessed (26 page)

“I’ve never tasted anything so good.” His hips swivel, sweeping through my remnants of pleasure.

“Not even an Ava éclair?” I ask around his lush, wet mouth.

“Not even an Ava éclair,” he confirms, nibbling his way up to my ear. “Not even peanut butter,” he murmurs, reaching down and hooking his arm under my knee. He pulls my bent leg upward and plants his fist in the mattress so my leg is draped over his arm. “Just pure,” he sucks my earlobe, “raw,” he bites down, “naked,” and then drags it teasingly through his teeth. I shudder as he skims across my cheek and plunges his tongue into my mouth. “Ava,” he finishes on a whisper. “Pure, raw, naked, Ava. And I’ve got her for three whole days…all…to…myself.”

I smile around his lips and find his hair, unable to resist a playful yank as he moans and pleasures me with those damn delectable, wonderfully talented hips. Deep grinds. Firm dives. Easy retreats. I sigh, and when I feel the rolling waves of his muscles tensing around my body, I know that he’s tipping the edge, so I harden my kiss, yank at his hair a little more, and moan. He’s blazing, and he pulls away on a gasp. My hands move straight to his neck. The throbbing in his neck vein is matching his labored breaths, and our eyes lock, his full of hunger, mine full of surrender.

“My heart’s bucking wildly,” he murmurs, pushing into me one last, deep, steady time and just holding himself there as he inhales severely and begins to shake. “Fuck, that feels good.”

I’m not joining him in his climax, but it doesn’t stop me from whimpering shallowly and sucking in my own sharp breath, my thighs finding his waist and my arms moving to his shoulders to pull him down. I kiss him deeply, invading his mouth forcefully, helping him through the twitching and jerking of his body.

“Good?” I ask around his mouth.

He keeps our kiss up and bites my tongue lightly. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.” He rolls onto his back and lifts his arm for me to find my happy place. My fingertips find his scar and start their usual trailing from side-to-side as he pulls me in snugly and breathes into my hair. “Okay?”

“Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.” I grin into the side of his chest.

“Ava, one day I’m going to shove a bar of soap in your mouth.”

He probably would. “What time are we leaving?”

“Seven-ish. We’re flying at noon from Heathrow.”

“Heathrow? We’ve got to drive all the way back to London?” Is he kidding me?

“Yes. It was the only place where I could get a flight at such short notice.”

“You could’ve got something from Bristol, at least.” I just can’t help myself.

“Shut up. Let’s talk about our plans for the weekend.”

“Have you made plans?”

“Yes, it involves lots of lace and even more naked flesh.”

Just me, Jesse, and lots of naked flesh, after lots of lace has been removed…slowly. I smile, snuggle deeper, and let my sleepy mind wander to all things Jesse-ish.

H
ave you got everything?” Mum’s still in her dressing gown as she faffs all over the driveway.

“Yes.” I sigh with optimum exasperation, for the tenth time.

“It was brief, but I’m so happy you came to see us.” She clasps my cheeks and kisses me. “You must take care.”

I roll my eyes, but hug her.

“Are you insinuating that I can’t look after my wife?” Jesse asks seriously as he shuts the boot of the car.

She throws a small scowl over to him. “I would never insinuate that you couldn’t look after
my
daughter.” She’s poking him. It’s like the O’Shea women have a compulsion to goad Jesse Ward.

Jesse strolls over, leaving my dad browsing around the loaned DBS. “She doesn’t need to take care because I do that for her.” He pulls me from my mum’s grasp. “Mine.” He grins and smothers me to make his point.

“Menace,” Mum huffs, trying not to smile. “Joseph! Don’t get any ideas.”

We all turn to see my dad running his palm down the gleaming bonnet of the Aston Martin. “Just admiring,” he says. “I thought yours had black leather?”

I glance at Jesse and send a telepathic message to think of something fast to explain why the interior has gone from black leather to cream. “Mine’s in for a service. It’s a courtesy car.” He reels off the explanation with complete ease.

Dad laughs. “I don’t get courtesy cars like this from my garage.”

Jesse smiles and leads me to the passenger side, pushing me down gently and buckling me in before adjusting the lap belt. I bat his hands away, earning myself a growl. “I’m not incapable.”

“No, you’re very capable,” he says, narrowing annoyed eyes on me, “of driving me fucking nuts!”

“You drive yourself nuts,” I retort, pushing him away and shutting the door. I let the window down. “Bye!” I blow my parents a kiss and watch as Jesse shakes hands with my dad and kisses my mum chastely on the cheek before making his way around the front of the car, drilling holes into me through the window as he does.

He slips in and starts the engine. “This weekend will be a lot more pleasant if you do as you’re told,” he grumbles, pulling away from my parents’ house. He starts flicking a few switches on the steering wheel. “No sickness this morning?”

“No.” I sigh. “You shoving a ginger biscuit in my mouth the second I woke up took care of that,” I quip, bolting upright when the car stereo kicks in and Mr. JT himself joins us. I turn eyes mixed with surprise and amusement to Jesse. He knows that I’m looking at him, but he’s ignoring it. “You had them put this CD in, didn’t you?” I’m using every ounce of willpower not to grin.

He frowns at the road. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You did. On the special request part of the form that you completed, you wrote… ‘Please load the disc player with Justin.’” I pause. “Did you put a love heart and a few kisses on it, too?” I’m most certainly grinning now.

He slowly turns unamused eyes to me. “Do you think you’re funny?”

“Yes.” I reach forward and crank the volume up, and then start jigging in my seat, singing along and generally taking the piss out of my JT fanatical god. “Hey!” I yelp when his fingers squeeze my hipbone and the music is suddenly low again. “I was enjoying that.”

“You should. He’s a very talented man.”

“
You’re
a very talented man.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “We have a lot in common. He’s a great guy.”

“You’ve met him?”

“No, he keeps putting his requests in, but I’m too busy.” It’s him concealing a grin now.

I laugh, and he slips his Wayfarers on, but not before giving me a wink and a little jiggle of his shoulders.

Laid back Jesse. God, I love this man.

Jesse takes us on an adventure around the airport, dipping and weaving past cars, taking turns in the wrong direction, and generally just seeming like he has no idea where he’s going. I watch the sign for the airport car park go sailing past my window and frown to myself. Then I look at the clock. It’s eleven thirty and we’re supposed to be flying in half an hour. We haven’t checked in, done security, or anything.

“Shit!” I blurt out, grabbing my bag up from the floor.

“Ava, mouth! What’s up?” He takes a corner too hard, and my hand shoots out to steady myself on the door.

“Will you take it easy?” I snap irritably.

“Ava, there’s no place you’re safer than in a car with me. What’s the matter?”

“My passport,” I say, diving into my bag, looking in complete vain because I know it’s not in here. I didn’t put it in here, and my rummaging slows when I realize exactly where my passport is. He’ll go spare. “I’ve left my passport in my box of junk,” I tell him, mentally cursing myself for not sorting that box out yet.

He reaches forward and flips the glove compartment open. “No, you haven’t, but you have forgotten to get your name changed, Miss O’Shea.” He drops it on my lap and tosses me a reproachful look.

“So I’m traveling a single?” I ask, opening it up and admiring my maiden name.

“Shut up, Ava.” He screeches to a stop and jumps out, making quick work of getting around to my side and opening my door. I would have done it myself, but I’m just staring out of the windscreen with my mouth slightly agape. “Come on.”

I look up as a well-suited and booted man approaches with a man in a captain’s uniform. My passport is whipped from my grasp, hands are shaken, paperwork and signatures are exchanged, and then our luggage is removed from the boot.

“Are you going to sit there all day, lady?” He holds his hand out to me, and I take it automatically, letting him pull me from the car.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at the toylike plane sitting a few yards away from us.

“That’s a plane.” There is humor in his voice. I’m pulled toward the jet, not feeling any more enthusiastic as we get closer because it’s not getting any bigger, and I’m not filled with any further confidence when Jesse has to dip to enter the damn thing to avoid smacking his head. I halt on the ridiculously small amount of steps that will have me boarding.

“I’m not getting on this thing.” I’m attacked by an unreasonable bout of fear. I’ve never been afraid of flying, but this little plane is really pumping the anxiety through my veins.

Jesse smiles, but frowns at the same time. “Of course you are.”

My arm is tugged gently, encouragingly, but I’m not shifting. In fact, I’m backing away.

“Ava, you’ve never said you’re scared of flying.” He redips and stands up straight, back on the outside of the jet.

“I’m not in big planes. Why are we not going on a big plane?” I look behind me and see heaps of big planes. “Why can’t we go on one of those?”

“Because they’re probably not going where we need them to,” he says softly. I feel my arm go lax in front of me from where he’s getting closer, and then his palm is on my cheek. “It’s perfectly safe,” he assures me, pulling my gaze away from all of the big planes that I’d like to board instead.

“It doesn’t look safe.” I glance past him and see a perfectly positioned woman with perfectly styled hair, perfect makeup, and a perfect smile. “It looks too small.”

“Ava.” His soft voice pulls my eyes back to his. He’s smiling down at me. “This is me, your possessive, unreasonable, overprotective control freak.” He kisses me gently. “Do you really think I’d willingly put you in danger?”

I shake my head, fully aware that I’m being a complete baby.

“Answer my question.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Good.” He rounds me and clasps my shoulders, pushing me gently up the steps. “You’ll love it; trust me.”

“Good morning!” The perfect woman, who’s still standing perfectly in place, greets us, holding her arm out in a signal of where to go. It’s really not necessary. There are one of two ways, and I’m not going anywhere near the cockpit.

Peering inside, I notice just a few chairs, all massive, all leather, all reclining, and just two rows of them—one on each side of the jet. I’m directed to the middle, turned around, and eased down into the soft plumpness. I keep quiet and resist the urge to bolt as Jesse secures my seatbelt and takes a seat opposite me. He immediately lifts my feet to his lap.

“Champagne, sir?” Perfect lady is back, and I spy her beaming at my god, but I’m too busy gathering my pathetic anxiousness to trample.

“Just water,” Jesse answers shortly, with no smile, no acknowledgment, and no “please.” She beats a hasty retreat, and Jesse slips my ballet pumps from my feet, dropping them carelessly to the floor before getting comfy and repositioning my feet so they’re at a good angle for him to massage. “Okay?” he asks.

“Not really.” I wiggle my toes. “I haven’t got swollen feet yet, you know.”

His thumbs are working delicious, firm circles into the insteps of my feet. “Close your eyes and make yourself comfy, baby,” he orders tenderly, and I do. My eyes slowly shut, and the last image I see is of my god lovingly massaging my feet, trying to ease me out of my unwarranted fit of nervousness.

I let my mind shut down and drift into a semiconscious state of bliss. It’s not a difficult task to achieve when he’s touching me, even if it is just my feet. It’s the usual scenario of Jesse drawing all of my troubles out of me, whether it’s justified troubles or completely trivial, unnecessary troubles, like a sudden fear of flying. My subliminal state only barely notes that regardless of trivial or justified troubles, Jesse is the maker.

And then my mind moseys through all things Jesse-ish—the lace, the calla lilies, the peanut butter, the scorns for swearing—and I mentally smile. All of the various degrees of Jesse-style fuckings, the temper, the playfulness, the gentleness. I might really be smiling now. The handcuffs, the lace gag, the crucifix, the rowing machine, the Ava éclair. My heart has sped up. The dirty blond, the addictive, sludgy but bright eyes, the sculptured perfection, the one and two days’ worth of stubble. The way he flicks the collar up on his polo shirts, his various smiles—for women, for me, and now for my tummy, too. His fierceness, his protectiveness, his dominant ways. The way he walks and the way he tramples, and all of the ways in which he loves me, with unapologetic, raw adoration. The way I return that love.

I shift in my seat and in my subconscious, I hear his laugh. The soft, low one. Then I feel the wet warmth of his tongue on my toe. I smile, being snapped from all of my mental assessments of my beautiful husband. Then 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. 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?”

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.

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 and find the perfect woman hovering over us. “Welcome to Malaga, Mrs. Ward.” She blasts me with a part-of-the-job smile.

“Thank you.” I return her smile, although mine is weaker. 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 disheveled mop of dark blond. “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. “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?”