This Man (This Man 1)

‘What? That I won’t leave you? I won’t leave you. Happy?’

‘Yes, I am, but that’s not what I meant. ’

‘What did you mean?’

He makes a meal of exhaling deeply into my ear. ‘Never mind, want to go again?’

I splutter on a laboured breath. He’s joking, right? I know I won’t be able to say no – for a start, he won’t let me, but seriously? I feel the slight jerk of a hushed chuckle under me.

‘Absolutely, I can’t get enough of you. ’ I keep my voice steady and serious.

He freezes under me, but then increases his vice hold on me. ‘I’m glad. I feel exactly the same. But my heart has been through enough in the last twenty four hours, what with your defiance and lack of obedience. I don’t know how much more it can take. ’

There we are; lack of obedience. Control freak! ‘It must be your age. ’ I mutter.

‘Hey, lady,’ He rolls us over so I’m face down on the bathroom floor and he’s blanketing me. He bites my ear, blowing hot breath into it. ‘My age has nothing to do with it. ’ He chomps at my lobe a bit more as I writher under him. ‘It’s you!’ he says accusingly, grabbing my hip.

‘No!’ I scream, making a futile attempt to free myself. ‘Okay, I give in!’

‘I wish you fucking would. ’ he grumbles, releasing me.

‘Old man,’ I mutter on a grin.

I’m hoofed to my feet in lightning speed and pushed up the wall, my arms pinned above my head. I purse my lips to suppress my laugh. He narrows his eyes fiercely. ‘I prefer God. ’ he notifies me, hitting me with a heart stopping kiss, thrusting his body against mine and pushing me up the wall.

‘You can be my God. ’

‘I really can’t get enough of you, lady. ’

I smile. ‘Good. ’

‘You’re my ultimate temptress. ’ He swaths my face with his lips, and I sigh against him. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks.

‘Yes. ’ I’m famished, actually.

He picks me up and walks over to the vanity unit, placing me gently down. ‘I’ve fucked you, and now I’m going to feed you. ’

My brow knits at his tactlessness. Why not, made love to me and make me a meal?

He leaves me on the unit to turn the shower on. I fall into a daydream, just watching the muscles of his back ripple with his movements.

‘In you get. ’ He holds his hand out. I slide off the unit, taking his hand and letting him lead me into the shower. ‘It kills me to do this. ’ he sighs, taking the natural sponge.

‘What?’ I hold his shoulder as he kneels in front of me, working up my legs to the insides of my thighs in slow, soapy circles.

‘I hate washing myself off of you. ’ His face is sorrowful. He really means it?

I stand, letting him clean all the traces of him away from me, working carefully, lovingly and flicking me small smiles when he catches me watching him. My hair is shampooed and conditioned, and I take the sponge to return the favour. It takes me a lot longer with his body being a lot bigger than mine, my task hindered further by my need to kiss every square inch of him. He lets me have my way, smiling down at me and squirting more shower gel on the sponge when I hold it out. As normal, I linger over his scar, hoping he will open up to me, but he doesn’t… again. One day, I tell myself – when, I don’t know. Perhaps this will all be over before I ever do know. The thought depresses me. I never want this to be over.

I’m wrapped up in a soft, white towel, showered with light kisses all over my face before he tucks me under his arm and walks us into the bedroom.

‘Put lace on. ’ he says softly, making his way into the wardrobe and appearing a few minutes later in some green, striped lounge pants. I smile. I love him in sludgy green. ‘I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ I confirm quietly. He winks, striding out of the bedroom, leaving me to find my lace. I was actually thinking more along the lines of big knickers and a cosy sweatshirt, but he’s in too good a mood to break it over such a minor detail. Where would my underwear be, anyway? And would Kate have packed lace?

I look around the room for any signs of my bags, seeing nothing. Wandering into the wardrobe, I only find my dresses and shoes. He said a few days. There’s more than a few days’ worth of clothes in here, all hanging neatly in their own little space. I smile at the thought of Jesse making a little gap for me in his vast wardrobe. Did he unpack my things?

I pad back out to one of the two chests of drawers I had made in Italy. Pulling open the first drawer, I find three neat piles of boxer shorts, in black, white and grey – all Armani. They look brand new. I work my way to the next drawer, finding dress socks. Does he have them ironed? I open another to discover belts – all coiled neatly, in every shade of black and brown leather you could imagine.