This Man Confessed (This Man 3)

Today I found out that I’m just for your eyes.

Then I’m writing underneath the picture of me walking naked from the bedroom after I found him collapsed at Lusso, and after he showed me how he does his talking.

Today I learnt that I’m for your touch and for your pleasure only. But my favourite part of today was when you told me that you love me.

My pen drifts over to the shot of me handcuffed.

Today you introduced me to the retribution f**k.

I quickly scan the wall and find a picture of me walking in front of him through the foyer of The Ritz.

Today I found out how old you are… and that you don’t like being handcuffed.

I can’t stop. Each and every image brings a thought, and I find myself marking picture after picture with my memories in words. He doesn’t stop me. I just keep going, like I’m writing a diary of the last few months of my life. I don’t need to record it, each and every moment is etched on my brain, good and bad, but these are all good. And there are so so many of them. It’s sometimes too easy to let them slip to the outer edges when the not so good gets in the way. Our short time together has been a bombardment of bad, but all of this good far outweighs the challenging moments. He’s reminded me.

My hand is aching by the time I reach my final picture—my final picture for now, anyway. I’m sure I’ll be thinking of more captions to add. It’s the one of me standing on the veranda in Paradise. I push my pen to the wall.

Today I decided that you’re right. We will be okay.

And yes, I do have a bump… ish, and I love you for giving it to me.

I’ll always love you.

End of.

Replacing the lid on the pen, I take a deep breath and finally face my Lord, bumping right into his chest and getting a waft of his fresh, minty scent. I look up at him, finding a straight face and clouded green eyes. ‘I’m done.’ I whisper quietly, but he’s not looking at me. He’s studying all of my captions, his eyes travelling across the wall and pausing every now and then to read what I have written.

He takes the pen and moves towards the picture of me fleeing The Manor, and then gets up close and personal with the wall. I can’t see what he’s writing, and I shift to try and look around his body, but he’s too close. He finally moves away, and I see it, scrolled across the top of the image.

Today my heart started beating again.

Today you became mine.

I press my lips together and watch as he moves across to an image of me seated in the long grass of The Manor’s grounds in my wedding dress, top to toe in ivory lace and with the sun shooting bullets of light through the trees behind me. I’m looking away, probably at the photographer. Again, Jesse gets up close to the wall, and then moves away, chewing the end on the pen. He’s drawn a perfect halo above my head and written;

My beautiful girl.

My defiant temptress.

My lady.

My angel.

My Ava.

I smile and step forward, taking the pen from his mouth and dragging him from his daydream. I replace the lid and drop it to the floor, then gracefully climb up him until I’m wrapped around his big body.

His palms are cupping my bum and his eyes and burning into mine. ‘Ava, today has been the longest f**king day of my life.’

‘Longer than the last longest day?’

‘Each day gets longer. I’ve gotten too used to having you twenty four seven. I believe that I owe you some special time.’ Those words have me pushing his suit jacket from his arms and my lips crashing to his, ravenously. ‘Easy,’ he warns gently, moving each arm in turn so I can rid him of his jacket. ‘What’s the rush?’

I force my lips to slow their devouring of him—easier said than done when I haven’t had him for two full days. ‘It’s been too long.’ I mumble, pulling at his tie, probably strangling him in the process, but I’m not releasing his lips to confirm it.

‘Hey,’ He’s pulling at my limbs, trying to pry me from him. I’m not making it easy for him, although it’s not long before I’m on my feet again, breathing heavy and with no contact. He steps back and pulls his tie over his head before kicking off his Grensons and socks. His eyes are ablaze and virtually burning my dress from my body. ‘Take your dress off.’ he orders, working the buttons of his shirt, and then starting on his cuffs, never breaking our eye contact. It’s not helping me in my hungry state, not at all.

It takes me three seconds flat to unzip my dress and pull it up over my head, leaving me standing in my lace and taking a quick glimpse down at my stomach to see if it’s grown throughout the day. I breathe in to try and gage it, getting slightly side-tracked from my masterpiece of a husband, who’s standing only a few feet away. He’s definitely right, and I have the black pencil dress to prove it. It’s all downhill from here. My hand lifts and slides onto my navel, my rings sparkling as I rub slow circles around my bellybutton. The bond is growing, and it’s growing fast. A piece of me and a piece of Jesse, two pieces, in fact, are growing inside of me, and the very thought has me overcome with a sudden sense of warmness that I’ve never felt before—a warmness that deepens when Jesse’s hand lays over mine and he stoops down, nuzzling my face upwards so he can access my mouth.

‘Incredible, isn’t it?’ he asks, reattaching me to his body with an effortless pull of my upper thighs.

‘Yes,’ I agree, wholeheartedly. ‘Just like you.’

‘And you.’

‘More you.’ I argue. ‘Show me how incredible you are. I’ve forgotten.’ I provoke his arrogance with those words and bow my back, lifting myself higher to him so he has to drop his head back to maintain our kiss. The low rumbling growl emanating from deep inside of him, travels through our joined mouths and warms me further.