This Man Confessed
Page 52
I turn to face Jesse. ‘You did this?’
He shuts the door quietly. ‘I gave someone your drawing and told them to create it. Is it close?’
‘It is. When?’ I ask.
‘It doesn’t matter when. What matters is if you like it.’ He’s trying to gage my reaction, looking a little cautious and maybe even a little nervous, too.
‘It’s perfect.’
He was nervous because he has just visibly relaxed. ‘It’s ours.’
My eyes widen a little. ‘Ours?’ What does he mean by that? Does he want us to live here? I’m not living here.
He must catch the worry on my face because he smiles mildly. ‘No one has ever been in this room and no one ever will be. This is our room. If I’m working and you’re with me, maybe you’ll want a sleep or some rest.’
‘You mean when I have swollen ankles or exhaustion from carrying too much weight?’ I’m suddenly contemplating the awful thought that we’re having a baby, we are starting a family, and The Manor will be a huge feature and presence in our lives. My baby’s daddy owns a sex club. Once I have this baby, I’ll never want to bring it here, and with Jesse working I’ll hardly see him. He’ll hardly see us. The terrifying, unsure feelings are still lying dormant, and with this sudden realisation, they are threatening to rear their ugly head and send me back a few paces. He’ll never sell this place. He’s already confirmed that. It was Carmichael’s baby.
‘I mean, if we need it, it will be here.’ he says quietly.
I don’t want to need it. If we were never here, then we wouldn’t need it. I don’t say that, though. He’s gone to all of this trouble for me, so instead, I break my eyes away from Jesse’s thoughtful greens and cast them around the pale gold walls. There’s no wall art, no pictures or decorative pieces.
Except the cross.
My eyes remained fixed on the giant, dark wooden crucifix, and I notice at each end of the horizontal piece of wood spanning two thirds of the way up, there are manacles—shiny, gold, intricately carved pieces of mental bolted to the far edges to hold something in place.
To hold a person in place.
I slowly turn my eyes back to Jesse’s and find his are still on me, watching carefully, assessing my reaction to the piece of art. ‘Why is that in here?’ I ask quietly.
‘Because I had it put in here.’ He’s just as quiet, and his hands are draped loosely in his pockets, his legs slightly spread.
‘Why?’
‘I think it might… help.’ His eyes are smoking out, his lip being chewed.
Help? With what? Jesse is just standing there with rapt intention written all over that heart-stopping face, and it’s playing havoc with my vital signs. ‘What do we need help with?’ My voice is a husky murmur, full of want and longing.
All of those vital signs escalate further when he slowly starts walking towards me. ‘You want it hard.’ he says quietly, ‘and I’m not very comfortable with that when you’re carrying my baby.’ He removes his Grensons and socks, then slides his jacket off his shoulders and drapes it on the bed. ‘So I thought carefully and came up with the compromise fuck.’
My exhale falters in my throat and for some reason unbeknown to me, I step back. I don’t know why, I trust him, but I’m a little shocked by his obvious intention. ‘I don’t understand.’
He reaches up and pulls at his tie before slowly unfastening his shirt buttons. ‘You will.’ He leaves his shirt draping open, teasing my eyes with only a sliver of his flesh, and walks across the room, opening a cupboard door and fiddling with something. Then the whole room is swamped with a slow building hum of spiritual, tingle provoking music.
I go rigid. ‘What is this?’ I ask as he walks slowly back towards me, reaching my body and breathing down on me.
‘This is Amber, Sexual.’ he says gently. ‘Afterlife. Appropriate, don’t you think?’
I couldn’t agree more, but my mouth refuses to speak and tell him so.
‘It doesn’t always have to be hard, Ava. I hold the power, no matter how I take you.’ He pushes me back gently until I’m positioned in front of the cross. ‘It’s not the hard you love, anyway. It’s me taking you so unapologetically.’ His voice is low and sure. It should be. He’s totally right. It’s the power he has over me, not just the power of his body.
‘You’ll never fuck any sense into me again?’ I ask, just as low, but not so sure.
His lips break into a concealed smile. ‘Will you defy me again?’
‘Probably,’ I breathe.
‘Then I’ve absolutely no doubt that I will, my temptress.’ He rests his finger under my chin and brings my face up to his. ‘If I want to fuck you hard and make you scream, then I will. If I want to make love to you, Ava, and make you purr, then I will.’ He places his lips gently over mine, and my eyes close, my breathing hitching quietly. ‘If I want to bind you on this cross, then I will.’ He reaches around my back and lazily draws the zipper of my dress down before pulling it away and lowering himself with it so I can step out. Working his way back up my body, he takes my hand and kisses my wedding ring. ‘And you are mine, so I’ll do what I like with you.’
My eyes are still closed, my head dropped low. My breathing is weak and shallow, too, and my ears are saturated by the sensual tones of the calm music. My flesh screams for his touch. However he wants to do it. However he wants to take me.
I feel my bra being removed, and the slow lift of my hand to meet the gold manacle. It clips into place and he kisses me again before slowly guiding my free hand to the other gold shackle.
I’m bound, spread on the cross and at his mercy. But I’m one hundred per cent safe, and I’m one hundred per cent comfortable.
‘Look at me, baby.’ he whispers, stroking my cheek.
My heavy lids lift and I’m crippled by dark green pools of pure love. ‘Tell me you’ve never done this before.’ It’s the only distracting thought running through my mind. The time I spent in the communal room never suggested this level of intensity or intimacy between two people. But my time was brief and even though what I witnessed was intense, it certainly never carried an element of love. We have that love.
Sliding his hand around the nape of my neck, he pulls me forward slightly so our faces are as close as can be without touching. ‘Never.’ His mouth meets mine tenderly, and I close my eyes, opening to his soft lips willingly, but not frenzied. I feel calm and serene as he leisurely works his tongue through my mouth, rolling, lapping and withdrawing before evenly plunging back inside to continue lazily seducing me. My lack of ability to hold him is not bothering me at all. He’s holding my neck firmly, kissing me like I’m glass, and I have no physical hold of him. His mouth is giving me everything I need. I have no desire to demand harsher contact. This is just perfect.
Trailing his mouth to my ear, he runs his tongue up the edge of my lobe, my cheek pushing into his jaw, his light stubble comforting and so familiar. I’m riddled with tingles, every scrap of my form buzzing to the erotic routine of his lips. And then they leave my ear and he pulls away. ‘Eyes, baby.’
I rip my eyes open with some determined effort and watch as he shrugs off his shirt, the revealing of slightly tanned, toned, smooth flesh attacking my eyes. My gaze drifts all over the hard vastness of his chest, over his pecs, over his abdomen, over his scar. The sight makes me shift in my heels and wish that I wasn’t bound at all. But I’m quickly distracted from my need to lay my hands on him when his belt is unfastened, along with his button and zipper, and he’s pushing his trousers down his robust thighs.
He shuts the door quietly. ‘I gave someone your drawing and told them to create it. Is it close?’
‘It is. When?’ I ask.
‘It doesn’t matter when. What matters is if you like it.’ He’s trying to gage my reaction, looking a little cautious and maybe even a little nervous, too.
‘It’s perfect.’
He was nervous because he has just visibly relaxed. ‘It’s ours.’
My eyes widen a little. ‘Ours?’ What does he mean by that? Does he want us to live here? I’m not living here.
He must catch the worry on my face because he smiles mildly. ‘No one has ever been in this room and no one ever will be. This is our room. If I’m working and you’re with me, maybe you’ll want a sleep or some rest.’
‘You mean when I have swollen ankles or exhaustion from carrying too much weight?’ I’m suddenly contemplating the awful thought that we’re having a baby, we are starting a family, and The Manor will be a huge feature and presence in our lives. My baby’s daddy owns a sex club. Once I have this baby, I’ll never want to bring it here, and with Jesse working I’ll hardly see him. He’ll hardly see us. The terrifying, unsure feelings are still lying dormant, and with this sudden realisation, they are threatening to rear their ugly head and send me back a few paces. He’ll never sell this place. He’s already confirmed that. It was Carmichael’s baby.
‘I mean, if we need it, it will be here.’ he says quietly.
I don’t want to need it. If we were never here, then we wouldn’t need it. I don’t say that, though. He’s gone to all of this trouble for me, so instead, I break my eyes away from Jesse’s thoughtful greens and cast them around the pale gold walls. There’s no wall art, no pictures or decorative pieces.
Except the cross.
My eyes remained fixed on the giant, dark wooden crucifix, and I notice at each end of the horizontal piece of wood spanning two thirds of the way up, there are manacles—shiny, gold, intricately carved pieces of mental bolted to the far edges to hold something in place.
To hold a person in place.
I slowly turn my eyes back to Jesse’s and find his are still on me, watching carefully, assessing my reaction to the piece of art. ‘Why is that in here?’ I ask quietly.
‘Because I had it put in here.’ He’s just as quiet, and his hands are draped loosely in his pockets, his legs slightly spread.
‘Why?’
‘I think it might… help.’ His eyes are smoking out, his lip being chewed.
Help? With what? Jesse is just standing there with rapt intention written all over that heart-stopping face, and it’s playing havoc with my vital signs. ‘What do we need help with?’ My voice is a husky murmur, full of want and longing.
All of those vital signs escalate further when he slowly starts walking towards me. ‘You want it hard.’ he says quietly, ‘and I’m not very comfortable with that when you’re carrying my baby.’ He removes his Grensons and socks, then slides his jacket off his shoulders and drapes it on the bed. ‘So I thought carefully and came up with the compromise fuck.’
My exhale falters in my throat and for some reason unbeknown to me, I step back. I don’t know why, I trust him, but I’m a little shocked by his obvious intention. ‘I don’t understand.’
He reaches up and pulls at his tie before slowly unfastening his shirt buttons. ‘You will.’ He leaves his shirt draping open, teasing my eyes with only a sliver of his flesh, and walks across the room, opening a cupboard door and fiddling with something. Then the whole room is swamped with a slow building hum of spiritual, tingle provoking music.
I go rigid. ‘What is this?’ I ask as he walks slowly back towards me, reaching my body and breathing down on me.
‘This is Amber, Sexual.’ he says gently. ‘Afterlife. Appropriate, don’t you think?’
I couldn’t agree more, but my mouth refuses to speak and tell him so.
‘It doesn’t always have to be hard, Ava. I hold the power, no matter how I take you.’ He pushes me back gently until I’m positioned in front of the cross. ‘It’s not the hard you love, anyway. It’s me taking you so unapologetically.’ His voice is low and sure. It should be. He’s totally right. It’s the power he has over me, not just the power of his body.
‘You’ll never fuck any sense into me again?’ I ask, just as low, but not so sure.
His lips break into a concealed smile. ‘Will you defy me again?’
‘Probably,’ I breathe.
‘Then I’ve absolutely no doubt that I will, my temptress.’ He rests his finger under my chin and brings my face up to his. ‘If I want to fuck you hard and make you scream, then I will. If I want to make love to you, Ava, and make you purr, then I will.’ He places his lips gently over mine, and my eyes close, my breathing hitching quietly. ‘If I want to bind you on this cross, then I will.’ He reaches around my back and lazily draws the zipper of my dress down before pulling it away and lowering himself with it so I can step out. Working his way back up my body, he takes my hand and kisses my wedding ring. ‘And you are mine, so I’ll do what I like with you.’
My eyes are still closed, my head dropped low. My breathing is weak and shallow, too, and my ears are saturated by the sensual tones of the calm music. My flesh screams for his touch. However he wants to do it. However he wants to take me.
I feel my bra being removed, and the slow lift of my hand to meet the gold manacle. It clips into place and he kisses me again before slowly guiding my free hand to the other gold shackle.
I’m bound, spread on the cross and at his mercy. But I’m one hundred per cent safe, and I’m one hundred per cent comfortable.
‘Look at me, baby.’ he whispers, stroking my cheek.
My heavy lids lift and I’m crippled by dark green pools of pure love. ‘Tell me you’ve never done this before.’ It’s the only distracting thought running through my mind. The time I spent in the communal room never suggested this level of intensity or intimacy between two people. But my time was brief and even though what I witnessed was intense, it certainly never carried an element of love. We have that love.
Sliding his hand around the nape of my neck, he pulls me forward slightly so our faces are as close as can be without touching. ‘Never.’ His mouth meets mine tenderly, and I close my eyes, opening to his soft lips willingly, but not frenzied. I feel calm and serene as he leisurely works his tongue through my mouth, rolling, lapping and withdrawing before evenly plunging back inside to continue lazily seducing me. My lack of ability to hold him is not bothering me at all. He’s holding my neck firmly, kissing me like I’m glass, and I have no physical hold of him. His mouth is giving me everything I need. I have no desire to demand harsher contact. This is just perfect.
Trailing his mouth to my ear, he runs his tongue up the edge of my lobe, my cheek pushing into his jaw, his light stubble comforting and so familiar. I’m riddled with tingles, every scrap of my form buzzing to the erotic routine of his lips. And then they leave my ear and he pulls away. ‘Eyes, baby.’
I rip my eyes open with some determined effort and watch as he shrugs off his shirt, the revealing of slightly tanned, toned, smooth flesh attacking my eyes. My gaze drifts all over the hard vastness of his chest, over his pecs, over his abdomen, over his scar. The sight makes me shift in my heels and wish that I wasn’t bound at all. But I’m quickly distracted from my need to lay my hands on him when his belt is unfastened, along with his button and zipper, and he’s pushing his trousers down his robust thighs.
