This Man Confessed (7 page)

“Deal,” I agree, but he better be set for some hard action. I’m not feeling like softly, softly.

My attention moves to the concierge desk when Jesse stops abruptly and his eyes widen.

My eyes widen slightly, too. Standing behind the desk with a phone to his ear is a man—and it’s not Clive. It most certainly is
not
Clive. I purse my lips and grin to myself. Oh, this is going to provoke some serious possessive, trampling-like behavior. I remain silent as I assess the situation. It doesn’t take much assessing, though. Jesse is standing in the middle of the foyer, the new concierge is still speaking on the phone, and they are both staring at each other. The new concierge’s eyes fall on me, and I almost laugh when I hear a growl emanate from Jesse. Oh good Lord, this poor man is going to get trampled to within an inch of his life. I firm up my grip on Jesse’s shoulders and wait for him to take the initiative and walk on, but he’s rooted to the spot.

“Where’s Clive?” he asks the new guy, disregarding his phone conversation. I wriggle a little to try and free myself, but Jesse flips me a glare and tightens his hold. “Stay where you are, lady.”

“You’re behaving like a caveman.”

“Shut up, Ava.” He returns burning greens of displeasure back to the poor, young concierge, who has since ended his call. “Clive,” Jesse prompts shortly.

The new concierge steps out from behind the desk, and I can’t help it when my eyes naturally run the full length of him. He’s cute. His blond hair is neatly trimmed, his brown eyes are happy, and his tall frame is lean. He’s nowhere near Jesse’s league, but he’s still a bloke and that makes him a threat—in Jesse’s world.

“I’ll be working alongside Clive, sir,” he says warily as he walks forward and puts his hand out. “I’m Casey, sir. I look forward to assisting you with anything you may…well, need assistance with.” He shifts awkwardly.

I wriggle again to free myself, feeling like a complete idiot locked in my possessive Lord’s grasp while the new concierge introduces himself. He seems sweet and sincere enough, but Jesse isn’t letting me go.

“Mr. Ward,” Jesse says shortly, ignoring Casey’s outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you, Casey. I’m Ava.” I put my hand out to him, but Jesse steps back. Oh, for the love of God! I look at him, noting his eyes planted firmly on the young man in front of us. He’s being ridiculous. I force myself from his grip with some effort and step forward, offering my hand again. “Welcome to Lusso, Casey.” I smile and he takes my hand, shaking it mildly. The poor guy won’t come back if I don’t intervene. Clive has been here nonstop since the residents moved in. He’s no spring chicken. He needs the relief.

“Thank you, Ava,” He smiles, and it’s a cute smile, but I don’t miss the cautious look he directs over my shoulder. “Oh, you’re in the penthouse?”

“Yes, that’s us.”

“Maintenance called to say your new front door has arrived from Italy.”

“That’s great, thank you.”

“Have maintenance fit it without delay,” Jesse snorts.

“Already done, sir.” Casey smiles proudly, grabbing some keys from his desk and holding them up.

Jesse swipes them from the poor guy’s hand before virtually throwing his car keys at him. “Bring the cases up.” I’m pulled toward the elevator in an amused daze, and as I knew I would be, I’m pushed inside and thrust up against the mirrored wall. “He fancies you,” Jesse growls.

“You think everyone fancies me.”

“You’re mine.” He slams our lips together and takes me fiercely, pushing me up the wall with the pressure of his body. I’m delighted. This is not gentle Jesse. This is powerful, forceful, dominant Jesse, and I’m bracing myself for a fuck to make up for all those I’ve been missing out on. I throw my arms around his shoulders and tackle him with as much force—probably more.

“I’m yours,” I pant between hard lashes of his tongue.

“You don’t need to reassure me.” His hand feels up my leg and cups me harshly, triggering hot wetness to invade me and an excited thud to attack my core. I really need this. His finger slips past the seam of my lace. “Wet,” he purrs into my mouth. “Just for me. Understand?”

“I understand.” My muscles grip his finger as he enters me. “More.” I beg unashamedly. I need more.

He separates our mouths and withdraws his finger, reentering with two. He pushes hard and high. “Like that, Ava?”

My head falls back against the mirror, my mouth gaped, my eyes closed. “Just like that.”

“Or would you prefer my cock slamming into you?” His voice is carnal and a massive surprise, given his delicate approach to my body in recent weeks. If this is the effect that Casey will have on my Lord, then I hope he stays forever. I’m being claimed and reminded of who I belong to—not that I ever need a reminder, but I’ll always take it. I drop my head and find his greens, then reach forward and slip the buttons of his fly free, before sliding my hand into his boxers and wrapping my palm around his hot, throbbing cock. He pulls in a short breath. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I want this.” I squeeze his base and draw a long stroke to the tip. He sweeps one last circle with his fingers before removing them and lifting me to his body, my legs wrapping around his waist, my hands seeking out his nape.

“I knew you were a sensible girl.” The elevator doors open, I’m carried out into the penthouse foyer, where the door is opened without delay, and we’re quickly on our way upstairs to the master suite. “You make me a desperate fucking mess, Ava.” I’m placed on the edge of the bed and my dress is pulled up over my head quickly before he yanks his T-shirt off, kicks his Converse to the side, and pushes his jeans down his legs, taking his white boxers with them. He really is desperate, and I’m all the more delighted for it. He’s going to fuck me.

I’m pushed back onto the bed and my knickers are pulled down my legs, my bra disposed of just as quickly. He’s working fast, but it’s still not quick enough. My impatience is my undoing—that and his glorious nakedness looming over me. I need to touch him. I sit up and slide my hands around his solid arse and pull him forward so he’s standing between my spread thighs, his lower stomach at my eye level. Placing my lips gently over his abdomen, I trail kisses across to his scar, but it doesn’t make me wince anymore. It’s a massive imperfection, a mar on his beautiful body, but it makes him all the more perfect to me. My perfect imperfect Adonis. My God. My husband.

I feel his fingers thread through my hair, and my eyes creep up the firmness of his abs, then his chest, until I’m staring into green eyes filled with…love. Not hunger or carnal want—it’s love.

He’s not going to fuck me. He’s going to make sweet love, and he does it so well, but I’m desperate for his ferocity, desperate for him to stop treating me like I’m breakable. My hands flow back down his torso until my palms are resting on the edges of his perfect V. I lean in and kiss his stomach again before working my way up, standing as I go until I’m feeling his neck out and pulling him down to meet my lips. I lift myself gracefully to his body and link my legs around his waist as he accepts my demand for mouth contact.

Heavy mouth contact.

Indulgent mouth contact.

All-consuming mouth contact.

He doesn’t lower me to the bed. He walks me into the bathroom and straddles the chaise longue, standing me over him. He looks up at me. “We need to make friends.” I’m yanked down and our mouths crash together. “Mine,” he says around our lips’ relentless colliding and tongue battling.

I pull at his hair, trying to draw out his animalistic traits. He knows what I want and need right now. He damn well knows it, and he’s going to give it to me.

“My girl wants it hard.” He breaks away, and I’m the one growling this time. He stares up at me, panting and sweating. He wants to give it to me as well; I can see it in the glaze of his green stare. They’re smoking out, darkening with desperation.

I’m gently tugged down as he holds himself upright, ready to enter me, but I stiffen, preventing him from seizing me. I might be desperate for him, but I still have to maintain my sensibility, just like I’ve done over the past few weeks. He’s not wearing a condom, and judging by the sharper tug on my arm, he knows exactly why I’m holding back.

“Jesse.” My breathlessness is completely giving away my pent-up lust.

“Ava, I’m taking you now, and you’re not going to stop me with trivial fucking requests.” He yanks me down and seals our lips, working into my mouth with deadly determination. I don’t try to resist, and I really don’t want to. This might be the hard fuck I’ve been waiting for.

He keeps our mouths locked, and then levels himself up and slides straight in. My legs naturally snake around his waist and lock at the ankles, pulling us closer together.

“Oh Jesus.” He pants against my mouth. “Fucking perfect.”

It does feel perfect. I’m swiftly reminded of the perfection that is no barrier between us. Just flesh on flesh. Me on him. I’m gasping into his shoulder and digging my nails into his biceps.

“Move,” I demand. “Please move.”

“In time, baby. Just let me feel you for a moment.” He takes my hands and guides them around the back of his neck where my fingers naturally feel out his hair and tug gently. Then his big hands slowly skate down my sides, over my breasts, and onto my waist. He holds me still. The only sounds in the air around us are our strained breaths. They are heavy and desperate.

Tightening his grip on my waist, he lifts me on a deep moan before letting me slide gently back down onto him. My eyes close in pure, comforted bliss, and I gasp, removing my hands from his hair so I can get them onto the firm warmth of his chest. I marvel at his solid, bunched muscles, just flawless hardness before me, screaming to be touched, begging me to feel his perfection. My insatiable hands wander all over him as I’m lifted from his body again and grinded down, slowly and meticulously.

“Don’t try to tell me it doesn’t feel right,” he moans. “Don’t try to tell me this isn’t how we’re supposed to be.” He works me, circling his groin firmly. “Not ever.”

“Don’t come inside me.” I might be overwhelmed by his potency, but a small part of me is still aware of what I’m doing.

“Don’t tell me what to do with your body, Ava. Kiss me.”

I’m blinded by his carnal words and his claim over me, my body refusing to deny him. He’s holding the power, and he knows it. My mouth drops to his and my body presses into him, a clear invitation to take me how he pleases. His head tilts back to maintain our mouth contact as I’m raised again and plunged back onto him. I groan into his mouth—a low, alluring message of submittal. I’m not thinking straight. My mind is scrambled by his energy, the painfully accurate momentum and strikes of his hips, sending me into delirious indulgence.

I hum as I’m slowly and easily lifted, time and time again. The pressure of him pushing into the deepest part of me is pleasure embodied.

“You feel so good,” I pant. “Jesse, fuck me.” I need this harder.

“Mouth, Ava,” he warns me. “Just like this. We stay just like this.” His eyes clench shut. He’s being too gentle with me. I need shock and awe. I need him to take me hard. It has been like this for weeks. And I know why.

“Why are you being so gentle with me?” I nuzzle into his neck, sucking and biting at him.

“Sleepy sex,” he moans.

“I don’t want sleepy sex.” That won’t have the desired effect. Yes, I’ll come, I’ll moan in pleasure and shake all over him, but I need to scream a release. I need scrubbing, not dabbing. “Fuck me, Jesse.”

He sucks in a sharp breath as I force myself down, hard. “Mouth, Ava. Jesus!”

“Yes!” I lift and smash back down.

“Ava!” He holds me still above him. “No, damn it.”

I can feel him throbbing inside me, his heaving chest pushing against my torso. I’m panting into his neck, my fists clenched in his hair. I tighten my grasp. “Stop treating me like glass.”

“You are glass to me, baby. Delicate.”

“But I’m not breakable. I wasn’t two weeks ago, and I’m not now.” I try to lift myself. I need movement, but he’s got a harsh hold on me. This is another reason why I hope to God I’m not pregnant. I can’t stand this. I pull out of his neck and look into his eyes. “Hard. I need you hard.”

He shakes his head. “Sleepy.”

“Why?” I ask. Will he admit to what I already know?

“Because I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers.

I try to keep ahold of my temper. Doesn’t want to hurt me, or doesn’t want to hurt his baby, who may not even exist? “You won’t.” I feel him relax slightly, so I take the opportunity to whip myself up and right back down on a sharp, satisfied shout. He shouts, too. I know he wants to smash into me, wants to take me hard, rule me, and indulge me, but he won’t and it’s driving me fucking insane.

“Fuck!” he yelps. “Fucking hell, Ava! No!”

“Do it.” I grasp his face and take his mouth hungrily. If I keep on, I’ll have him. “Own me,” I demand, skating my lips across his cheek.

He catches them as they pass his mouth again, and his tongue enters, frantic and rushed. I’ve nearly got him.

I wickedly rise and collide with him again, prompting a sharp bark. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Tell me it feels good.”

“Jesus, Ava. Please don’t.”

Up and down I go, harder, heavier. I’m driving him crazy, and I know he wants this because he could easily stop my teasing moves. “I need you.”

Those words are his undoing, as I knew they would be. He releases a frustrated yell and takes over my movements, squeezing my waist and wrenching me up and down on him. “Like that,” he shouts, almost angry, and I know it’s because he can’t resist me.

“Yes!” I scream.

He’s suddenly standing, my legs still wrapped around his waist as he walks across the bathroom and thrusts me up against the wall. “You want it hard, baby?”

“Fuck me!” I shout, frenziedly, tightening my legs and moving my hands to his dark blond mass of hair.

“Damn it, Ava. Stop swearing!” He withdraws and hammers back in, over and over, my screams of satisfaction ringing through the air. “Better?” he grunts, hitting me hard and deep. “You wanted it, Ava. Is that fucking better?” He’s really mad.