‘You wanted it, Ava. Don’t f**king complain.’ He bangs into me again, harder still. He’s releasing all of the pent up, animalistic power he’s been suppressing for way too long. He’s really lost control, and a small part of me is wondering if he’s doing this on purpose—trying to shock me or scare me back into the realms of sleepy sex. He’s going to fail miserably if that’s his plan. My body needs this. I need this.
I drag my twisted mind back to now and focus on meeting his power with acceptance. I accept all of it, the violent accumulation of pressure in my belly working its way straight to my core, ready for detonation. This is going to blow my brain clean out of my head.
‘Harder!’ I shout, grasping at the sheets.
‘Ava!’ His fingers flex on my hips and clamp down, the unforgiving hold on my sensitive area not bothering me in the slightest. I’m too busy concentrating on the body splitting orgasm that’s looming.
And then it hits me, taking me by surprise again and sending me out of this world on pleasure. I scream. He yells. Then I collapse on the bed, Jesse following me down, his leanness completely covering me. His breathing is harsh in my ear and our sweat ridden bodies are flush and heaving severely. I feel completely replete. I’m utterly exhausted, but I feel so much better. It feels like us again.
He groans, his groin circling deeply, the fire of his release heating me and putting me back together again. I’ve missed it. ‘Thank you.’ I pant, closing my eyes and finding immense comfort in his strong, frantic heartbeat clattering against my back. I can’t even muster up the strength to be concerned that he has just come inside me. Not that it really matters.
He doesn’t say anything. The only sound in the colossal master suite is our collective, erratic breathing. It’s loud, it’s heavy and it’s satisfied. But then he breaks away from me, and the absence of his warmth coating my body makes me immediately turn over to see what he’s doing. He’s walking away, his hands clenching his head, as I watch his naked back disappear into the bathroom. I’m still fighting to get my heartbeat steady and my breathing paced, but instead of feeling sated and blissful, I feel uncertain and guilty. I’ve made him lose his restraint. I’ve pushed him, tempted him and sent him over the edge of self-control, and now, even though I got my way, I feel guilt-ridden. He’s been struggling to rein in his command over my body, although why is what I should be worried about. Not the fact he has, but why he has. I know why he has, and that should eradicate any guilt, but it doesn’t. I’ve accepted that I’ll never completely understand him. I’ve accepted all of his flaws and challenging ways. They are all part of the man I love deeply—the man I share a connection with that is so potent, it’s sent us both crazy. We share an intensity that cripples us both.
He appears in the bathroom doorway, still naked, still wet and with his chest still rising and falling noticeably. I’m staring at him. He’s staring at me.
Sitting up and pulling my knees to my chest, I feel small and awkward. It shouldn’t be like this between us.
‘I’ve been taking your pills.’ His jaw ticks and his neck muscles bulge.
The words, spoken with no remorse or regret, widen my eyes and straighten my back. His face is expressionless, and even though I knew, I’m shocked. Hearing him say it aloud, confessing to it, is increasing my already speeding heart rate.
‘I said I’ve been taking your pills.’ He sounds angry.
This can’t be ignored any longer. I can feel the dormant anger sizzling inside of me, pushing me to release it. My period is due tomorrow, and I’m certain it’s not going to arrive. This man, my crazy husband, has just completely and unashamedly confessed to stealing my birth control pills, and now my denial is converting into blood boiling fury.
‘Ava, for f**k sake, woman!’ His hands fly to his head in frustration. ‘I’ve been taking your f**king pills!’
I don’t even try to reason because there is absolutely nothing reasonable about this situation. As I pace towards him, he watches me closely, cautiously, and when I’m standing before him, I slap him clean across his face. My palm in instantly on fire, but I’m too angry to focus on the pain. His head has turned to the side, his eyes are down, and I can still only hear our fitful breathing, except now they’re not sated, heavy breaths, they’re anger fuelled gasps. He brings his face back up and before I’m aware of what I’m doing, my hand is flying out again, but this time he catches my wrist in front of his face. I yank myself free and proceed to thump his chest with both fists in a frenzied lash out of anger. And he lets me. He just stands there and takes my deranged beating, my fists persistently striking him as I scream and wail. When I think I might collapse with exhaustion, I step back and lose control of my tears.
‘Why?’ I shout at him.
He doesn’t try to touch me or come towards me. He just remains standing in the doorway, still with no emotion on his face. His frown line isn’t even there, but I know he must be concerned, and he must be really concentrating on not restraining his deranged wife.