Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Oh Jesus. “Baby, don’t,” I beg, shaking my head, my throat thick as she sobs beneath me, her hair sticking to her face. Despair. Hopelessness. “I understand.” Do I? Do I really understand? “Don’t cry.” I kiss her as delicately as she needs to be kissed right now. “It’s always just you.”
“I’m not coping with this,” she says, her voice cracked, her hands feeling at my face. “I feel violent.”
Violent.
Makes two of us. And right now, I know, hand on my heart, better than I know anything, violent is not what we need to be. Violent will undoubtedly lead to devastation.
“Mine,” she whispers.
“Always just yours.” I take her left hand and kiss it. Marriage isn’t only what I need. Ava needs it too. I can see that now. “Please, ignore them. They’re shocked, that’s all.” And imagine when I get that ring on her finger because now more than ever, I’m fucking doing it. “Their noses have been put firmly out of joint by a young, dark-eyed, breathtaking beauty. My beauty.”
“You’re my beauty.”
Not really, but if she needs to believe that, I’ll give it to her. “All of me, Ava. Every single piece.” I cup her cheeks, getting nose to nose, letting every inch of me cover every inch of her. Protect her. Her dark, watery eyes look up at me, beg me to make everything okay. “Ava, you own me.” I close my eyes as I kiss her, keeping it calm and soft. “Do you understand me?” I ask, and she nods, albeit jerkily. “Good girl. You are mine, and I am yours.” It feels easy giving her words that will ease her. “I know this is hard for you.”
“I love you,” she counters, as if worried I might doubt that.
I smile, and I try so hard to make it light rather than sad. “I know you do.” For your sins. “And I you.” It’s an effort, my body and my mind exhausted, but I fasten up and stand, pulling Ava up too. “We’ll make friends properly later.” I turn her in my arms to see the back of her dress. Or lack thereof. “I don’t want to trample your dress.” I actually do want to trample her dress, as it’s been the source of admiring stares all night. But for the sake of peace, I’ll stand down. “It looks like it needs a bit of patience, and we all know how little of that I have when it comes to you.” I’m ignoring the massive part of my brain that’s pointing out that Ava gets admiring stares whether in a couture gown or workout clothes. “Better?” I ask, rubbing her nose with the tip of mine when I’ve returned her to face me.
I move the sideboard as Ava faffs with her hair and face, and we leave the office and the tension behind. But I can’t shake the horrible, uncomfortable feeling in my stomach that tells me I’m hoping in vain. Ava’s shown how she truly feels about the details of my past she knows. It’s not improving my already low confidence. It was a stupid idea bringing her here. So fucking stupid. I’d hoped she’d see the lavish space in all its glory for what it is. An expensive place for expensive people to have their harmless fun. Fulfil their harmless fantasies, all while enjoying the luxurious facilities of The Manor. See it’s a business, one that has made me an insanely wealthy man. But more importantly, I hoped she’d see how detached I am from the happenings. I hoped she’d see that I’m no longer interested in anything else but her. I’ve failed miserably, and it’s all down to that shitty past that keeps trailing me and nipping at my heels.
“Motown?” Ava says as we walk through the summer room, where the band have started playing and a few less rampant members have moved onto the dancefloor. Yet their urgency to head upstairs should not be mistaken for a lack of desire. The dancefloor on the anniversary is little more than a prelude of what’s to come. A place where foreplay gets underway.
“They’re a great band,” I say, watching the few people on the floor, wondering if Ava’s seeing what I’m seeing. I look back. She’s not, her sole focus on me. “You want to dance?”
“Later.”
There will be no later. I want to take her home, get us out of this box of triggers. I’m surprised to see the boys are still in the bar when we make it there. Not so surprised to see Sarah with a gin in one hand, a bicep in the other. I put Ava on a stool and let Kate crowd her. I won’t want to hear whatever’s going to be said, so I move away, waving Mario over.
“You cool?” Sam says, moving into one side.