This Woman Forever

Chapter 15

It’s Sunday. We made it another day but, to be fair, we’ve not left Lusso. We’re always safe in Lusso. I slide a plate of toast onto the island, looking up when she appears at the door. Naked. Hair a wavy, damp mess. Her bruise is nice and fresh. Her eyes are still sparkling. I’ve had her twice already this morning. Still not done.

I look her up and down as she returns the favor. “Eat,” I order, sucking some butter off the end of my finger.

She looks at the toast. “I don’t think I’m hungry.”

Oh, we’re doing this again, are we? It’s how most of yesterday was spent. Ava saying no to any trivial thing, and me enforcing a yes. I narrow my eyes, chewing my lip. Game on. I stroll over slowly, seeing her body tighten with each step I take until she’s breathless with anticipation, her head tilted back to look up at me. I lick my fingers under her watchful, needy eyes, and slip them between her thighs. Now this is what I expected marriage to be like. Sex on tap, my wife constantly desperate and not too far away from me. I raise interested eyebrows when Ava grabs my forearms on a sharp hitch of breath. “You want me again, baby?” I ask, pushing into her. Her eyes close. My dick recharges. “I think someone needs a reminder.” I drive into her a few times, then withdraw and bend her over the island. Her palms slap the marble. Her boobs squish into the cold top. I dip and kiss her back. “Ready?”

“I can’t remember.”

I smile and slam into her on a yell. “Are you going to eat, baby?”

“No.”

Oh, how she plays me. And how I enjoy playing with her... for the next hour.

I stareat the top shelf of the fridge, frowning. None in the cupboard, none in the fridge. How? How the hell has this happened? I roll my shoulder, wincing at the sting her fingernails have left behind. Turns out my wife needed a Retribution Fuck after her Reminder Fuck. Not because she’s been utterly unreasonable this past week. But because, according to Ava, she should be punished for refusing to eat. Insatiable. I’m here for it. So I handcuffed her to the bed and fucked her like a madman. I don’t even feel guilty that her throat must be sore. A bit like my muscles. I feel like I need a good stretch. Maybe I’ll go in the gym later.

In the meantime, where the fuck is my peanut butter? I’m not panicking. Maybe just a little. This has never happened.

If you can kick drink, you can kick this bad habit too.

I snort to myself. It’s not a bad habit. I like peanut butter, that’s all. “And so did you,” I remind him. Although crunchy rather than smooth. Yuck. I cough, disgusted, searching again in vain. “Damn it,” I mutter, turning away from the fridge. Ava’s on the other side of the island, her smile wide and amused. “What are you grinning at?” It looks like she wants to earn herself another fuck of some description. I’m not complaining.

“Why the compulsion for peanut butter?” she asks, her delight at my mild meltdown obvious.

“I like it,” I answer, feeling a bit defensive.

“You like it?” Her face looks like it’s about to split.

“Yes,” I grumble. “I like it.” Smooth. Only smooth.

Freak.

“You’re in a bit of a pickle,” she muses casually, “considering you just like it.”

“I’m not in a pickle. It’s no big deal.” I can take it or leave it.

Liar.

“Okay,” Ava says easily. She doesn’t believe me. Do I care?

I roll my eyes to myself and go to her. I might bend her over the island again. It’s been over an hour since I had her handcuffed to the bed. But all forms of fuckings are forgotten when I cop a load of what she’s wearing on her bottom half. Or what she isn’t wearing. “What the hell are they?”

“Shorts.”

I beg to differ. They are not shorts. “You mean knickers?”

“No,” she says slowly. “I mean shorts. If they were knickers, they’d look like this.” She wrenches them up her thighs a bit more, and I very nearly choke on my tongue. Her smooth, tan, firm thighs. Around my waist. Gripping me.

“Ava, come on, be reasonable.”

“Jesse,” she breathes. “I’ve told you, if you want long skirts and roll-neck jumpers, go find someone your own age.”

I recoil, offended, as Ava pulls the offending shorts back into place and ties her laces. “I might go for a swim at The Manor.”

“In a bikini?” I ask, looking across the kitchen for my phone. I’ll call John. Have him close the spa.

“No, in a snowsuit.” She chuckles, mocking me. “Of course in a bikini.”

Whenever has Ava wanted to go for a swim at The Manor? I suppose I should be grateful she’s even coming. But then again, Sarah’s not there. Which is why I have to be there today as promised. We’re in a fucking mess.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to go for a swim.”

“I’d like to strangle you.” I feel like she’s constantly testing me. Setting the standard going forward. I look down her incredible body on a pout. My eyes only. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Because you’re an unreasonable arse and you need to loosen up.” She flips me an accusing look, which is fucking rich. Her level of unreasonableness has been off the charts recently, but since we’ve only just got back on track, I won’t risk derailing us again by challenging her. “You may be an old man,” she goes on, and I roll my eyes, “butI”m only twenty-six. Stop acting like a caveman.” Only if you stop being so fucking defiant. “What’ll happen if we go on a beach holiday?”

It’s a nonissue, because if we go on a beach holiday, the beach will be private. “I thought we could go skiing. I’ll show you how good I am at very extreme sports.”

Her smile lights up the room and my life, and I catch her in my arms as she launches herself at me, carrying her out of the kitchen. “You smell luscious,” she says into my skin, hugging me hard.

I’m sure I saw a jar of Sun-Pat in the fridge in my office. “You feel naked,” I grumble, squeezing her arse cheek. I grab my keys off the side.

“You look edible.”

I stall by the mirror, smiling at myself. I look complete. That’s how I look with Ava clinging to my front. “You taste divine,” I whisper, turning my face into her neck and biting.

“You sound sexy,” she whispers, pushing onto my hips. I growl, she laughs, and I walk on, looking forward to getting this done with and returning home so I can resume this easy bliss. And fuck her some more.

I feel the new concierge’s eyes follow us through the lobby as I carry Ava, my palms spread over her arse cheeks in an attempt to cover them. “Morning, Casey,” she sings, breaking out of my neck.

“Morning, Ava. Morning Mr. Ward.”

“Mrs. Ward,” I grunt.

“Lighten up,” Ava says over a laugh.

“No.” I open the door of my Aston and get her inside, pulling her belt round. “Those shorts, Ava,” I sigh. They take Daisy Duke’s to a whole new level.

She pushes me out of the car and pulls the door closed.

Insolent.

But today, I’m feeling amenable. Loved up. Relaxed.

And punishment fucks are so much more fun than arguing.

John meetsus outside The Manor, and I definitely catch his interested look as I lead Ava inside. Yes, her shorts are non-existent. No, I’ve not put my foot down. We’ve only just made friends. Which reminds me... are John and I okay now? We’ve not really... talked about it. About anything. I look at him flanking me, see him peek out the corner of his eye, even through his shades. I think we’re good. “Ava would like to go swimming,” I say, and he smiles. He already knows this because I texted him in preparation.

“You do, girl?”

“It’s hot out there,” Ava says, all too casually, making me look down at her in disbelief. It’s not hot. It’s warm. Definitely not warm enough to warrant her outfit. But, in the name of peace and tranquility, I will keep my mouth zipped. Because, unlike my wife, I can be reasonable.

I hurry her through The Manor and check the fridge as soon as we get to my office, mentally cheering when I find what I hoped I would. I pull it out and dive right in, taking a seat opposite John, casting my eye across the piles of strewn papers. What the hell has he been doing with it all? “What’s happening?” The first dip is the best, and I hum, satisfied.

“Camera four went down,” he replies.

“Another one? How many is that?”

“Four. I’ve managed to fix three of them, albeit they’re temporary fixes, but the camera around the side by the garages needs more than my limited tech and DIY skills.”

I roll my eyes. Not long until the new system is installed. “Thanks for trying.”

“An engineer was due Friday.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll chase them up.”

“The contract states a twenty-four-hour window for call-outs.”

“I know.” He gets up and wanders away, and I find Ava still by the door, distracted.

“Baby,” I say, snapping her back into the room. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine.” She shakes herself back to life and comes to the desk, sitting. “Daydreaming, sorry.”

“What about?”

“Nothing. Just watching you settle now that you have your peanut butter.”

I’m settled because she’s with me. The peanut butter helps, I suppose. “Want some?”

“No.” She grimaces as I fix the lid. “How’s Sam?”

Hmmm, what should I say? Ava hasn’t mentioned her brother being at Kate’s. “Shit. He won’t talk about it. How’s Kate?”

“Not good.”

“What do you know?” Did Kate open up to Ava? “Why did she end it?”

“Because of this place, I suppose. It’s probably for the best.” We all know it’s got nothing to do with this place and everything to do with her brother. What the hell did he want yesterday? I didn’t return his call and he didn’t follow up.

I look at John by the window on his phone. We have a lot to discuss. I’ve just added Sam to the list. All stuff I can’t talk about in front of Ava. “Do you want to swim or stay with me?” Shame on me, I’m using a bit of reverse psychology. She thinks I’d rather her not take option one.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

The paperwork on my desk calls for me. “This is what I’ll be doing.”

“Why don’t you employ someone else?”

Yes, just like that. Jesus, I own this place and even I don’t know what I’m looking at on my desk right now. How the hell can I expect someone else to come on in and get us straight? “Ava,” I say on a sigh. “It’s not that straight forward in this line of work. You have to know someone, trust them.” It’s only ever been John, Sarah, and me. “I can’t just call the job center and ask them to send along someone who can type.” My God, where the hell will I start?

“I could help,” she says.

I glance up, hopeful. “You would?” She’d do that for me? I inhale subtly. Work for me instead of Peterson? She’d be here with me every day. In more appropriate clothes, obviously.

Ava frowns and picks up a piece of paper. “An hour here and there, I suppose.”

I laugh on the inside. It needs a lot more than an hour here and there. Sarah was always working, and when she wasn’t working in the evening, she was whipping. I watch as Ava frowns, craning my neck to see what she’s looking at. A bank statement. Her eyes are nearly popping out of her head.

I smile when she looks up at me in disbelief. “We’re very rich, Mrs. Ward.” And what she’s looking at is just a fraction.

“Fucking hell.”

“Ava—”

“I’m sorry, but...” Her eyes drag slowly across the sheet. “This sort of stuff shouldn’t be lying on your desk, Jesse.”

It wasn’t until John started looking for something.

“Wait—” Her eyes widen. “Did Sarah look after your finances?”

Sarah looked after everything, which meant I didn’t need to know an awful lot, and isn’t that obvious now. “Yes.” I won’t try to fool her. I was good for nothing but drinking and fucking before Ava walked into my life. And after? Well, I was too infatuated by her to pay much attention.

“Do you have any idea where your money is?” she asks. Yes, it’s in a bank held hostage by a scorned wife of Steve Cook. “How much there is?” she goes on, eyes back and forth between me and the bank statement.

“Yes,” I say, showing her the paper. She’s shocked enough as it is. I won’t share the other statements, wherever they are. She’ll pass out. “I have this much”—and quite a few million more—“and it’s in this bank.” Where I hold a few more accounts, both business and personal.

“You have just one account?” she asks. “What about business accounts, savings, pensions?”

One doesn’t need to worry about savings and pensions when one owns properties worth in excess of forty million, but one still has them because Sarah took care of it. Again, I’ll hold back on that. So I mutter, “I don’t know,” and hope we move on.

Ava’s face tells me I’m hoping in vain. “She did everything?” she asks. “All of your accounts?”

“Not anymore.” As you can see from the state of my desk. And Ava’s clear aversion tells me John’s head is in the clouds. There’s no way Sarah can come back here. Not if I want to stay married. “But you’ll help?” Because I can’t imagine the alternative.

Ava shakes her head, looking across the chaos again as she collects a stack of papers and starts sorting through them. “Yes, I’ll help.”

My heart swells. She’ll help. We’ll make an incredible husband and wife team. A force. This could be the start of something amazing, and as an added bonus, she’s with me all the time. I smile, but it falls when her sorting hands pause and she looks up, something coming to her. “I said I’d help, that’s all,” she says. “A few hours here and there, Jesse.”

“But it’s the perfect solution.” She could be our in-house interior designer too. There are dozens of rooms in The Manor. By the time she’d worked her way through the building, it would be time to start again.

“For you,” she splutters, tossing the stack of papers back on my desk as if they’ve caught fire in her hands. “The perfect solution for you. I have a career.” Don’t remind me. “I am not giving it up to come here every day and file paperwork.”

Do you want to take a minute to think about it?

“And anyway.” She gets up, and I scowl at the pathetic excuse for a pair of shorts before giving her my annoyed eyes. Anyway, what? “I don’t know how to lash a whip, so I think I’m a little under qualified.”

My jaw hits my lap. Why? Why does she need to be so fucking spiteful? “That was a little childish, don’t you think?”

She looks away, obviously ashamed. It’s a relief. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean it.”

Then why fucking say it? And people around here think I’m impulsive and shoot from the hip? I scoff. At least my mouth’s under control, which is more than I can say for my wife’s. And now she won’t look at me.

“They’ll be an hour,” John says, looking between us. “And before I forget, we’ve had a further three memberships cancelled.”

Before he forgets? “Three?”

“Three. All female,” he says as he leaves.

Whose idea was it to come here? My mood has fallen into the gutter, and this place seriously spikes some undesirable behavior from Ava. I rest my elbows on my desk and sigh into my hands. I’m there all of five seconds before I’m out again, being pushed into the back of the chair by Ava. Oh? She sits on the edge of the desk and motions to the mess. “I’ll sort all of this out.” She feels guilty. Is it terrible that I’m secretly happy about that? “But you need to get someone on this. It’s a full-time job.”

And there’s one woman who can solve that problem. A woman that needs The Manor as much as The Manor needs her. Everyone’s happy. Except my wife, I expect. “I know.” I lift her feet to my knees. What the hell am I going to do? “Go for a swim,” I order. I need to talk to John. “I’ll make a start on this, okay?”

“Okay,” she says quietly, but she makes no attempt to move, watching me, her mind obviously spinning.

“Go on, beautiful girl,” I say quietly. “Spit it out.”

“They’re withdrawing their memberships because you’re no longer available to fu—” Her lips press together, and my eyebrows raise. “To have sex with,” she finishes.

“It would seem so, wouldn’t it? I can see this pleases my wife.”

“What’s the ratio of men to women?’” Her curiosity is getting the better of her again.

“Members?”

She nods.

“Seventy thirty.” Last time I asked, anyway.

She can’t hide her surprise, and do I detect a little worry? Surely not. “Well, you might have to turn The Manor into a gay club,” she quips around a smile, and I laugh. We have many gay men and women, a few bisexuals too. Ava’s just not encountered them playing yet. Maybe never will, because I know she can’t face the communal room again.

“Go take a swim,” I order, getting her down from the desk and sending her on her way. The door is hardly closed behind her before it’s open again, John striding in.

“So you’re friends again?” he asks.

“Yes, we’re friends. What about us? Are we friends?”

He huffs, going to the window and gazing out. “You understand what you did, right?”

“Yes.” There’s no way I’d be rolling my eyes right now if John was facing me. “I understand.”

“And you understand that it was wrong?”

“Yes,” I grate.

“And you should be grateful you didn’t succeed, because that kind of life-changing decision should be made as a team, right?”

“Right.”

“So what’s wrong with you then?” he asks, facing me.

I twitch in my seat, uncomfortable. Where the fuck would I start? “What do you mean, what’s wrong with me?”

“Well, apart from the fact that you’re an irrational, neurotic, unreasonable, selfish prick.”

“Not a motherfucker?”

He takes off his shades. “Are you shooting blanks?”

I cough, insulted. “Don’t hold back, will you, mate.”

“You should get yourself checked out.”

“Yeah, I know.” That’ll be something to look forward to. Fucking hell. “God, you sure do know how to bring me back down to earth.”

“Well, here’s something else for you to consider.” He nods at the mess of papers on the desk.

I’ll sort all of this out. But you need to get someone on this. It’s a full-time job.

Ava wasn’t wrong. If only there was a wise way to straddle Ava’s concerns... and Sarah’s mental health.I can’t have another death on my conscience. “Fuck,” I breathe, clenching my eyes closed in dread. “John, I feel cornered.”

“I know.” He backs up and opens the office door, and there she is.

Sarah.

I jump up, instantly stressed, and hurry over, pulling her in and checking the corridor. Jesus fucking Christ, I only just got my wife back. I close the door and look between John and Sarah in disbelief.

“I only came because he made me,” she says, sheepish, flicking John a look I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate. “I’m not feeling much like being rejected at the moment.”

If John forced her here, it’s because he was worried. My gaze drops to her wrists. They’re covered by a long-sleeved blouse. In all the years I’ve known Sarah, I have never seen her in a long-sleeved anything.

“I know you don’t want me here,” she says, going to the couch and lowering.

“If I don’t want you here, it’s because your actions made me feel like that. Made Ava feel like that.” I look at the door, praying to all the gods that Ava doesn’t come back to my office. Christ, John. But life is life, and I have to remember that. After all, Ava has given life to me. And, again, I can’t be responsible for the loss of another. Fucking hell. I give John a look to suggest he better have my back if Ava walks in, and he nods, reading my warning well.

Moving across to the couch, I lower, my eyes constantly bouncing between Sarah, John, and the door. “How are you feeling?”

She stalls, resting back, regarding me with an expression I’ve not seen on Sarah often. Wariness. “I’m okay.”

“Okay?” I parrot, laughing. “If you were okay, Sarah, John would not have brought you here and risked a situation where my wife might leave me ...” I only just bite my tongue before adding “again.” John brushes his finger across his top lip, quietly observing. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit out loud. I feel like I’m in a catch twenty-two situation. Save Sarah, destroy Ava and me. Make sure Ava and I are okay, destroy Sarah. Obviously, Ava comes first, but it’s not as easy as that, unfortunately.

Sarah sits forward on the couch, her eyes briefly going to John. I look at him too, seeing him giving her a small, encouraging nod. God damn him. But I can’t call him out, be mad at him. Just like me, he doesn’t want any harm to come to Sarah.

I wait for her to go on, my hands joined, my fingers twiddling nervously. It’s so much easier to hate her when she’s being a heartless bitch. Problem is, it’s a defense mechanism. Always has been. Sarah uses her bitchy streak to shield her from being hurt. She hasn’t got the energy required to uphold that front right now. “Jesse.” She’s hesitant, gathering courage. “I’m lost,” she says, her bottom lip definitely quivering. Shit, she can’t cry on me. “Please, I beg you, let me back in.”

John’s interested stare is on my profile, I can feel it. But he’s remaining respectfully quiet. Letting us talk. Except, I’m not talking. Just sweating. I press my fingertips into my forehead and sigh, trying to rub away the stress. “Sarah, you tried to destroy my relationship. And worse than that, you never once considered that by doing that, you would have destroyed me.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.”

“And now you sit here begging me to give you the opportunity to do it all over again?”

“I won’t,” she rushes to say. “I give you my word. I’ll stay out of your relationship, I swear it.”

I laugh. I feel like I’ve heard this before. “I don’t know whether I can risk it.” I don’t look a John. I don’t need to. I can feel his concern. Poor guy is caught in the middle. It feels like only ever one of us—me or Sarah—can be okay. “And I could never ask Ava to accept your return to The Manor.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“No,” I say, horrified. “Never talk to Ava.”

“Jesse, please.”

I can’t stand her pleading. “Sarah, stop,” I order, getting up and going to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. “I can’t give you what you need.”

“I need my job, Jesse, and you can give me that.”

My bottle of water stops at my lips as I regard her. Then John. He remains silent. Then my eyes move to my desk. I can’t see the top for all of the paperwork. Sarah notices my direction of sight and gets up, walking over, gathering up all of the papers. “John needs the surveillance contract,” she says, fingering through the stack. “It’s here.” She pulls out a sheet and holds it up. “All of the medical assessments are in alphabetical order by surnames rather than date order like the invoices.” I feel my tense shoulders lowering. “You need me,” she whispers.

Such powerful words.

But not in the context Sarah needs them to be. My damn gaze falls to her wrists again, a bandage poking out from beneath the sleeve. Fuck. I didn’t mean to kill any of the people who have died because of my bad choices and judgment. Knowing my next words could be the cause for her harm? I swig my drink. But I’ll be signing my divorce papers if I agree to this. And therefore, causing myself harm. And Ava. “I’m sorry, I just can’t,” I say, hearing my regret. I hope Sarah does too. “I’m going.” I leave the office and close the door, falling against the nearest wall and resting my forehead on it.

“All right?”

“Dandy,” I quip, considering Sam as he approaches. “You?”

“Dandy. I was going to use the sauna but the spa’s closed.”

“Since when do you use the spa?” I ask, facing him.

“Since now.”

Or... I eye him, thinking. “Have you been active since you and Kate split up?”

A steel wall shoots up. “We weren’t together.”

“Have you been active?”

His jaw rolls. It’s the answer I need. No. And why would that be? “Go home, Sam,” I say over a sigh.

“I’m taking him for a beer.” Drew appears, holding Sam’s shoulder and massaging into it. “Coming?”

My phone rings, and I pull it out. “I’ll catch up with you soon,” I say to the boys, turning and taking the call as I leave them, too curious to let it ring off. “Jesse Ward,” I say formally.

“Dan O’Shea,” he replies dryly.

I push my way into the spa and head into the ladies’ changing rooms. “What can I do for you, Dan?”

“Are you free anytime soon?”

I pass the lockers. “Why?”

“To talk.”

“About what?”

“Things.”

“What things?” I’m not interested. I’m sure he senses it.

“Various things.”

Which tells me it’s more than just my wife. Kate? Sam? I’m now interested. Sam’s the lowest I’ve ever seen him. “What’s the situation with you and Kate?” I ask.

“Is that any of your business?”

I smile. There’s my answer. If he was still fucking Kate, he wouldn’t hold back telling me. “No, but neither is my marriage any of yours.”

“She’s my sister.”

“I know, because you keep banging on about it. So am I to assume you want to meet with me to discuss her well-being? Whether I’m looking after her?”

He sighs. “When are you free?”

There’s my answer again. He doesn’t want to talk about Ava, and he can’t want to talk about Kate with me. Unless he wants me to talk to Ava on his behalf, therefore make an ally out of me. Seems a stretch after how well we’ve kicked things off. “Tomorrow?” I expect Ava will insist on going to work, and I’ll need something to do. I better start filling my days. “Come over to The Manor. Say, two.” I hang up, spinning my mobile in my grasp. What the fuck is his game, I wonder, as I go to the pool entrance and pop my head around the door. Sarah, Sam, and Dan are forgotten in a heartbeat when I see my wife, the water calm around her as she swims, her hair piled high, the ripples reflecting off the glass surrounding her, making it look like serene, calming disco lights dancing around the pool hall.

Back to cloud nine.

I smile and take a picture, then back up and head into the men’s changing room, stripping down and leaving my clothes in a pile on the bench before going to my locker on the end and getting my shorts out, itching to get in that pool with Ava. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been in my own pool. I’ve never been sober enough.

I wander out and the very second I step onto the tiles, she stops swimming and looks for me. I go to the edge and dive in, swimming under water, seeing her legs paddling calmly to keep her above the surface. Not for long. I reach forward and wrap a palm around her ankle, pulling her under, engulfing her body with my arms and her mouth with mine, fighting around the water to kiss her for as long as my ballooning lungs will allow before pushing off the bottom and breaking the surface, grabbing air. She clings to me as I tread water, smiling like a loon.

“You closed the pool, didn’t you?” she says, a little breathless, her hands on my face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I guide her arms around and help her onto my back. “It’s never busy at this time of day.” Ava onboard, I start swimming to the edge.

“I don’t believe you. You couldn’t stand the thought of me in a bikini and others seeing it. Admit I’m right.”

Never. I maneuver her to my front and push her into the side of the pool, feeling her semi-nakedness pressed into me. Her smile is knowing. “I love the thought of you in a bikini.” And the feel of her.

“But for your eyes only?” she asks coyly.

“I’ve told you before, Ava,” I whisper, scanning her face, her sparkly eyes. “I don’t share you with anyone or anything, not even their eyes.” But their lips when she’s got the hump with me? “Just for my touch,” I say hoarsely, studying her as she sustains the burn of our skin together. “Just for my eyes.” My fingers meet the heat of her flesh and stroke softly, before I push them inside. “Just for my pleasure, baby. I know you understand me, don’t you?”

“I do,” she exhales her words, stiffening, loosening, over and over.

“Good. Kiss me.”

She’s all mine in a second, and I am all hers, my fingers pulling free and my hands moving to her hips as I adore her mouth for the longest time until I can no longer hold back. I pull her bikini bottoms aside, lower the waist of my shorts and drive into her, loving the echo of her moans bouncing off the glass around us. I watch her between drives, treasure the feel of her hands grappling at my back, adore the glistening of her skin as she climbs to her release.

And once again this weekend, she doesn’t demand protection. This. It’s bliss. This is what married life is meant to be like. Feeling vulnerable but safe. Feeling sated but still—always—wanting more.

Mine.

“Jesus,” I whisper, on the cusp, and on only a few more swivels and thrusts, I come calmly with her, feeling her trembles melt into mine, the water starting to sizzle around us.

“Hmmm,” she hums as I pant against her neck, feeling her twitch against me. “I like swimming with you.”

My palms cup her cheeks, my lips pushing onto hers. “Time to go home. I need to feed you.”

“I’m not hungry,” she says, her nose wrinkling playfully.

“How so when you’re such a glutton?”

“You’re cute.”

“I know.” Another kiss before I slip out and pull my shorts into place, turning her around and lifting her onto the edge, going under the water to do so. I emerge and push myself out of the pool. It’s Monday tomorrow. The start of another working week. Please, God, don’t make it too stressful. “What’s in your diary this week?” I ask, getting us both to our feet and curling an arm around her wet body, leading her back to the changing rooms.

“This and that.”

“A honeymoon by any chance?” I ask, looking down at her.

“Jesse,” she breathes.

I pull her into my side and kiss her head, holding her hand where it’s lying on my chest. “I know,” I breathe, dejected. “You’re busy.”

“Maybe when I’ve got Ruth Quinn out of my hair.” She sounds dejected now too.

“The client?”

She hums non-committedly, and I look down at her.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, she’s just a bit...”

“What?”

“Demanding.”

“So’s your husband, but you find it easy to take no notice of him.”

She slaps me lightly, but neither of us laugh. We both know we need a break from London. If only I could hurry the Ruth Quinn project along. But I know my wife, and the way I’d like to help would never be accepted.