This Man(172)

The unwelcome invasion of moisture creeps into my eyes, and I fight real hard to prevent them from falling and ruining the moment. He continues to accept my reverent kiss, meeting my slow, sweeping tongue, stroke for stroke. I’m trying to tell him something with this kiss. I’m desperate for him to recognise it.

I love you!

He pulls back, breaking our kiss and frowns at me. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asks softly, his voice full of concern.

‘Nothing,’ I reply too quickly, mentally cursing my wretched hand for shifting on the back of his head. He searches my eyes, and I relent on a sigh. ‘What is this?’ I ask. He’s still moving slowly inside me.

‘What’s what?’ The confusion in his voice is quite clear. I kick myself for opening my big mouth.

‘I mean me and you.’ I feel stupid all of a sudden, wanting to retreat under the covers.

His eyes soften and he swivels his hips slowly. ‘This is just you and me.’ he says simply, like it really is that simple. He kisses me gently, releasing my leg. ‘Are you okay?’

No, I’m shit! ‘Fine,’ I reply, more harshly than I intended. Is the man so thick skinned that he can’t see a woman in love when she’s lying underneath him?

You and me, me and you, that much is bloody obvious. I don’t see anyone else in bed with us. I wriggle a little underneath him, and he narrows his sludgy eyes on me.

‘I need a wee.’ I say in the most convincing I’m-not-pissed tone. I fail miserably.

He latches onto his bottom lip, eyeing me suspiciously, but he pulls out, reluctantly freeing me from beneath him. I reach around to unclasp my bra before I make my way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

Why can’t I just say it? I need to rid my mouth of the words that are causing me so much bloody agony. I mentally slap my sorry arse around the luxurious bathroom and flush my head down the toilet before I go for a wee. I’m such a loser. He must know how I feel. I drop to the feet of this man like a slave, giving my mind and body up to him at the drop of a hat. I don’t believe, not for a moment, that he doesn’t recognise all these signs.

I finish up, presenting my naked form to the mirror. I stare at my reflection. My deep brown eyes are bright again, my olive skin fresh and clear. I brace my hands on the vanity unit, letting out a long sigh. This is not where I planned to be, but I’m here. I’ve been ram-raided in every sense of the word by this man, and I’m skirting precariously close to a broken heart. The thought of my life without him in it… I reach up and rub my chest. The very thought has my heart constricting. Even with all of his challenging ways, I’m hopelessly in love with him – it just is.

I jump when the door opens and he strolls in, all naked and stunningly glorious. He positions himself behind me, resting his hands on my waist, his chin on my shoulder. Our eyes lock together for the longest time.

‘I thought we made friends?’ he questions on a slight pucker of his beautiful brow.

‘We did.’ I shrug. I had expected far more retribution than what I just received. Yes, he shredded the taboo dress, but all things considered, he’s been quite reasonable today. It’s quite funny that I can play down a clothes massacre as quite reasonable.

‘Then, why are you sulking?’

Because you’re thick skinned! ‘I’m not sulking.’ I say oversensitively. It’s bloody obvious that I am.

He shakes his head on a long tired sigh. What has he got to be tired about? He circles his hips against my lower back. He’s hard again. He’s going to distract me from my sulks with his unreasonable, sexual manipulation. I know it.

‘Ava, you’re the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met.’ he grumbles.

My eyes widen at his cheek. He thinks I’m frustrating? His mouth clamps onto my neck, penetrating me with heat.

‘Are you holding out on me for a reason, lady?’

‘No.’ I breathe. What’s he talking about? I never hold out on him. I give myself up to him, unreservedly and willing, every time. A little gentle persuasion is sometimes required, but he gets what he wants in the end. Holding out?

He reaches down and slowly starts rubbing his palm, up and down, between my thighs. It’s the perfect amount of friction at the perfect tempo. I hold his eyes in the mirror. Fucking hell, I’m gagging for him again. I drop my head back, giving him perfect access to my neck, his tongue working a firm, heavy trail up the column of my throat, circling at the sensitive hollow under my ear.

‘You want it again?’ he teases in my ear as he works my core.

‘I need you.’

‘Baby, those words make me so happy. Always?’