Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
I wander out and the very second I step onto the tiles, she stops swimming and looks for me. I go to the edge and dive in, swimming under water, seeing her legs paddling calmly to keep her above the surface. Not for long. I reach forward and wrap a palm around her ankle, pulling her under, engulfing her body with my arms and her mouth with mine, fighting around the water to kiss her for as long as my ballooning lungs will allow before pushing off the bottom and breaking the surface, grabbing air. She clings to me as I tread water, smiling like a loon.
“You closed the pool, didn’t you?” she says, a little breathless, her hands on my face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I guide her arms around and help her onto my back. “It’s never busy at this time of day.” Ava onboard, I start swimming to the edge.
“I don’t believe you. You couldn’t stand the thought of me in a bikini and others seeing it. Admit I’m right.”
Never. I maneuver her to my front and push her into the side of the pool, feeling her semi-nakedness pressed into me. Her smile is knowing. “I love the thought of you in a bikini.” And the feel of her.
“But for your eyes only?” she asks coyly.
“I’ve told you before, Ava,” I whisper, scanning her face, her sparkly eyes. “I don’t share you with anyone or anything, not even their eyes.” But their lips when she’s got the hump with me? “Just for my touch,” I say hoarsely, studying her as she sustains the burn of our skin together. “Just for my eyes.” My fingers meet the heat of her flesh and stroke softly, before I push them inside. “Just for my pleasure, baby. I know you understand me, don’t you?”
“I do,” she exhales her words, stiffening, loosening, over and over.
“Good. Kiss me.”
She’s all mine in a second, and I am all hers, my fingers pulling free and my hands moving to her hips as I adore her mouth for the longest time until I can no longer hold back. I pull her bikini bottoms aside, lower the waist of my shorts and drive into her, loving the echo of her moans bouncing off the glass around us. I watch her between drives, treasure the feel of her hands grappling at my back, adore the glistening of her skin as she climbs to her release.
And once again this weekend, she doesn’t demand protection. This. It’s bliss. This is what married life is meant to be like. Feeling vulnerable but safe. Feeling sated but still—always—wanting more.
Mine.
“Jesus,” I whisper, on the cusp, and on only a few more swivels and thrusts, I come calmly with her, feeling her trembles melt into mine, the water starting to sizzle around us.
“Hmmm,” she hums as I pant against her neck, feeling her twitch against me. “I like swimming with you.”
My palms cup her cheeks, my lips pushing onto hers. “Time to go home. I need to feed you.”
“I’m not hungry,” she says, her nose wrinkling playfully.
“How so when you’re such a glutton?”
“You’re cute.”
“I know.” Another kiss before I slip out and pull my shorts into place, turning her around and lifting her onto the edge, going under the water to do so. I emerge and push myself out of the pool. It’s Monday tomorrow. The start of another working week. Please, God, don’t make it too stressful. “What’s in your diary this week?” I ask, getting us both to our feet and curling an arm around her wet body, leading her back to the changing rooms.
“This and that.”
“A honeymoon by any chance?” I ask, looking down at her.
“Jesse,” she breathes.
I pull her into my side and kiss her head, holding her hand where it’s lying on my chest. “I know,” I breathe, dejected. “You’re busy.”
“Maybe when I’ve got Ruth Quinn out of my hair.” She sounds dejected now too.
“The client?”
She hums non-committedly, and I look down at her.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, she’s just a bit . . .”
“What?”
“Demanding.”
“So’s your husband, but you find it easy to take no notice of him.”
She slaps me lightly, but neither of us laugh. We both know we need a break from London. If only I could hurry the Ruth Quinn project along. But I know my wife, and the way I’d like to help would never be accepted.
16
I don’t drag Ava out of bed the next morning to go for a run. I don’t tie her to the bed and refuse to let her go to the office. I woke her up, smiled when she demanded sleepy sex, and smiled harder when I told her the time.
Sleepy sex was forgotten.
She leapt up and darted into the bathroom in a panic, leaving me to get dressed. It doesn’t make any sense to me why she wants to live by someone else’s schedule. If she worked for herself, we could have all the sleepy morning sex in the world. Not to mention, no more challenging customers. What Ava said about her difficult client stuck with me overnight. I finally slept more than forty minutes—Ava was beside me again—but I considered how Ava reacted to Ruth Quinn’s demanding nature. She seemed deflated. Exhausted by her. Yes, I’m self-aware and know I’m demanding, but only with Ava because she’s my world. I don’t want to exhaust her. Deflate her. My conclusion after ruminating for a while? I have to work on myself. But in the same vein, Ava doesn’t have to deal with demanding clients if she doesn’t want to. Why on earth would she want to? I don’t understand it.