This Man Confessed (28 page)

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?”

“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 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’s suddenly well aware that his possession over my body is going to be curbed. I return to my dinner, delighting in this revelation. “They’ll need a lot of my attention.”

He points his fork at me. Not his knife, but his fork. “Yes, your 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 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.”

“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. 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. He’s in a trampling mood, his sudden realization of how he might be sidelined sparking his animal instinct to stake his claim. He’s like a lion.

“What?” he asks. “You’re used to it.”

He’s fully aware that I’ll never get used to it. 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?

My current position and the relentless beat between my thighs isn’t 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 Armanis. 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 slips his thumb into the waistband of his boxers.

I catch a glimpse of his dark blond 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 once. 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, so I open my eyes to be met by his stomach from where he’s dropped a hand by my head and is leaning over me. Glancing up to find his face, I know what look I’ll see; I know it’ll drive me insane with lust. And I know that I’ll be able to do fuck all about it. But I still look anyway.

And there it is. My Lord, braced on one stupidly solid arm, his obscenely addictive eyes dropped low, his sickeningly 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 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 while he gently thrusts forward, slowly, 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.

Biting down gently midway up his steel length, the telltale signs of a regular throb, accompanied by the tensing of his legs, which are securing my arms, give me all the prompt I need. My licks and strokes become more forceful, ignoring his demand to keep it gentle. He’s going to come. I moan around him, he bucks on a round of explicit language, but then he’s not in my mouth anymore. He pushes himself up to his knees, fists his swollen cock, and watches me with parted lips as he finishes. I’m annoyed, but one of my favorite mental images of all time is being refreshed—the erotic, extraordinary vision of Jesse working himself to climax, but this time it’s better because he has just reached up and swept his wet hair from his face, trailing his hand through his dirty blond mass, ripping the muscles of his chest further. I nearly choke with satisfaction. Given a few more moments, I think I’d orgasm just watching this. Holy shit, he looks divine.

“Jesus!” he barks, resting back on his heels and yanking my top and bra down before positioning his erection between my breasts and spilling his seed all over my chest. He pants, sweating and wet, rolling himself around, spreading himself everywhere.

Marked.

“Wherever, whenever, baby,” he puffs out, leaning down and hitting me with a forceful attack of his lips. I accept this willingly, too, letting him continue to take whatever he wants. “Fucking perfect.”

“Hmmm,” I hum. It was perfect.
He
is perfect.

“Come here.” He sits up, rearranges my bra and top before standing and lifting me. He carries me to the table, puts me on my chair, and points at my plate. “Finish your dinner.”

“I didn’t throw up,” I say, almost proudly.

“Well done.”

“Why didn’t you come in my mouth?” I ask, as he buttons up his fly.

His serious face falters, but only a little. Taking his seat, he nods at my knife and fork in a silent instruction, and then takes his own. “Might poison the babies.”

If I had a mouthful of lamb, I’d choke, but instead I splutter all over the place in a helpless fit of laughter. “What?” I giggle.

He doesn’t repeat himself. He just winks, and I fall in love that little bit more. “Eat your dinner, lady.”

 Grinning at my plate, I resume my meal, utterly satisfied, despite my lack of orgasm. I’m still bubbling slightly, but I’m not concerned. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m bingeing.”

“You’re keeping me locked up in Paradise all weekend?” I don’t mind, but it would be nice to go for a walk, perhaps, or maybe even dinner.

“I wasn’t going to, but locks can be arranged.” He slips his fork into his mouth and pulls off a piece of stuffed pepper slowly as he looks at me with raised eyebrows. I’m putting ideas in his head.

There’s no comeback from me. I just widen my grin, consumed with happiness as I continue my attempts to finish my meal.

“God, I love that fucking grin. Show me,” he demands.

I’m not grinning now. I’m smiling properly, and he blesses me with his one reserved only for me, twinkling eyes and all. “Happy?” I ask.

“Fucking delirious.”

I
know I’m smiling in my sleep.

Opening my eyes, the first thing I see is a ginger biscuit, some folic acid, and a glass of water. I smile, collecting the pills and swallowing before munching my way through the biscuit. I shuffle to the edge of the bed and don’t bother with underwear or clothes. We’re alone on a deserted beach, and I haven’t forgotten his demand for me to come down to breakfast just like this every morning. I take my naked form out into the main part of the villa to find my Lord, but after a few moments of searching, no Lord. I notice the voile at the doors of the living area are flapping as the light wind gusts through, so I fight my way through the mass of moving material until I’m on the wooden veranda and taking a deep inhale of fresh air. Perfect. It’s early because the sun is low, but the heat is intense, only slightly weakened by the breeze, which is whipping my hair all over my face. I fight to secure it in a loose, messy knot and once my vision is clear, I see him in the distance. He’s running, and he’s running in loose shorts, no T-shirt, and no trainers. I lean on the wooden balustrade and happily watch him get closer and closer, his muscular frame shimmering under the morning sun. He could be a mirage.

“Morning,” I chirp when he’s a few yards away, sweating and actually a little out of breath. This is unusual. He’s a robot when running, never displaying any signs of fatigue or overexertion.

He grabs a towel that’s draped over a railing and starts rubbing himself on a smile. “Good morning, indeed.” His eyes travel down my nakedness, which is only slightly concealed by the posts that I’m standing behind. “How do you feel?”

I have a quick think and do a bodily assessment, concluding that I feel perfect. I don’t feel sick at all. “Fine.”

“Good.” He approaches the pavilion and looks up at me. “Give me a kiss.”

I lean over and peck his lips, his signature smell enhanced by the clean sweat riddling his body. “You’re soaked.”

“That’s because it’s fucking hot.” He pulls away. “Breakfast?” He asks it as a question, but he doesn’t mean it as a question. If I say no, then
without
question, I’d be growled at and possibly hauled in and force fed.

“I’ll make you breakfast.” I start walking across the veranda, toward our bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me.

“To put something on.”

“Hey!” he shouts, and I turn to see a face awash with disgust. “Get your naked arse in that kitchen, lady.”

“Excuse me?” I laugh.

“You heard.” He’s looking at me expectantly, daring me to defy him.

I look down at my bareness and sigh. He won’t be making such demands when I’m fit to burst. I’ll put him off his food, but for now, I’m comfortable in my skin and he’s clearly comfortable looking at it, so I retrace my steps and enter the villa, receiving a swift slap on my backside as I pass Jesse.

If
our
normal is me preparing and eating breakfast with both of us butt naked, then I love our normal. If
our
normal is taking three hours to get ready because neither one of us can keep our hands off each other, then I
really
love our normal. If
our
normal is me putting on a summer dress and being looked at like I’ve totally lost my mind, then I’m not so keen on our normal.

“Think again, lady.” He rummages through my clothes, cursing and scoffing to himself as he assesses and tosses each of my beach dresses aside. “You’ve done this on purpose.”

“It’s hot.” I laugh, standing in the center of the room in my lace.

“But Christ, Ava!” He holds up a strapless playsuit with
very
short shorts.

“You said I have great legs,” I argue.

“Yes, you have great fucking
everything
, but that doesn’t mean I want everyone to know it.” He chucks the playsuit aside and grabs a long, floaty black dress with spaghetti straps. “My eyes,” he affirms. “Just for my eyes.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snatch the dress from his hands. “You were fine with the gown at the anniversary party and my denim shorts.”

“I wasn’t fine at all. I made an exception, but I saw the way men were looking at you.”

“I see how women look at you!”

“Yes, and could you imagine how they’d look at me if I was prancing around half naked?” He nods at the dress. “You can wear that.”

“You’re often shirtless,” I point out. “You don’t see
me
rugby tackling
you
to the floor to conceal your body. Lighten up!”

“No!”

Our scowls are in competition, but his has definitely got the edge. “You’re unreasonable,” I spit out. “I’m wearing what I like.” I chuck the black dress at him and retrieve my dusky pink, halter-neck summer dress, stepping in and pulling it up my body.

“Why do you do this to me?” he asks impatiently.

“Because it’s unreasonable for you to think that you can dictate my wardrobe, that’s why.” I knot the dress behind my neck and smooth it down, ignoring the low, rumbling growl emanating from my unreasonable Lord. I’ll never back down on this element of
our
normal relationship. “It’s not so bad.”

“You’re too fucking beautiful.”

I smile and slip my feet into my flip-flops. “But I’m
your
beautiful girl, Jesse.”

“You are,” he replies quietly. “Mine.”

I take a calming breath and step into his chest. “No one will ever take me away from you.”

He sighs. “I know, but is it necessary to pick the tiniest dress on the fucking planet?”

I kiss his cheek. “You’re overexaggerating.”

“I don’t think I am,” he grumbles, pushing his freshly shaved cheek into my lips. “Can we compromise?” He squats and picks up a cardigan, and I start shaking my head.

“No way, Ward. I’ll pass out.”

Making a ridiculously over-the-top point of demonstrating his exasperation, he drops it and rises from his squatting position. “Fine, but I won’t be held accountable if some prick looks at you funny.”

Paradise just gets better. While letting Jesse have his way by keeping me locked up at the villa was really very tempting, I wanted to explore with him, walk along holding hands, have lunch, and be together. I know he’s taken pleasure from me in another way today. His arm around my shoulder has kept me snugly tucked into him and when we ate at a beach bar, he made me sit close to him so he could keep his contact.

It’s dusk by the time we’re bumping down the potholed road, back to the villa. The familiar fragrance hits my nose as we slip through the wooden gates and drive down the cobbled road beneath the canopy of green and white.

“Have you had a nice day?” he asks, shutting the engine off and looking at me almost hopefully.

“I have, thank you. Have you?”

“I’ve had the best day, baby. But now I get to pick what we do for the rest of the evening.” He unclips my belt and leans across to open the door for me. “Out.”

I follow through on his order, ejecting myself from the soft leather. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going to play a game.” He’s on my side of the car now, looking down at me with a crafty, raised brow.

“What sort of game?” I’m too curious, and it’s obvious.

“You’ll see.” My hand is grasped, and I’m led to the villa. “Meet me on the rug in the lounge,” he instructs, dropping a kiss on my bewildered face and leaving me like a loose part by the front door.

My frowning face watches his back disappear out of the room, and with little else to do except follow through on his instruction, I drop my bag and make my way over to the designated rug, sitting myself down in the soft, thick pile. My curious mind is racing, but not for long. He reappears shuffling a pack of cards.

“We’re playing cards?” I ask, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Yes.” His short, simple reply is an indication that we will, indeed, be playing cards, no matter how much I protest.

“Wouldn’t you rather binge on me?” I try temptress tactics, with little confidence. I know when I’m going to win, and now isn’t going to be one of those times.

He eyes me warily as he lowers his arse to the rug, leaning up against the back of the couch with his long legs spread at full length in front of him. “We’re playing strip poker.”

I’m promptly fidgeting in my seated position. “I don’t know how to play poker.” I’ll lose, but is that such a bad thing? “It won’t be a fair game if I don’t know how to play.” I decide that it will be a bad thing. He’s smug, and I want to wipe that cocky look clean from his face. My competitive side races to the surface.

“Okay,” he says slowly, shuffling carefully to match his thoughtful word. “How about pontoon?” He must catch my confused face because he smiles a little. “Twenty-one? Stick, twist, burn?”

I look at him blankly. “Nope, sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I stretch my legs out and lean back on my hands. “Snap?”

He laughs, that head thrown back, fanning temples laugh—the one I adore. “Snap?”

“Yes, I’m really fast.”

“Ava, let’s save Snap for when the babies arrive.” He chuckles to himself and deals us two cards each. “Okay, I’m the banker and you need to take a look at your cards.”

I shrug and pick them up, noting a ten and a six. “Okay.”

“What do you have?”

“I’m not telling you!”

He rolls his eyes. “We’ll call this a trial run. Tell me what you have.”

I hold my cards to my chest. “A ten and a six,” I say suspiciously.

“Sixteen, then?”

“You add them together?”

He’s going to regret this. He might be already. “Yes, you add them together.”

“Right. In that case, I have sixteen.” I flash him my cards.

He nods his acknowledgment. “So the winner’s the one who is the closest to twenty-one when all players have made their move.”

“What moves?” I restrain my grin when he flops his head back, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation.

“The moves I’m about to explain, Ava.”

“Oh, okay. Explain away.”

His head comes back down and he blows out a tired breath. I bet he’s wishing he had opted for bingeing. “Right. You have sixteen and you need to get as close to twenty-one as possible, without going bust. Bust means over twenty-one. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. With a total of sixteen, you should twist, which means I deal you another card. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He pushes another card toward me, and I pick it up stealthily, like he doesn’t already know what I’m holding in my hand. “What have you got?” he asks.

“A king.” I’m not a card genius, but I know that makes me bust. I throw my cards on the floor. “I didn’t want to twist.”

“You can’t stick on sixteen, Ava.”

“But at least I wouldn’t be bust!”

“No, but it’s likely I’ll beat sixteen, so you may as well risk it.” He turns his own cards over, revealing a jack and a queen.

“Twenty,” I confirm quickly.

“Correct. And I’ll stick, so I win.” He gathers the cards back up and starts shuffling them again. “Get it?”

“Oh, I’m gonna whoop your arse, Ward.” I rub my hands together and make myself comfortable.

He smiles at my competitiveness, probably thinking that I’m deluded. After all, Jesse Ward is amazing at everything. “We need to talk about stakes, baby.”

“I’m not hungry, thank you. You’ve fed me enough today.”

His head falls back again as he laughs really hard. I’m trying to keep a serious face, but I so love him when he laughs. “I mean what we’re playing for.” His green eyes land on me. “God, I fucking love you.”

“I know. What are we playing for?” I’m liking this game more and more.

“How many items of clothing do you have on?” His eyes run the full length of my body, as if he’s mentally working it out.

Playing cards doesn’t seem so bad now. “Three. Dress, bra, and knickers.”

“I have two.” He pulls at his T-shirt and his shorts.

“What about your boxers?”

“Obstruction,” he flips casually, dealing us two cards each. I absolutely know where this is going. No obstructions. “The first one naked loses.” He grins at me. “The winner takes the power. I’m being reasonable.”

I gasp and snatch my cards up carefully, holding them close to my face. He’s as confident as ever, giving me an extra item of clothing. “There is nothing reasonable about bargaining for the power in our relationship.” I glance down at my cards, seeing two sevens. “I’ll twist.”

He slides a card over to me, maintaining his grin. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” I reply politely, pulling my card from the floor and placing it with my others. It’s an eight. I dramatically huff and toss them between us. “Bust,” I grumble.

He smiles and turns his own cards over, revealing a jack and a nine. “I think I’ll stick,” he muses. “You lose.”

I shake my head as I watch him put the cards down and slowly crawl over to me, his eyes burning into mine with rapt intention. My heartbeat is quickening at the sight of his prowling frame, and when he’s up close, he slowly raises his hands to the back of my neck. “Let’s lose the dress,” he whispers, pulling the straps free of the knot. “Up you get.”

I force myself to stand when all I want to do is collapse onto my back and let him take me right now. He can keep the power. I don’t want it. Ever. I watch with lust-filled eyes as he grasps the hem of my dress and lifts it up over my head, standing as he rises and chucking it onto the couch when it’s separated from my body.

Leaning into my ear, he bites my lobe. “Lace,” he murmurs, blowing a soft stream of hot air onto my skin. I tense, despite my best efforts not to, and just like that, he leaves me standing like a built-up bag of desire and resumes position on his arse. “Sit.”

I close my eyes and collect my senses. I need to be strong because this really is a game to him. I sit back down in my lace and like the complete temptress I am, I spread my legs wide and lean back on my hands. “Deal again, Lord.”

The knowing smile that creeps across his handsome face indicates his awareness. His temptress is living up to her reputation. He deals the cards. I cautiously look, and then immediately declare my intention to stick. He nods thoughtfully and turns his own cards over. He has a nine and a queen. “Stick.” He looks at me, and I grin, chucking my two kings down cockily before making my way over on my hands and knees.