This Man(117)

I smile. ‘You’re going to have a seizure if you don’t calm down.’

He pauses with the drumming and looks at me, all smoky. ‘Ava, I’ve had a fucking seizure every day since I met you.’

‘You’re swearing a lot.’ I muse as the gates open and he pulls into the car park, fast and carelessly.

‘And you’re going to be screaming a lot,’ There is no humour in his tone. ‘Out.’ he orders.

I’ve no doubt I will be, but I do love it when he’s in these frenzies. I take my time getting out of the car, and when I’m finally vertical, I glance up and find he’s stood in front of me, with a very irked look on his face.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks incredulously at my leisurely pace.

I gaze around at the black night-time sky and down to the docks. ‘Do you fancy a walk?’

His mouth drops open. ‘Do I fancy a walk?’

‘Yes, it’s a lovely evening.’ I return my gaze to him, doing a rubbish job of hiding my smug smile.

‘No, Ava, I fancy fucking you until you beg me to stop.’ He bends, grabs me around the back of my thighs and hoists me over his shoulder, kicking shut the door of his ridiculously expensive car.

‘Jesse!’ My stomach catapults into my mouth at the swift movement. ‘I’ll walk!’

He starts striding into the foyer of Lusso. ‘Not fast enough. Good evening, Clive.’

I brace my hands on Jesse’s lower back, craning my head up to find Clive observing me draped over Jesse’s shoulder. What must he think of me? The last time I entered Lusso I was being carried too. ‘I’m not drunk!’ I yell, watching Clive disappear from sight as Jesse carries me into the elevator and punches the code in harshly. In my sassy state, I slide my hands beneath his jeans, onto his fantastic, tight arse, to feel the tense and swell of his muscles and smooth, warm skin as he strides out of the lift.

‘No fucking about. I want inside you now. You fuck about, I swear to God...’ He’s deadly serious.

‘You’re so romantic.’

‘We’ve got all the time in the world for romance, lady.’

Have we?

He barges into the penthouse, slamming the door behind him. I’m a touch disorientated when he lowers me to my feet in the kitchen. I stand before him, my hands resting on his shoulders, trying to get my bearings.

‘You know, you’re really not going to be in a fit state to work tomorrow.’ His hot breath is leaving condensation on my face. ‘Strip, now.’

I’m shaking – visibly shaking. I demand my hands to remove themselves from his shoulders, but they’re having none of it. I try to pull myself together, but it’s impossible when he’s looking at me like that. I feel his hands lay over mine and peel them away from his shoulders. He places them on my stomach.

‘Start with the shirt.’ His voice is throaty, tinged with a bit of desperation.

I can do this; I can be audacious. ‘So, am I in charge?’ I ask, inwardly bracing myself for his scoff.

It doesn’t come. He looks at me, the slight surprise at my question clear, but he doesn’t laugh. He can’t be in control all of the time.

‘If it makes you happy,’ He unclasps his Rolex and slides it onto the island.

Oh, it does. I give myself a mental pep talk. I can do this, I can do this. I take a deep breath and, staring him boldly in the eye, raise my hands to my top button, willing my fingers to co-operate. Every button I undo, his face strains harder, and I become bolder. If this isn’t fucking about, then I don’t know what is.

I release my shirt, letting it hang open, and watch as he scrapes his eyes down my torso, his tongue running across his parted bottom lip. Liking this response I’m getting, I take my hands to my shoulders and pull my shirt away, accentuating the slow push forward of my breasts when I lower it down my arms. Like the wanton sex fiend that I am, I hold it out to my side for a few seconds while his eyes travel back up my body. Then, when our eyes meet again, I dramatically open my palm and let it fall to the floor, leaving my arm outstretched and hovering at my side for a few seconds. His eyes are blazing, his forehead damp. Oh, I’m really doing this well.

‘I love you in lace.’ he whispers.

I smile. I’m really into my stride now. I lower my steady hands to the fly of my trousers and lazily undo one button at a time as he watches. His panting is increasing by the second, and the drain on his self-control has him chewing his lip to the point of drawing blood.

Once all the buttons are undone and my trousers are gaping open, I stand with my hands tucked in the front, ready to drag them down my legs, but I don’t. I’m too enthralled by his reaction to my shameless strip. I like this role reversal.