Chapter 17
Jack
After Ava checks back into her room, she joins us for another dinner.
Alfie is halfway through a bowl of pasta when he looks up at me with complete seriousness.
“You did a good job today, Dad.”
It lands harder than any pundit comment ever could.
“Thanks, mate,” I say. “What was your favourite part?”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“The food.”
Ava makes a small choking sound into her glass.
“Of course it was,” I say. “What did you like?”
“There was lots,” he says, eyes widening slightly at the memory. “And some weird stuff.”
“What did you like best?” Ava asks.
He turns towards her immediately, clearly pleased she asked.
“They had mini burgers,” he says, holding up his fingers to show the size. “And really crunchy chips.”
“Good choices,” I say.
“They said they were cooked five times,” he adds importantly.
Mum laughs softly. “Triple cooked chips.”
Alfie nods. “Yes. That.”
He takes another bite of pasta, then lowers his voice slightly.
“They also had little black pebbles.”
Ava blinks. “Pebbles?”
“They tasted yukky,” he confirms.
Mum sighs. “That would be because you took a cracker with caviar on it before I could stop you.”
Alfie makes a face like he’s reliving a trauma.
“I thought it was chocolate sprinkles.”
Ava presses her lips together, shoulders shaking slightly.
“And then you spat it into a napkin,” Mum continues.
“It was very bad,” Alfie says firmly. “Very, very bad.”
“What else did they have?” Ava asks.
“They had gallops,” he says.
“Scallops,” Mum corrects gently.
“That,” he agrees. “But I didn’t try them.”
“Sensible,” I say.
“I stayed with the burgers,” he says. “And the desserts.”
Of course he did.
“They had lots of desserts,” he continues. “But they were all in tiny kids glasses.”
Ava smiles. “Tiny kids glasses?”
He nods. “Granny said it’s because they don’t want people to take too many.”
Mum mutters into her tea, “That didn’t stop you.”
Alfie glances at her, then leans slightly towards Ava and me like he’s sharing state secrets.
“I had six,” he whispers.
I bite back a laugh.
“Six?” I repeat quietly.
He nods, very pleased with himself.
“They were very small,” he explains, which clearly justifies everything.
Ava is smiling at him like he’s the most entertaining person she’s ever met.
And I could get very used to this.
By the time we get to Ava’s room, I know I’m done for.
Not in a dramatic way. Just in the quiet, dangerous way where a woman looks at you from across a hotel room and you realise you would make some very questionable decisions just to keep that look on her face.
Alfie had stretched bedtime like only a five-year-old can. One story. Two extra questions. A discussion about whether triceratops could beat a lion. Then the serious business.
“You have to come tomorrow,” he’d told Ava, holding up a finger like he was making a legal contract. “You have to swear.”
“I swear,” she’d said.
“On jam sandwiches.”
She hadn’t even laughed. Just nodded like this was the most binding oath available.
“I swear on jam sandwiches.”
That was that.
We told Mum we were going for a walk.
Technically true. We did walk. Just mostly down the corridor and not very far.
Now Ava is half on top of me on her hotel bed and I honestly cannot remember what we were talking about five minutes ago.
Her glasses are somewhere behind my shoulder. Her hair is slightly messy from my hands. Her mouth is soft and warm and she kisses like she does everything else. Careful at first. Then completely.
I slide my hand slowly along her back and she makes that quiet little sound again. The one that goes straight through me.
“You realise,” she murmurs against my mouth, “this is probably a terrible idea.”
“Almost certainly,” I agree, before kissing her again.
Her fingers slide into my hair like she already knows exactly how I like being touched. Like she noticed. Like she always notices.
Bloody hell.
“We told your mum we were going for a walk,” she says.
“We did walk.”
“This feels like false advertising.”
I smile against her neck. “We can go for a very respectable walk later.”
She lets out a soft laugh that turns into a breath when I kiss just below her ear.
There is something almost ridiculously teenage about this. No rush. No agenda. Just kissing because neither of us seems able to stop.
Her hand slips under my shirt and my brain briefly stops functioning.
“You’re very distracting,” she whispers.
“You started it.”
“I did not.”
“Front row,” I remind her. “The hair flick. The glasses.”
She groans and drops her forehead against my shoulder.
“I cannot believe you noticed that.”
“I noticed everything.”
“You were answering questions about tactics.”
“I can multitask.”
She lifts her head, cheeks pink.
“I was trying to be mysterious,” she admits.
“You nearly caused an incident. The bloke next to you looked genuinely concerned.”
She hides her face against my chest. “I don’t do seductive. I do… accidentally alarming.”
I gently tilt her chin up until she has to look at me.
“You do you,” I tell her quietly. “That seems to be working very well for me.”
That soft, surprised look appears again. Like she still isn’t quite used to being wanted like this. Like she’s waiting for the catch.
I kiss her before she can disappear into her own head again.
Slow this time.
Properly.
She relaxes into me like she’s deciding to trust the moment instead of analysing it. Her body warm against mine. Her hand resting over my ribs like she belongs there.
And it hits me, somewhere between one kiss and the next, that this already feels different. Easy. Natural.
My hand moves slowly along her side and she presses closer without hesitation.
“Still glad you stayed?” I murmur.
She smiles against my mouth.
“Very glad.”
I brush my thumb along her cheek and she leans into it without thinking.
Yeah.
I am absolutely in trouble here.
I slide my hands down to her waist, gripping the hem of her shirt.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I murmur against her mouth.
She laughs, breathless, but doesn’t pull away when I tug the fabric up, breaking the kiss just long enough to peel it over her head.
Her bra simple and practical, white cotton, no lace, no frills, and somehow that makes my cock throb harder. There’s no artifice here. No game.
I hook a finger under the strap of her bra and drag it down her shoulder, slow enough that she shivers.
“Jack—” Her voice cracks. I love the way she says my name like that, like it’s a question and a plea all at once.
“Shh.” I press my lips to the exposed slope of her shoulder, then bite just hard enough to make her gasp. My hands find the button of her trousers, pop it open. The zip comes down with a quiet hiss.
I don’t give her time to overthink it. I kiss her again, deep and filthy, my tongue tangling with hers whilst I push her trousers and knickers down. She kicks them off the rest of the way with a giggle.
My fingers explore how wet she is, how ready. She whimpers into my mouth when I slide two inside her, her hips jerking up instinctively.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” I murmur, my forehead resting against hers. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”
She sighs, her nails digging into my biceps. I curl my fingers, dragging a broken moan from her throat.
“Good girl.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and her entire body clenches around my hand. Fuck, she likes that. I file it away for later.
I strip her the rest of the way before taking off my own clothes and then I’m on my knees between her legs, breathing in the scent of her.
Musky and sweet, like honey and salt. I’ve barely touched her with my mouth before she’s writhing, her thighs trembling.
“Jack, I—” Her voice is thin, desperate.
I flatten my tongue and drag it through her folds, slow and deliberate, savouring the way her back arches off the bed.
“You what?” I murmur, my breath hot against her slick skin. I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue, then pull back just as she’s about to come undone. Her hands fly to my hair, gripping hard enough to sting. “Tell me.”
“I can’t—” She’s panting, her cheeks flushed. “I can’t think when you do that.”
I grin. “That’s the point.”
I go back to work, licking and sucking until her thighs are shaking, her moans filling the room. She comes with a choked cry, her fingers twisting in the duvet, her pussy pulsing against my tongue. I don’t stop, riding out every aftershock until she’s boneless and breathless, her chest heaving.
When I finally lift my head, her eyes are glazed, her lips swollen from biting them. She reaches for me, her hands unsteady. “Your turn,” she whispers.
I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” She swallows. “But I should warn you… I’m not exactly… experienced at this.”
A laugh rumbles in my chest. “Ava, love, you could wrap those pretty lips around my cock and just breathe on it, and I’d still lose my mind.”
She huffs, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—pleasure, maybe, or just the thrill of being wanted this badly.
I stroke myself once, slow, just to watch her reaction. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip. “See something you like?”
She nods, then hesitates. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, you do.” I guide her hand to wrap around me, hissing when her fingers close around my cock. “Just like that. Now use your mouth.”
She leans in, her breath warm against the head of my dick.
The first touch of her tongue is hesitant, exploratory, and I groan, my hips jerking forward.
“Fuck, Ava—” She takes the tip between her lips, and the sight of her like this…
kneeling between my legs, her hair messy, her mouth around me… nearly makes me come on the spot.