‘Your body language disagrees,’ she calls, pulling me to a stop at the door. ‘Tell me.’
Tell her. Will she believe it? I didn’t at the time, and I saw first-hand the nightmare unfolding before me. That bastard lashing her, her body hanging limply. I swallow and turn to face her, as well as facing up to my responsibility. ‘You weren’t punishing me for sleeping with someone else.’
She flinches at the reminder, and though the vision hurts, something sick inside me appreciates her reaction. Because it’s another sign that she cares. The thought of me with another woman pains her. Even now, when she doesn’t know me. ‘Then what was I punishing you for?’
‘Having my guilt thrashed out of me. For hurting myself.’
Another flinch. It’s a minor reaction in contrast to the horror scene that played out in The Manor that awful day, but it still pricks at my skin relentlessly. Her jaw stiffens, her eyes becoming fierce. It’s familiar, if unwelcome right now. ‘Tell me.’
I match her stoic expression and spill. ‘You had yourself whipped, too.’ Her mouth falls open. ‘You let some scumbag shackle you half-naked and you let him whip you. Happy?’
‘Do I fucking look happy?’ she spits, throwing the trousers to the floor. ‘Why the hell would I do that?’
‘Because,’ I say, unable to rein myself in, the anger that’s lain dormant within me all these years racing to the surface unstoppably. I get my threatening face close to hers. She doesn’t budge an inch, squaring up to me in return. My defiant little temptress. My angel. My Ava. Here she fucking is. ‘Because you wanted me to understand how much you loved me. Because you wanted me to feel how you felt when you found me being thrashed.’ My nostrils flare as she stares me down, our noses nearly touching, my body bent a little to make sure of it. ‘And it fucking worked.’
Her jaw, so tight, is ticking wildly. She’s mad. Whether she’s mad because she knows deep inside that she really did do that, or if she’s mad because she can’t remember, isn’t a question I’m bothered about in this moment. Because beyond the anger, I see a familiar, potent craving. I see that mixture of fury and desire. The need to rip a strip off me and rip my clothes off.
When we’re angry with each other, the sex is even more passionate, crazy and satisfying. It’s all here before me now, yet I cannot be the one to make the first move. I can’t push this. For the first time in our relationship, I’m depending on her to give me what I want, and, more importantly, what I need more than anything in the world. Our connection. Our chemistry.
‘Kiss me,’ I demand. ‘Now.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Watch your fucking mouth!’ I bark, a secret smile hiding behind my straight face.
She doesn’t try to hide hers. ‘Screw you.’
‘Three,’ I say lowly.
‘Zero, baby.’ She lunges forward, smashing her lips to mine, her arms virtually strangling me as she climbs up my body. I stagger back, fucking chaos breaking out in my leather trousers – heat, blood and solid flesh raging down there. She’s unforgiving in her demand for my mouth. Harsh stabs of her tongue against mine, vicious tugs of my hair, deep, throaty groans of pleasure.
My back hits the door frame, jolting her in my arms, not that it distracts her from her mission. I can do nothing more than keep up with her pace, silently demanding her to start ridding us of clothes so I can lose myself in her. Find the peace I need. Relish the joining of our bodies.
Her hot, wet tongue circles my mouth, our heads tilting and turning constantly, taking other angles, pulling back, smashing together once again. It’s madness. Disorderly. Absolutely incredible.
And then as quickly as it started, it stops. Like she could have been hit with a thousand volts of electricity, she catapults back, forcing me to release her before she dives clean out of my arms. ‘Oh my God,’ she sputters, brushing herself down, hands faffing everywhere, eyes avoiding mine. That kiss has wiped me of breath. I’m panting like I’m exhausted. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Well it wasn’t me,’ I mutter to myself, forcing back the mental image of me doing exactly that. Coming all over her. Kneeling over her, her arms pinned down, my hand thrusting my cock in her face as she watches. My cum coating her lovely face. And her tongue licking it all up. Fuck! I physically rearrange myself, looking for room in my trousers to accommodate my raging hard-on. There’s no room. Not in these damn things.
‘Something got the better of me.’ She looks up at me. And I can see immediately that she gets it. Even if she doesn’t know me, she gets it. The ridiculously strong attraction was the first stepping-stone to utter fucking perfection. And thank God she’s not misplaced that.
‘Yes, I got the better of you,’ I say, peeling my back away from the door frame. Ava darts surprised eyes at me. ‘Now, are you finished unravelling your knickers, lady?’ I take her hand, scoop the trousers from the floor, and lead her out to the garages.
Pressing the button on the remote, I hold back while the door rolls open. ‘Bloody hell, Jesse!’ She drops my hand and moves into the garage, motioning to the lines of cars and superbikes. ‘Are these all yours?’
Making my way over to the cabinet, I pull our helmets down from one of the shelves. ‘All ours.’
‘These must be worth hundreds of thousands.’
‘Which is why the garage is alarmed and the cars all have trackers.’
‘Trackers?’ Her head tilts, somewhere between interest and worry. ‘Did you have a tracker on my car?’
‘Of course.’ I don’t beat around the bush. ‘A nice little app on my phone told me where you were at all times.’ I laugh when she snorts, disgusted. ‘Don’t worry. You had the app too.’
‘I did?’
‘Yes, you worry about me as much as I worry about you.’ I hold up the helmets.
‘What are those for?’
‘We’re going swimming,’ I quip drily, pointing to her hands. ‘And those are your trunks.’
Ava glances down at the leather trousers in her grasp, comprehension coming to her. She inhales quickly and swings towards my superbike, definitely thrilled by the prospect. ‘I’m going on that thing?’
I’m laughing again. ‘That’s a little different from what you said the first time I took you for a ride.’
‘A ride?’ Her eyebrow cocks with interest, extending my laughter. There’s that suggestiveness in her again.
I approach her slowly, a little ominously, and dip, bringing our faces close. ‘You love riding the bike, but you love riding me even more.’
Red creeps into her cheeks. It’s such a satisfying sight, again taking me back to the early days when she was trying to hide how much she was floored by me. She tries to rectify her fluster. ‘I would challenge that, if I didn’t know it to be true.’
‘Oh?’ Interesting. ‘And how do you know?’ She immediately starts to shift on the spot, and I grin, glancing down at her chest. Nipples like bullets. And I bet her knickers aren’t too dry, either. All the signs thrill me. ‘Get your trousers on.’
She smiles, steps back, and does as she’s bid, and that’s highly satisfying, too. All these natural instincts in her. It’s hope. ‘Do I ride on my own?’ she asks.
I scoff. ‘Never. Only ever with me.’
‘Why?’ She’s genuinely interested.
‘Bikes are dangerous machines.’
‘So are cars,’ she counters quietly as she pulls her trousers up her legs. I still and flick her a glance. I can’t help but think that had I enforced my demand to have her in a Range Rover, we wouldn’t be in this nightmare right now. Judging by the state of her Mini, I’m surprised she’s even alive. My veins instantly freeze on that thought. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah.’ I demand my mind to steer away from such sickening thoughts. I have her. She’s here.
Once we’re both covered in leather, I place her helmet over her head gently, smiling a smidgen while I fasten her chinstrap. ‘I have déjà vu,’ she mumbles through her squished cheeks. ‘That’s got to be a good thing, right?’