This Man (This Man #1)
Jodi Ellen Malpas
Chapter 1
The pounding of my feet on the treadmill is rhythmic and comforting. The sound of Imagine Dragons’ ‘Believer’ on my iPhone is muffled by the pulse throbbing in my ears. The hammering of my heart tells me I’m alive. Not that I need to run until I can’t feel my legs to achieve that any more.
My pace increases, my breath beginning to become laboured as my run turns into a sprint. Sweat is pouring down my bare chest as I watch the clock across the gym, eyeing the second hand slowly roll around the dial. Two more minutes. Keep the pace for two more minutes.
Yet when the time has ticked down and the machine automatically starts to slow, my legs do not. I smack my hand on the plus button to increase the pace again, my ego refusing to let me stop just yet. One more mile. I crank up the volume and sprint on for a while longer, pushing air steadily through my nose, roughly wiping away the sweat rolling down my forehead. Glancing down at the screen on the treadmill, I note my distance. Fifteen miles. Done.
I slam my fist on the button and let the machine work me down to a gentle jog, yanking the buds out of my ears and grabbing my T-shirt to wipe my wet face.
‘You did it faster yesterday, you stubborn motherfucker.’
My feet slow to a stop and I brace my hands on the handles, dropping my head while I work to level out my breathing. ‘Fuck you,’ I manage to wheeze, turning to face one of my oldest friends. John’s shit-eating grin, the one that displays his gold tooth to its fullest, makes me want to knock it out.
He chuckles, low and rumbling, throwing a towel at my chest. ‘Still not come to terms with it, then?’
Stepping down off the treadmill, I wipe my soaked chest before shoving the towel back at him. ‘No idea what you’re on about.’ I’m lying. I know exactly what the bastard is on about, and I’m sick to fucking death of being wound up about it. I’m not even sure how it’s happened – where the time has gone. Because, Lord help me, I’m fifty this weekend. Fifty fucking years old. My ego is dented more each time I think about it.
I make my way over to the water cooler, John following behind.
‘Fifty suits you.’
I roll my eyes as I grab a cup and shove it under the tap. ‘Did you want something?’
Another mild chuckle sounds from behind me as I glug down the water and turn to face the smug bastard. I don’t know what he’s so tickled pink about. John’s knocking on sixty, though you’d never know it. He’s still in prime shape, not that I’d ever tell him so.
‘The new weight machines are arriving later.’
‘You good to take care of that?’ I ask, refilling my cup.
‘No problem.’
‘Thanks.’ I glance around the gym floor of the health club I own, the space alive with music, sweat, and pounding hearts. Disciples’ ‘Daylight’ is booming, adrenalin pumping, shouts of encouragement ringing out. Turns out I missed owning a club after all. Not the sex and the indulgence of The Manor, but the community, the social aspect, and the day-to-day running of a business. So I opened a new business, this one not so secret but still pretty exclusive. JW’s Fitness & Spa has gone from strength to strength since opening its doors six years ago.
‘Where’s Ava?’
John takes my empty cup from my hand and tosses it in the bin before wandering away. ‘In the office.’
In the office? A smile spreads across my face as I take off across the gym, the thrumming of my pulse building again, except this time it’s dropped into my shorts.
My pace quickens, and I bowl into the office, my plan mastered . . . and screech to a halt when I find no Ava. I scowl at the empty space and pull my phone from my pocket, dialling her as I stalk towards the desk.
‘Hey,’ she answers, sounding a bit exasperated.
I don’t ask why. At this moment in time, I’m really not interested. ‘Where are you?’ I drop down into the chair at her desk.
‘In the spa.’
‘You have three seconds to get your arse to your office,’ I tell her, smirking a little when I hear her gasp.
‘I’m all the way across the club.’
I shrug to myself. ‘Three,’ I whisper, kicking my feet up onto her desk and relaxing back.
‘Jesse, I’m trying to sort out a disagreement between staff.’
‘Don’t care. Two.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’
My jaw rolls with irritation. ‘You’ll pay for that. One.’ The sound of her rushed steps seeps down the line, and I smile, victorious. ‘Tick-tock,’ I say casually, reaching down to rearrange my jutting cock.
‘We’re at work.’
I scoff. ‘Wherever, whenever.’ She knows that.
‘You’re very demanding, Jesse Ward.’ The huskiness of her voice forces me to inhale, deeply and controlled. Yes, she sometimes still runs away from me, but sometimes she runs to me. Like now. When she knows I’m charged and waiting in the office.
My eyes fall to the door, energy surging through me. Come on, baby. I hear her hustling down the corridor towards the office, and then the door swings open.
And there she is. My gorgeous wife. She looks no different from the day I met her. Sexy. Beautiful. The perfect mix of elegance and sass. ‘Zero, baby,’ I murmur, cutting our call and tossing my phone on her desk.
A familiar shiver bumps its way up my spine, and I smile, taking in every fucking perfect inch of her. She places a hand on the door frame, leaning into it as she chews her lip, eyes full of delight. Delight at seeing me. Her husband. The man she loves. ‘Good day?’ she asks.
‘It’s better now,’ I admit. ‘Are you going to make it even better?’
Her greedy stare drinks me in. I love it. I love how she can’t control her need to ogle me constantly, either. Yeah, so I’m fifty this weekend. So fucking what. I’ve still got it. I suddenly feel like the god she thinks I am. The god I know I am. ‘Well?’ I prompt. She knows that there’s only one right answer to this question.
She shrugs, playing it cool. Such a waste of her time. And mine.
‘Don’t play games with me, lady.’
‘You love our games.’
‘Not as much as I love being buried to the hilt inside you.’ I drop my feet from the desk and stand. ‘You’re wasting valuable time. Come here.’
‘Come get me.’ She shuts the door behind her and flips the lock as I stalk forward, her eyes shining harder with each step I take. Her body tenses, preparing for my attack. Every nerve ending I have is alive and screaming for her. A swift dip and grab has her over my shoulder, and I’m on my way back to the desk.
She’s laughing, her palms sliding under the waistband of my shorts onto my arse. She squeezes, digging her nails into the flesh. ‘You’re all sweaty.’
I lay her on the desk and spread myself all over her, pinning her in place with one hand while sliding her dress up her body as she wriggles defiantly. Pointlessly. ‘Stop fighting me, baby,’ I warn, pulling it up over her head and tossing the material aside before going for the knickers. I smile at the lace concealing her from me, reaching down with my mouth and taking the side between my teeth.
‘Jesse!’ she yells, head tossing back and forth, her body writhing.
I laugh under my breath. The play for power never gets old. ‘Who has the power?’ I ask, ripping the material from her waist and spitting it out.
‘You, you fucking control freak!’
‘Watch your mouth!’ I pull the cups of her bra down and shove my shorts down my thighs, freeing my raging hard-on.