This Man Confessed
Page 20

‘Damn it, Ava. Stop swearing!’ He withdraws and hammers back in, over and over, my screams of satisfaction ringing through the air. ‘Better?’ he grunts, hitting me hard and deep. ‘You wanted it, Ava. Is that fucking better?’ He’s really mad.
I’m pinned against the wall, absorbing his ferocious attack, and I want it even harder. I’ve had two weeks of gentle Jesse. I’ve had enough of gentle Jesse, but I can’t speak. I bore down on every advance, my signal that I do want it harder. I want it so much harder.
‘Answer the fucking question!’
‘Harder!’ I scream, grappling at his hair.
‘Fuck!’ His hips piston forward repeatedly, his momentum and stamina staggering, and I’m loving every hard, forceful strike. This is making up for two weeks of soft and careful.
The pit of my stomach starts to burn, and I’m knocked out by my climax that rushes forward so fast, I don’t have a chance to prepare myself for it. I explode, my eyes clenching shut, my head thrown back on a desperate scream.
‘I’m not done yet, Ava.’ he shouts, shifting his hands under my thighs and powering forward.
Neither am I. That orgasm has sent me dizzy, but there is another on the way, assisted rapidly by his relentless power. I find his lips and kiss him deeply, tightening my legs around his hips to the point of pain and boring down as he thrusts up, my screams and his yells colliding between our mouths. ‘Yes!’ I throw my head back. ‘Oh God!’
‘Eyes!’ he shouts severely.
I obey immediately and fist my hands in his hair as he stops dead, heaving and sweating. The fire at my core recedes immediately, but then he groans and rears back, and I brace myself for more power. He strikes, really hard. My back smashes against the wall on a shocked yell, but he doesn’t give me time to gather myself. He pulls straight back and hits me with another forceful pound. He’s lost any control he had. This is going to be really hard. I strengthen my grip on his hair and try to flex my legs, giving him the access his body is demanding.
‘Hard enough for you, Ava?’ he shouts, thrashing into me again.
‘Yes!’ I scream. I wouldn’t dream of stopping this.
He’s unforgiving. He repeatedly drives into me, each hit getting harder and harder. My mind is blanking out, my body has gone lax, and I’m sky high on pleasure. But then I feel my back leaving the wall as I’m yanked forward and taken to the bed. He practically throws me down and flips me onto my hands and knees before taking a standing position behind me and grabbing my hips. He re-enters me on a brutal pound and a frenzied bark, yanking me back to meet him with each advance of his powerful hips. My face goes straight into the sheets, my hands grasping at the material, a full on sweat breaking out. I’m soaking wet.
‘Jesse!’ I scream his name in delirious, delightful despair.
‘You wanted it, Ava. Don’t fucking complain.’ He bangs into me again, harder still. He’s releasing all of the pent up, animalistic power he’s been suppressing for way too long. He’s really lost control, and a small part of me is wondering if he’s doing this on purpose—trying to shock me or scare me back into the realms of sleepy sex. He’s going to fail miserably if that’s his plan. My body needs this. I need this.
I drag my twisted mind back to now and focus on meeting his power with acceptance. I accept all of it, the violent accumulation of pressure in my belly working its way straight to my core, ready for detonation. This is going to blow my brain clean out of my head.
‘Harder!’ I shout, grasping at the sheets.
‘Ava!’ His fingers flex on my hips and clamp down, the unforgiving hold on my sensitive area not bothering me in the slightest. I’m too busy concentrating on the body splitting orgasm that’s looming.
And then it hits me, taking me by surprise again and sending me out of this world on pleasure. I scream. He yells. Then I collapse on the bed, Jesse following me down, his leanness completely covering me. His breathing is harsh in my ear and our sweat ridden bodies are flush and heaving severely. I feel completely replete. I’m utterly exhausted, but I feel so much better. It feels like us again.
He groans, his groin circling deeply, the fire of his release heating me and putting me back together again. I’ve missed it. ‘Thank you.’ I pant, closing my eyes and finding immense comfort in his strong, frantic heartbeat clattering against my back. I can’t even muster up the strength to be concerned that he has just come inside me. Not that it really matters.
He doesn’t say anything. The only sound in the colossal master suite is our collective, erratic breathing. It’s loud, it’s heavy and it’s satisfied. But then he breaks away from me, and the absence of his warmth coating my body makes me immediately turn over to see what he’s doing. He’s walking away, his hands clenching his head, as I watch his naked back disappear into the bathroom. I’m still fighting to get my heartbeat steady and my breathing paced, but instead of feeling sated and blissful, I feel uncertain and guilty. I’ve made him lose his restraint. I’ve pushed him, tempted him and sent him over the edge of self-control, and now, even though I got my way, I feel guilt-ridden. He’s been struggling to rein in his command over my body, although why is what I should be worried about. Not the fact he has, but why he has. I know why he has, and that should eradicate any guilt, but it doesn’t. I’ve accepted that I’ll never completely understand him. I’ve accepted all of his flaws and challenging ways. They are all part of the man I love deeply—the man I share a connection with that is so potent, it’s sent us both crazy. We share an intensity that cripples us both.
He appears in the bathroom doorway, still naked, still wet and with his chest still rising and falling noticeably. I’m staring at him. He’s staring at me.
Sitting up and pulling my knees to my chest, I feel small and awkward. It shouldn’t be like this between us.
‘I’ve been taking your pills.’ His jaw ticks and his neck muscles bulge.
The words, spoken with no remorse or regret, widen my eyes and straighten my back. His face is expressionless, and even though I knew, I’m shocked. Hearing him say it aloud, confessing to it, is increasing my already speeding heart rate.
‘I said I’ve been taking your pills.’ He sounds angry.
This can’t be ignored any longer. I can feel the dormant anger sizzling inside of me, pushing me to release it. My period is due tomorrow, and I’m certain it’s not going to arrive. This man, my crazy husband, has just completely and unashamedly confessed to stealing my birth control pills, and now my denial is converting into blood boiling fury.
‘Ava, for fuck sake, woman!’ His hands fly to his head in frustration. ‘I’ve been taking your fucking pills!’
I don’t even try to reason because there is absolutely nothing reasonable about this situation. As I pace towards him, he watches me closely, cautiously, and when I’m standing before him, I slap him clean across his face. My palm in instantly on fire, but I’m too angry to focus on the pain. His head has turned to the side, his eyes are down, and I can still only hear our fitful breathing, except now they’re not sated, heavy breaths, they’re anger fuelled gasps. He brings his face back up and before I’m aware of what I’m doing, my hand is flying out again, but this time he catches my wrist in front of his face. I yank myself free and proceed to thump his chest with both fists in a frenzied lash out of anger. And he lets me. He just stands there and takes my deranged beating, my fists persistently striking him as I scream and wail. When I think I might collapse with exhaustion, I step back and lose control of my tears.