‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
He slowly walks over to me and stands me up. Reaching down, he clasps the hem of my dress and pulls it up to my waist and then grabs me under my bum and lifts me up to straddle his waist. He buries his face in my hair and walks us out of the kitchen. I can feel his heartbeat clattering against my chest as I hold onto him while he takes the stairs silently with me in his arms. I want to ask him what’s wrong. I’ve got lots of things to ask him, but he seems so despondent.
He walks us to the bed and crawls on with me beneath him, settling on top of me with his weight spread all over my body. It’s soothing. Locking my arms around him, I breathe into his neck and soak up his fresh water smell. I sigh contentedly. He might be a significant contributing factor to my stress and tiredness, but he makes it disappear just as quickly as he triggers it.
‘Tell me how old you are.’ I break the comfortable silence after I’ve held him until his hammering heart has returned to its usual, steady speed.
‘Thirty two.’ he says into my neck.
‘Tell me.’
‘Does it matter?’ he asks tiredly.
It doesn’t matter, but I want to know. He might like this game, but I don’t and it’s not going to make any difference to how I feel. I just think I should know. It is mandatory information, like his favourite colour, food or track – all of which I don’t know. I know so little about him.
‘No, but I would like it if you told me. I know none of your basic information.’
He nuzzles in my neck. ‘You know I love you.’
I sigh. That’s not basic information. I start to think about my introduction of a truth f**k into our relationship. Something has got to wheedle this small, insignificant piece of information out of him. I know my persistently asking him is having no satisfactory results.
‘How was your day?’ he asks, his voice muffled in my hair.
‘Stupidly busy but very constructive.’ I’m quite pleased with what I managed to get done, considering I thought my day would be a bombardment of calls and texts. ‘And you need to stop sending flowers to my office.’
His head lifts and I’m greeted with a disgusted look. ‘No. Have a bath with me.’
I roll my eyes at his stubbornness, but I could think of nothing better than having a bath with him at the moment. ‘I’d love to.’
He pulls himself up so I have to release his neck, and he drops his lips to mine. ‘You stay here, I’ll sort the bath.’ He jumps up and takes his jacket off as he goes to the bathroom.
I hear the water start running and I turn onto my side, feeling content and tranquil. He makes me feel like this and it’s these times when I know why I’m here. It’s how attentive, loving and tender he is. Perhaps living with him wouldn’t be so bad after all. But then I give myself a quick reminder that I’m currently on Central Jesse Cloud Nine. I won’t be thinking like this once I’ve not conformed to one of his demands. It will come, and it might even be about all of this moving in business.
He strolls back into the bedroom, and I lay back and admire his incredible gait. This man has a serious walk. Reaching up, he pulls his tie loose and throws it on the nearby chaise lounge, and then starts working his shirt buttons. He lets it hang loose and leans down to take his shoes and socks off. He’s bare foot with his trousers resting on those glorious, narrow hips, his shirt open, revealing the sharp lines of his chest. I could sink my teeth into him. He would probably enjoy that.
‘Enjoying the view?’
I look up and find green pools studying me. That look alone renders me a soaking wet mess. ‘Always.’ I answer. My voice is throaty. I didn’t mean it to be, it’s just what he does to me.
‘Always,’ he confirms. ‘Come here.’
I slide myself off the bed and slip my heels off.
‘Leave the dress.’ he demands softly.
I pad over to him, keeping hold of his hypnotising eyes, his arms hanging loosely at his side as he follows my progression. My heart is ricocheting off my rib cage, and I part my lips to let subtle streams of air escape, watching him as he slowly runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
‘Turn around.’
I obey and slowly pivot away from him. I feel his palms rest on my shoulders and the contact, even through my dress, zaps my nerve endings to life.
He leans down and rests his mouth near my ear. ‘I really like this dress.’ he whispers, and I clench my eyes closed to ride out the quiver that travels through my entire body. Both of his hands travel inwards until they arrive at my nape. He gathers my hair and places it over my shoulder, and then slowly draws the zip of my dress all the way down.
I flex my neck muscles in an attempt to control my overwhelming need to shake off the shudders that he’s instigating, but I give up when I feel his lips rest against my upper back, his tongue gliding up to the nape of my neck. Every fine hair stands on end, and I arch my back in response to his long, hot stroke.
There is a certain degree of torture to this. I want it to stop so I can gather my scattered senses before I say something I don’t mean like, Yes, I’ll move in with you.
‘I love your back.’ His lips vibrate against my skin, generating even more shudders. He moves his mouth back to my ear. ‘You have the softest skin.’
My head rolls back onto his shoulder and my face turns into his neck. He adjusts his head so his lips find mine as he hooks his hands into the front of my dress and pushes it down my body.
‘Lace?’ he asks.
I nod my answer, and his eyes sparkle with lust as he kisses me gently, like I’m glass. Our tongues slip and slide over each other with little effort from either of us, and I lean back onto him for support. I’m relishing in his gentleness and soft touch.