This Woman Forever

Chapter 20

After showering, changing back into my suit, and texting Ava to check up on her, I join the boys in the bar. It’s busy, members starting to arrive after a day’s work to unwind. But Sam and Drew still haven’t made their way upstairs. Sam, I’m not surprised. But Drew? He’s never too fucked to fuck.

“Why are you still here?” I ask, sitting with them in the corner, casting my eyes around the bar, seeing numerous female members of The Manor looking this way. Wondering where my wife is? Hoping she’s left me? Oh, their faces when they learn we’re expecting.

“Just still here.” Drew dismisses me quickly, knocking his beer back.

I look at Sam. He avoids my eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” they both chime, Sam grinning like a prick, Drew through his teeth, making him look demented. I shake my head and stand when John walks in, looking down at my watch. Four o’clock. Owen Cutler appears behind him, taking in the bar. Suited. Booted. He means business. Let’s find out when he’s got to say.

“See you two chumps later,” I say, leaving Sam and Drew.

“Wait,” Drew blurts, forcing me to a stop. I face him, finding he’s half standing. He checks himself and lowers, playing all casual. I’m not buying it. Especially when I glance at Sam and he avoids my interested look by swigging his beer too, peeking around the bar.

“Wait for what?” I ask, slipping my hands into my pockets.

“Well, it’s a nice atmosphere. I don’t know why you wouldn’t have your meeting in here.”

“Here in the bar?” I ask, taking another look around.

“Yeah.” Drew shrugs. “Here in the bar.”

“In front of many interested members?”

“They’re not interested.”

I raise my brows and jerk my head in indication, and the boys look, seeing some very interested members all with eyes on John and Owen. “You sure?”

Drew throws them all a filthy look. “Can I come?” he asks.

I laugh. “You want to come into my meeting?”

“Yeah, as a friend. Support. I’m a businessman, Jesse.”

“You’re an estate agent.”

“Which makes me one of the best salesmen on the planet.” He smiles. “I could sell condoms to a convent of nuns.”

I laugh. “You’re not coming in.”

“That’s not fair,” he whines. “Why?”

Sam laughs, but it dries up when his mobile rings and he stares at the screen. “It’s Kate,” he murmurs, looking up at me. “What should I do?”

“Answer it,” I say, and with those two words, he connects the call and wanders out of the bar, no longer interested in my meeting.

“Look,” Drew says. “I just want to know if I need to go speak to Hux or not.”

“Hux?” I gape at him.

“Well, where else do you expect me to get my kicks?”

“Hold your horses,” I say, leaving them. “I’m just hearing what he’s got to say.”

“I’ll be here when you’re finished!” he yells at my back.

I flick a semi-friendly smile to Owen. “Afternoon,” I say, and he stares at me, somewhere between realization and disbelief.

“You’re Jesse Ward,” he breathes.

“I’m Jesse Ward,” I confirm. “My office is this way.” I pass him and head toward the summer room. “So something came up earlier today?”

“I can explain.”

I laugh. “Only my wife ever needs to explain to me.”

“Oh, you’re married?”

“Yeah, I’m married.” I stop in my tracks and look back at him. “You sound surprised.”

The guy was so together previously. Almost cocky. Now, he’s in a bit of a fluster, looking between John and me, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “I heard?—”

“You heard?” Has he been asking around about me?

His shoulders drop, and his eyes roll. “It’s just part of our background checks.”

“And what did your background checks unveil?” Obviously shit background checks if they don’t know I’m married.

“Not a lot, actually.”

“I’m a private man.” I tilt my head, feeling John studying me. A private man who put it around. A lot. But that was before Ava.

“That’s quite obvious.”

“I’m here to listen to what you’ve got to say, Owen. Nothing more.”

“But you’re not interested in selling?” he asks, almost coy.

“I don’t need the money, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Let’s be clear on that.

“I figured.” He smiles. “You have an Aston, a penthouse in central London, a villa in Marbella.”

Obviously not private enough. Who’s he been talking to? “Very good.” I carry on to my office, leaving the door open and going to the couch, motioning to the one opposite and looking at John in instruction to sit next to me. Both men lower to their places. “So why are you late?” I ask.

“I went back to the CFO of Fairlands, my client, to get the go-ahead for a wider window for negotiations.” Owen places his briefcase on the table in front of him and reaches forward, releasing the catches. The loud clicks fill my office.

“I’m not here to negotiate, Owen. I’m here to hear what you’ve got to say.”

“Of course. You don’t need the money.”

I sigh and settle back, semi-scowling. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Five million.”

John does a terrible job of hiding his cough. But not because he’s surprised. He’s insulted. I smile across to Owen, trying to conceal it with a light brush of my top lip with my index finger. “Owen,” I say, his name a breathy sigh. “I make sixty times that in one year.”

And like John can’t hide his cough and I can’t hide my smile, Owen can’t hide his balk.

“Perhaps you should have requested the company accounts.” Not that I would have sanctioned the release of them. So much for his background checks. I stand. “I think we’re done.”

“No, no, no, Mr. Ward, please.” His hand comes up. “Ten.”

“You double your offer in the space of sixty seconds?” I scoff, insulted. “Time to go, Owen.” I check my watch and text Ava again.

“Fifteen,” he breathes, beaten.

The cheeky fucker. I lower my phone, eyes narrowing in interest and nothing more. “Something tells me your commission depends on what price you can secure.”

He looks guilty. I don’t know why. He’s a salesman.

“Let me educate you on a few things, Owen.” I pull my trousers up at the knees and lower to the couch. “My uncle bought The Manor in 1989 for a cool two million.” I glance at John. He’s looking slightly reminiscent, almost sad. “He spent another two renovating the building and the grounds, not to mention the blood, sweat, and tears.”

“It was three,” John says, his voice flat and gruff.

“Three,” I say. “That’s five million. The property was valued at eleven on completion in 1990. My uncle was twenty-six at the time. It’s not official, but I’m pretty sure that would have made him one of the youngest millionaires in the country at the time. The property and grounds are just a fraction of The Manor’s worth. The running of this business brings me in a hell of a lot more a year. So, if I were to sell this grand, glorious old building, it would need to be a pretty fucking big carrot being dangled. Gold plated. The tastiest thing I’ve ever tried, and I’ve tried some tasty things in my time, if you get what I mean.” God help me if Ava heard me say that. The only thing I’d be tasting is blood from my split lip. John clearing his throat confirms it. Owen looks like he’s prepared for a donkey and got a racehorse. “Want to take time to regroup?” I ask.

He breathes out, the sound filling the room, and pulls out a folder from his briefcase. “Let’s pull back on the money talk and have a chat about Fairlands.” The folder slaps on the wood, and John and I both look at the photograph on the front of a pretty impressive golf course. “They have one other location in the north of the UK. Dozens across Europe. They want another in the south and this is perfect.”

“I’m not much of a golfer.” I pick up the file and have a browse.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” John says. I look at him, surprised. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” I say, going back to the glossy brochure. “Your bonsai trees might feel a bit neglected, though.” I get a swift punch in my bicep, and I laugh. As does Owen. I glare at him. He pipes down. “Look, Owen, this is all very pretty, but why the hell am I going to sell The Manor for a fraction of what the business operating from it is worth?” He delayed our meeting by six hours just to insult me? “Now, if you will excuse me.” I stand and walk out, uninterested in anything more he has to say. I’d rather sit in the bar with the boys and listen to their drivel.

Both Sam and Drew look surprised by my appearance, their beer bottles lowering. “That was quick,” Drew says, looking behind me for Owen.

“Deal done,” I say, smiling at Mario when he gets a water and hands it to Pete.

“Serious?” Sam asks.

“No.” I don’t fuck with them too much. “Waste of my time.”

Both men deflate, Drew more than Sam. I check my watch and text Ava again. She’s still feeling better. Did she have lunch?

“Oh, he’s not gone?” Drew says.

I look up. John’s at the door with Owen, his glasses off, his eyes telling me to go to him. I make a meal of getting up slowly, showing my inconvenience. “What?” I ask, approaching.

“I’ll be in touch,” Owen says, nodding, backing away.

“Right.” I exhale my impatience, watching him looking around as he goes, taking in the many women throwing many sultry looks.

“I need you in the office,” John says.

“What for?”

“We need to find the deeds to this place.”

“Why?”

“Because when they come back with a more realistic, sweeter offer, and they will, trust me, you’re going to have to provide proof of ownership.” He turns and walks away. “Plus the accountant wants some information for your tax liabilities, you need to find your banking customer number, and somewhere in there are my pension details.” He looks back, his bushy eyebrows appearing over his shades. “I’d ask Sarah, but?—”

“So she looked after your paperwork too?” John should have details of his pension, that’s standard.

“Get moving,” he grunts, swerving my observation.

“I’m coming,” I grate, signaling to the boys that I’m off. I stop at the door and look back at Sam. “All right?” I ask.

“I’m meeting her in an hour.” He stands and pulls out his keys.

My smile is unstoppable. No point mentioning Dan, but I’m still curious why he wants to meet me. “Happy for you, mate.”

“Me too,” Sam says.

We both look at Drew as he passes his eyes between us both. “Me too,” he breathes tiredly, then scans the bar for potential playmates.

I carry on with John and once again sigh at the paperwork when I enter my office. “Fucking hell,” I murmur, going to my desk and flicking through a few pieces. “So you’re thinking of retiring?” I ask, casual.

“I’m off.”

“What?”

He taps the screen of his watch. “Your wife finishes work at six, am I right?”

“Oh, yeah.” I think I’d rather face Ava’s potential wrath than this paperwork.

“And where am I taking her?”

“Well, here,” I grunt. “Since you’re cracking your whip and putting me to work.” I flinch. Whip. “God’s speed.”

He laughs under his breath, shaking the room. “And have you told her I’ll be bringing her here?”

I glance up.

“Just preparing myself for what I’m walking into,” he adds.

“I’ll let her know.” I can finally show her the new bedroom too... if I get through this mess.

“Good. You need last year’s accounts and tax calculations too.”

“What do they even look like?”

“Numbers. Very big numbers.” The door closes, and I drop to the couch, exhausted by the mess. So I get up and head to our new suite to check it one last time before I show Ava.

I smile as I stand on the threshold, pleased with myself and the workmen. The lighting is moody, the soft furnishings pure luxury, the bed beautiful. I sit on the end and take a few quiet moments to myself, absorbing every detail. This room. It was the beginning of my new life.

My eyes fall to the wooden cross. Not a part of Ava’s initial design, naturally, since she had no idea what would go on in this room. But a later addition.

She wants hard. Shock and awe. She can’t have it. But there’s a way round that.

Compromise.

The key to appease my wife is to blindside her. I smile and go to the music system, loading it, ready, before brushing a hand across the bedsheets, smoothing out the crinkles I’ve made. Then I head back downstairs, texting Ava on my way.

I’m still at The Manor. Come? We’ll have steak.

She replies in a second, no argument. Because she knows Sarah isn’t here.

On my way x

I enter my office and pout at the mess of papers. One call and it would be sorted. Can’t do that.

After searching through one pile for half hour and then sifting through another for twenty minutes, finding nothing that looks like tax papers, accounts, or deeds, I’m close to losing the will to live. I need Ava.She offered to help sort this out. But will she be too tired after a day at work?Undoubtedly. I can’t ask her to do extra work while she’s carrying my baby.

I start transporting the piles to the floor—I need space to spread out.

Knock, knock.

“What?” I call, sounding irritable.

Drew’s head pokes round the door. “Where’s John?”

“Picking Ava up. Why?”

“No reason.” He grins and backs out, and I follow him, wondering if there’s some trouble I need to sort out.

“What’s going on, Drew?” I ask his back as he hurries down the corridor to the summer room. He slows. Exhales. Looks back. “Steve Cook’s here.”

The burn inside is instant and very fucking real. Cool it. I asked him to call me, not pay a visit. Have him and his missus split up again? Has he been caught whipping young, na?ve women without offering a safe word? And, come to think of it, does his wife even know about that?

“Is it wise to let him pass?” Drew asks.

“Probably not.”

“Do you want me to join the meeting and hold you back if your fists decide to take off.”

“Probably should.”

“Okay.” He nods, assessing me up and down, thumbing over his shoulder. “I’ll go get him then.”

“Okay.”

“Stow those fists, Jesse.”

I clench them and tuck them behind my back. “Got any cuffs?”

Drew smirks and leaves, and I put myself back in my office, flexing my fists, working away the tension. I also remind myself that I wanted to talk to Steve, that he could help me. Mikael Van Der Haus still hasn’t reared his smarmy Danish head, and the longer he remains underground, the more certain I am it must have been him who drugged Ava. I just can’t wrap my mind around such vindictiveness and desperation. His beef is with me, not my wife.

I sit on the couch and stand up again. Perch on the edge of my desk. Stand again. I settle for behind my desk. He’ll have more of a chance to escape if I fly at him.

Or maybe not.

The door opens and Drew appears. I nod as he stands aside and lets Steve enter. “Jesse,” he says, his lips pressed into a straight line, the usual cockiness nowhere in sight.

I swallow down the dormant anger hearing his voice spikes. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t got me in a choke hold.”

“Me too,” I admit. But, again, given the severity of the situation—my wife was drugged—I’m willing to put my grievance aside.

Whips. Lashes. The marks all over Ava’s back.

Drew closes the door and puts himself on the couch between my desk and Steve, who’s remained by the door. Close enough to intercept if I let my restraint ping. Drew must be concerned—I know he’d rather be upstairs.

“I needed to apologize,” Steve says.

“You mean apologize for whipping my wife until her skin broke and she was practically unconscious?” Just speaking those words has me fidgeting, the whole horrendous scene parading through my head again. I shake away the thoughts quickly before they take hold and Drew’s forced to play kamikaze. “Does Juliette know about...”

He shakes his head, and with that gives me all the ammo I need... should I need it. “And I’d rather she didn’t,” he confirms.

“I need you to look into someone for me.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “Name?”

“Mikael Van Der Haus.” I can feel Drew’s uneasiness and flick him a look. I’m good. I’ve got this. He can leave. And he does, closing the door quietly behind him. “Danish,” I go on. “Owns a development company.” I write down Van Der Haus’s name and his company name, wandering over to Steve and passing it to him. He looks caught between relief and wariness. “Call me if you dig anything up.” Leave it transactional. I saw his face the night I carried Ava out of here covered in his whip marks. He was shocked, and something tells me his disbelief wasn’t only due to my reaction. He wants to right his wrongs, so he’ll do this. Plus, he doesn’t want me to tell his wife about the depth of his debauched time while he frequented the rooms of my manor.

“Any background information?”

“Ava was drugged the night before...” I clear my throat. “The night before...” I don’t need to finish. He knows. “One of the security team at the bar got some CCTV footage showing a man in the vicinity. It looks like Van Der Haus.”

“Did you report this?”

“No, I don’t want the police involved.” Ironic, since I’m talking to a cop. Steve stares at me long and hard. He knows what’s happening here. I will find Van Der Haus and deliver my own kind of justice, and Steve will let me.

“What’s his connection to Ava?” he goes on, folding the piece of paper and slipping it into his pocket.

“He’s a client. He’s also the ex-husband of Freja Van Der Haus. She is... was a member.”

“Freja?”

“Yeah, Freja.”

“You...”

“Yes, I did.” Say no more.

Steve nods in understanding and takes some backward steps to the door, almost as if he doesn’t want to take his eyes off me in case I change my mind and lunge at him. “I really am remorseful, Jesse.”

I know he’s not here to grovel so he can worm his way back into The Manor. So he’s sincere. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive him. Or forget. “Thanks for stopping by.” I turn and face the masses of paperwork I’ve moved onto the floor, hearing the door close.

I need to occupy my mind with something numbing and mundane before I go after him, drag him back, and pummel him. So I get on my knees and start sifting through the piles, setting aside any that look even remotely official. Which is a lot. “God damn you, Sarah,” I whisper, my mind short-circuiting.

The door swings open, and Ava appears. And isn’t she a sight for sore eyes.

She looks at the mess surrounding me and smiles. I think there’s a tinge of guilt in there somewhere. “Hey.”

“Here’s my beautiful girl.” I’m done playing office junior for the day. I cast aside the papers and get on my arse, ushering Ava into my arms. “Come here. I need you.”

“Need me, or need me to sort all of this out for you?”

Would she? I mean, I’d silently hoped, and she did offer an hour here or there. She must see how lost I am. But she’s tired. “Both.”

Coming to me, she lowers between my spread thighs. I saw her brief look of alarm at the mess. I crowd her completely and get a long hit of her scent. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Good, I don’t like seeing you poorly.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been underhanded and knocked me up,” she counters, the words loaded with sarcasm. I still smile though. “I saw Steve leaving,” she goes on.

“Hmm.” I don’t want to talk about Cook. I want to show her our new room and then get us home.

“Did you offer burial or cremation?”

I knock her leg with mine as I suck on her lobe. “I offered him an olive branch, actually.” Kind of. It was more blackmail, I suppose. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.”

“What’s made you so reasonable?”

“I’m always reasonable,” I reply. “It is you, beautiful girl, who’s the unreasonable one.”

“What’s so reasonable about having my car stolen?” There she goes again, making something sound as terrible as possible. I didn’t have it stolen. I had it delivered back to Lusso so Ava didn’t have to drive it there. Or here. Or wherever. “And how did you manage it without any key?”

“Tow truck. How was your day?”

She reaches for a piece of paper. “Productive,” she says. “Shall we make a start?”

She definitely looks perkier. Full of color. Bright eyes. “Suppose so.” She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. It’s fucking painful.

Ava gets to it, working quickly, glancing at papers, sorting them, tidying them, bundling them. She’s a pro, and I am clearly redundant. So I leave her to it and go to my computer, doing something far more enjoyable.

Making a list of things for Zoe to source.

Car seats, strollers, cribs, sterilizers. What else? I scroll the pages, browsing. Blankets, clothes, nappies, baths, baby monitors...

It’s fucking endless.

Ava appears at the foot of my desk, startling me, and I quickly shut my laptop and get up. “Dinner?”

Her expression is a beautiful blend of curiosity and amusement as she leans past me and flips the lid back up. Bugger it. I know she’ll think it’s too much too soon, but we have lots to get done. The nursery, the birth plan, buying every piece of baby equipment ever invented. “Just doing a bit of research.”

I can’t take her judgmental eyes on me anymore, so I look away. And then I’m suddenly warm and fuzzy everywhere, Ava hugging me. “I know you’re excited,” she says softly. “But could we hold off telling people?”

Ah.

Oops.

“I want to shout about it,” I say. “Tell everyone.”

“I know.” She looks like she’s struggling, as if she braced herself for this conversation. I thought she was happy. “But I’m a few weeks. It’s bad luck. Women usually wait until their first scan, at least.”

“When’s the first scan?” I ask, ready to hit Google again. “I’ll pay. We’ll get one tomorrow.”

She leans back and holds my forearms while I keep hold of her hips, smiling at her. She suits pregnancy already. “It’s far too early for a scan,” she tells me. How does she know? “And anyway, the hospital will do it.”

What? Wait, she thinks we’re waiting around for an invitation from a hospital to check everything is okay and how far she is officially? Nah. Not happening. “You are not having my baby in an NHS hospital.” Because they don’t accept drop-ins every day of the week just to check things over.

“I th?—”

“No, Ava.” Absolutely not. I will not be flexing on this particular wish. “This is not up for discussion. End of. Never, no way.”

Looking rather alarmed, Ava shakes her head. “What do you think they’ll do?”

Make us wait.But I don’t say that because I’ll be accused of being unreasonable. “I don’t know, but I’m not giving them the chance.” Now it’s time to show Ava what I’ve been working on.

“You pay your taxes and so do I,” she says on a laugh. “It’s a privilege to have a National Health Service. You should be grateful.”

“I am, it’s wonderful, but we won’t be utilizing it. End of.”

“Neurotic.”

I balk at her cheek. She’s playing with me. She’s cute. “...ish.” I look down her body. “I like your dress.” It’ll be on the floor soon, but I like it.

“Thank you.”

“I want to show you something.” I lead her with a palm on her back through The Manor. “Come on.” Up the stairs, around the landing, past the stained-glass window. “Here.” I open the door and watch her face fall in astonishment as she steps into the room. I bite my lip, nervous, watching her take it all in.

“You did this?” she asks.

“I gave someone your drawing and told them to create it.” I close the door. “Is it close?” It’s identical, but Ava wasn’t overseeing these works and it’s been a while since she created those drawings.

“It is.” She has another quick look. “When?”

“It doesn’t matter when. What matters is if you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” she breathes.

“It’s ours.”

“Ours?”

“No one has ever been in this room and no one ever will be. This is our room. If I’m working”—which is likely given Sarah’s absence—“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?” Her face becomes pensive, and I know why. She doesn’t want our child here. She’s been thinking about that—The Manor, my old lifestyle, the baby.

“I mean,” I say softly, keen to explain myself. “If we need it, it will be here.”

She nods, only very mildly, and takes it in some more. “Why is that in here?” she practically whispers, looking at the cross.

I smile. “Because I had it put in here.”

“Why?”

“I think it might... help.” I watch her chest start to pulse with her breathless anticipation.

“What do we need help with?”

“You want it hard,” I say quietly, moving in on her. “And I’m not very comfortable with that when you’re carrying my baby.” I can’t have this battle for the next... how long? Fuck me, we’ve been together a couple of months. Is she months or weeks? Yeah, not waiting for a routine scan. “So I thought carefully...” Shoes, gone; socks, gone; jacket, gone—all under Ava’s watchful eyes. “And came up with the Compromise Fuck.” I already love the Compromise Fuck, and Ava will too.

“I don’t understand.”

Is she being coy? I start on my shirt and tie, and her eyes drop down my front as I slowly expose it to her hungry gaze. “You will.” I go to the sideboard and press play on the system, turning back to Ava when a slow, sensual beat joins us.

“What is this?” she breathes. I get close, absorbing the thrums of her body.

“This is Amber, Sexual.” My skin buzzes. “Afterlife.” Specifically chosen. “Appropriate, don’t you think? It doesn’t always have to be hard, Ava. I hold the power, no matter how I take you.” I guide her to the cross. She lets me. “It’s not the hard you love, anyway. It’s me taking you so unapologetically.”

“You’ll never fuck any sense into me again?”

“Will you defy me again?” I ask around a mild smile.

“Probably.”

“Then I’ve absolutely no doubt that I will, my temptress.” But for now, we compromise with the Compromise Fuck. “If I want to fuck you hard and make you scream, I will. If I want to make love to you, Ava, and make you purr, I will.” I lean in and kiss her softly, breathing in her exhale. “If I want to bind you on this cross, I will.” I start removing her dress slowly, extending her torture, loving the anticipation staring back at me. Her eyes have clouded. It’s stunning. Not dissimilar to the very first time when we were in this room together. Her, flustered. Me, enchanted. Wondering how I might convince this woman to have dinner with me. So I told her I liked her dress. Came on a little... strong. Watched her dash off, literally hearing her heart pounding.

Look at us now.

I help her step out of her dress, feeling her wobbles. She closes her eyes. Tightly. “And you are mine, so I’ll do what I like with you.” Go on, baby. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I can’t. Of course, she doesn’t because, right now, I have the power.

I start on her bra and stare at her breasts, but I resist kissing them, moving her hands to the manacles in turn and securing her. No fight. “Look at me, baby.” I caress her face, using my spare hand to press into my dick, inhaling some control. I nearly lose it when she obeys, opening her eyes.

“Tell me you’ve never done this before,” she whispers.

My hand on the back of her head, I pull her close. “Never.” And I kiss her gently, reinforcing it, exploring her mouth slowly and lovingly, listening to her soft whimpers of pleasure over the music. I put my mouth all over her face, her ears, remind her to open her eyes when she closes them.

I move back. Take her in.

Swallow.

Fuck. I imagined this. Could never have anticipated the sheer, unbelievable sight of her spread on the wooden cross, naked, every inch of her screaming for me. The sexual energy is charged. She looks fucking incredible, and I feel it. The undying desire, the ceaseless adoration. From both of us.

She closes her eyes again, but before I order them open, I pull my phone out and take a picture of her bound on the cross, naked except for her lace knickers. Breathless. Fuck.

I remove my trousers as she opens her eyes again for me, and enjoy her silent observations of my body, smile on the inside when she finally starts to fight the shackles. She held out for longer than I expected. I whisper my encouragement, calm her when she insists she can’t control her instinct to fight her bounds, wrap my palms around her balled fists when she tenses everywhere and cries out quietly. Her lips part, her body relaxes, her hands loosen. I drag my touch to her breasts, skim her nipples with the back of my hand, and then dip, taking one in my mouth. Her moan vibrates through her body, the metal of her restraints chinking. I worship her boobs, nip at her sensitive nipples, indulge myself completely. Lost. Consumed.

Peeking up, I see her panting down at me, gritting her teeth, dealing with the pressure around her nipple.

Sustaining it.

Sustaining me.

She’s sending me a silent message, and I hear it loud and clear. I release her and lick life back into her boob. “My beautiful girl is learning to control it.” I drag her knickers down her thighs. Kiss my way back up her body. Slide my fingers into her.

Her breath hitches.

“Shhhh. Soak it up, Ava. Feel every single bit of pleasure that I bless you with.” I start fucking her gently with my fingers, smiling at the feeling of her gripping me, as I circle myself at the root and draw a few long strokes. Withdrawing my fingers, I start brushing the swollen, wet crown of my dick around her flesh, mixing our wetness, shaking violently. Fucking hell. I catch her mouth, and then our moans are mixing too.

“Are your arms okay?” I ask urgently.

“Yes.”

“Are you ready for me to take you, Ava?” I ask. “Tell me you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” She gasps the words, her eyes clenching shut, her panting off the charts.

“Open your eyes for me, baby.”

Her lids peel open, and as soon as I have her gaze, I slowly swivel my hips and drive deep and high into her. “Oh God.”

“Jesus.” My knees buckle as I crouch to pull her up by the backs of her thighs, my mind blanking. I pump slowly, allowing both of us the time to accept the pressure and pleasure. My mouth works her throat, licking away her sweat, nibbling at her flesh. “I set the pace and you follow.”

She turns her head and finds my lips, and we kiss soft and slow, each plunge into her measured and deep, each grind firm, each withdrawal steady.

It’s not long before I feel the telltale signs of my looming release, and Ava’s legs around my waist start shifting. I claw my fingers into the backs of her thighs.

“You’re going to come,” she gasps.

“Not yet.” Fuck, not yet. Control it. She watches me fighting to rein myself in, sweating like a beast, needing to stop moving, but the feeling is too good to stop. I’m no longer in control, and when she pushes her mouth onto mine and sweeps her tongue wide, I’m a goner.

Fuck. I hoist her up higher, and it’s all it takes. I feel like I come out of my body and slam back into it again, Ava’s scream of pleasure sounding miles away. She jerks violently against me, the shackles clanging as she fights them. I don’t have it in me to tell her to stop before she marks herself. Each thrust is becoming hard, firm. My body knows where it needs to be and there’s no stopping it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I bark, looking at the ceiling as Ava buries her face in my neck. The pulse in my dick becomes a buzz, the sensitivity becoming unbearable. But I’ve got to release the pressure. She screams my name as I bang into her, and when she sinks her teeth into my shoulder, I tip the edge and freefall into a deep pit of pleasure, trembling, mumbling, my mind blank, my breathing shot.

Christ, I’m struggling to keep us upright, my body shaking as my orgasm rips through me with force.

“That was perfect,” she pants as I drag my face from the crook of her neck and find a damp, flushed beauty staring back at me. I release her from the cross, content when she wraps every limb around me. I carry her to the bed and lay us down, both of us needing to catch our breath.

“Do you like our room?” I ask, a little wheezy, lost in her neck again, her hair tickling my nose.

“Are we going to have a cradle put in here?” she asks, dampening the serenity. “You know, for when we bring our baby to The Manor?”

There it is.

I push myself up and settle next to her, drawing circles across her belly. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.”

“Just a question,” she says quietly.

Yes, a loaded one. And it’s definitely something we should talk about. That’s a discussion for another day, though, and I can’t help but wonder what she’d say if she knew I’d been in talks with a potential buyer. Even if it was a waste of my time. “You have a bump,” I whisper, gliding my palm over the planes of her tummy, my eyes narrowing, assessing, definitely seeing a very slight rise on her usually flat stomach.

“Don’t be stupid.” Bless her, she looks offended. “I’m barely pregnant.”

“I’m not being stupid. It’s faint, but it’s there.” I drop a chaste kiss there, again looking forward to the day when I can spend ages working my way all over her rounded stomach with my lips. “I know this body, and I know it’s changing.”

She pouts down at my hand resting just south of her boobs. “Whatever you say, Jesse.”

Smiling, I scoot down the bed and level my mouth with her belly. “See, peanut? Your mother’s learning who has the power.”

Her gasp is endearing. Her look fierce. “No peanut. Think of another name. You’re not referring to our child as something disgusting that you obsess about and devour daily.”

Disgusting? “I obsess about you. I also devour you daily.” I move fast and sit astride her, securing her to the bed by her wrists, having a quick check for welts. She’s good. “Let me call our baby peanut.”

She grins. “Never.”

Hmmm. “Sense fuck?”

“Yes, please.”

Oh, how I love her voracious appetite for me. “Pregnancy’s making you a monster,” I say over a laugh. “Come on. My wife and peanut must be hungry.”

“Your wife and baby are very hungry,” she counters. And doesn’t that sound amazing. My wife and baby.

I get her up and retrieve her knickers from the floor, bending to hold them at her feet, kissing my way up her legs, spending extra time on her tummy, until I’m at her face again. More kisses. Her bra. More kisses. Her dress. More kisses.

And once I’m done dressing and kissing Ava, I grab my boxers and step into them, pull my trousers and shirt on, and get my hands knocked away from the buttons when I start to fasten them. She wants to dress me? I hold my hands up in surrender and watch her with fascination as she takes her time putting me back together again.

Looking after me.

She’s being attentive but playful. Loving, caring, compliant.

I’m content. So fucking content. So content, I refuse to allow anything to ruin this. I feel like we’ve moved into new territory. One that’s absent of problems. I know many of those problems are still there, but I can’t let them affect us. Affect Ava. Especially now.

When we’re both decent, we go down to the bar to get some dinner. Mario is his usual cheerful self, he and Ava chatting while I scan the space, seeing who’s here, who’s not. Natasha catches my eye, her curved eyebrows arched to within an inch of their lives as she sips from a tall glass, observing me. I ignore her. She’s a leach. And she’ll be a squashed leach if she pushes Ava over the edge. What the hell is Drew doing getting his kicks from her? He’s got the pick of The Manor.

“What would you like?” Mario asks as I take a stool next to Ava.

“Two waters. Just two waters please, Mario.”

“I might like some wine with my dinner,” Ava says.

I roll my eyes to myself and don’t entertain the glare my wife currently has pinned on me. Wine? Did she forget she’s pregnant? “You might do, but you’re not having any.” End of. “Two waters, Mario.” I find Pete at the end of the bar. “Two steaks, Pete.” Now I know I read rare meat is a no-no. “One medium, one well done. No blood, whatsoever.” I’m erring on the side of caution.

“Urhh... yes, Mr. Ward,” he replies, his astonishing waiter brain probably pulling the fact that Ava likes her steak medium from among all the other things he remembers about various clients he serves. “Salad and new potatoes?”

“Yes, just make sure one steak is thoroughly cooked.”

Mario is back with our bottled water, looking as struck as poor Pete. If Ava wasn’t here, I’d tell them our news, give them some context, but she is so I won’t. Right now, they’ll just have to deal with my uncharacteristically demanding self.

I save Mario the task and pour Ava some water, feeling her eyes still on my profile. But she’s quiet. Accepting? Wait... “Is there egg in that salad dressing?” I ask Pete.

“I’m not sure. Should I check?”

“Yes, if there is, leave the salad with the well-cooked steak undressed.”

“Okay, Mr. Ward.”

I nod and mentally scan back through that endless list of foods to be wary of during pregnancy. Wait, coffee. Did I see coffee on the list? Jesus, I had coffee delivered to her office this morning. I must check about coffee. And cheese. Was it soft cheese or hard? Blue or Swiss? I groan, the pressure in my head getting too much.

“If you don’t go to that kitchen, change my order, and get me a glass of wine, I’m one step closer to moving in with my parents for the rest of this pregnancy.” She speaks so calmly, staring at the optics above the bar. I blink at her, startled. Is she for real? “You’re not trampling my diet, Ward.”

Wanna bet? I understand that this is all a bit of a shock—the pregnancy and all—and she’s still trying to get her head around it, blah, blah, blah, but anything, and I mean anything, that puts her or our baby at risk is off the menu. Literally. “You’ve already gotten yourself pissed while you were pregnant,” I hiss quietly, that fact—and grievance—finally falling out of my mouth. And I can tell it stings her.

“I was mad with you.”

She was mad with me? A cop-out. “So you thought you would take it out on my baby?”

“You keep saying my baby. It’s ours.”

“That’s what I meant,” I grate.

“You’re not worried about me, then?” she asks, her frown small but telling. What? “It’s not my safety anymore?”

I’m stunned. Whenever have I given her any hint that her safety isn’t at the top of my priority list? I can’t deal with this kind of unreasonableness. She infuriates me. And we’ve talked about this. I told her, plain as day, eased her underlying fear that I might want a baby more than I want her. I’m about to state a bombardment of facts that will squash Ava’s grievance when I catch the table of women nearby—Natasha included—looking this way. Fucking hell, what did they hear? Do I need to ask? Their faces are an irritating shade of shock.

But... do I give a single shit? No.

Back to my wife.

My unreasonable, stubborn wife.

“I...” Fuck it, I did say my. I didn’t mean to, but I did. And how the hell is this discussion going to help either of us? God damn it. I’m guessing controlling meal choices is past Ava’s limit of acceptable levels of smothering. But she absolutely does need to read up on a few things. She doesn’t want wine. She just doesn’t want me to tell her that she can’t have it. And, actually, I fucking didn’t.

I blink as Ava stares at me, her eyes clouded with emotion—frustration, hurt, disbelief. She’s a grown woman, I get that. She’s also smart. I’m playing this completely wrong. “Fucking hell.” My hands go into my hair and pull, maybe to try and yank some reason out of me. When will I learn that my wife doesn’t do well being dictated to. Outside the bedroom, at least. “Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I mean it, Jesse,” she goes on, like I haven’t just mentally beaten myself up enough. I heard her. I hear her. And I see her remorse for doing what she did, even if she’s not outwardly apologizing. I don’t want to argue. I want to put that in the past and move forward. I face her, take her drink, and hold her hands tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“You are?” Her eyes widen.

“I am. I’m sorry.” We need to figure out a way to navigate this pregnancy together as a team, otherwise I’ll be certified officially crazy by the time this baby arrives. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

She laughs, and despite it being a sweet, comforting sound, I’m quite injured. This is no joke. “Jesse,” she sighs. “This is hard enough to cope with, without dealing with an enhanced control freak. It’s not something I planned or even considered.” No shit. And enhanced? “I don’t need you on my case, analyzing every move I make, monitoring everything that passes my lips. Please don’t make this tougher than it already is.” She gets up and moves into my chest. She thinks I need comforting. I do. “I want my baby to have a daddy,” she whispers, smiling at my forlorn pout. “Please try to reduce the risk of a stress-induced heart attack by chilling out a little.”

We all know chilling out isn’t exactly my forte when it comes to anything relating to Ava. I need to stop telling and start asking. Or enlightening. Sharing the things I’m learning about pregnancy. I hum as Ava smothers my face with kisses. Pacifying me?

“I’ll work on it, baby,” I say. “I’m really trying”—kind of—“but can we at least compromise?”

“Compromise how?” she asks, the uncertainty in her voice clear. Okay. Let’s see how this goes. I’ll be gutted if she digs her heels in on this particular issue, because it’s a massive no-no, and not only because her husband doesn’t like her drinking under normal circumstances. I pull her out of my chest, scanning her eyes as she scans mine. “Please don’t drink,” I whisper softly, my voice undoubtedly as pleading as my eyes.

She visibly softens before me. “I won’t.” Smiling mildly at my obvious relief, she strokes though my messy hair. It’s as I thought—she just doesn’t like being told. “Go get me a medium cooked steak,” she says, following it up with a kiss before sitting herself back down. “And I’d like that dressing on my salad.”

I leave her at the bar and head to the kitchen, finding Pete. “So it’s two medium steaks.”

Poor Pete looks so lost. “Okay, Mr. Ward.” He takes one step, and I reach for his arm, stopping him.

I look over my shoulder to the corridor that leads back to the entrance hall. She can’t possibly hear me. “But make one closer to well-done, okay?”

His frown is epic. “So medium well-done?”

“Yeah, but we’ll call it medium when it’s served, okay?”

“Mr. Ward,” Pete says, exasperated. “Is everything okay? You seem a bit.. strung.”

I release a bark of laughter, dropping my hold. “I’m fine, Pete.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Ava’s pregnant.”

“Oh, wow,” he breathes. “Congratulations.”

“A baby!”

I jump out of my skin as Mario shuffles past with a tray of clean glasses. “I see a bloom!” he sings, and I chuckle. “Marvelous news, Mr. Ward. Most marvelous.”

“Thanks, Mario.” No celebrating with the marvelous stuff, though.

I leave a stunned Pete to order us two steaks, one disguised as a medium, and head back to Ava, happy.

But my smile drops like a rock and I skid to a stop, my mouth gaping, when I encounter something in the entrance hall I really didn’t expect.