This Man Confessed / Page 52

Page 52


Author: Jodi Ellen Malpas


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‘Sure,’ he says quietly, maybe thinking that he’s gone a bit over-the-top, I don’t know, but his withdrawn mood and my scorned state have formed a clear tension.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


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