Page 217 of This Woman Forever

“I’m done,” she says.

I come out of my daze and find her looking up at me, a small smile on her face as she holds up the pen. I eye it, thinking. Then take it and move in on the first picture.

Today my heart started beating again, I write, feeling it now, hammering in my chest. Today you became mine.

I move away, not looking at Ava. Can’t. This wall has gone from being a lovely, decorative—slightly obsession-taming—showpiece, to our life in pictures and words. I scan the photographs, wishing I could add more now, even though there are dozens. Maybe I’ll have the wall behind my desk done too. I spot another favorite of her in her wedding dress, sitting on the lawn. I smile and move in, my teeth sinking into my lip as I draw a perfect halo-shaped circle over her head.

I refrain from adding two horns too.

My girl is definitely a perfect blend of angelic and devilish, but somehow, I don’t think she’ll agree.

My beautiful girl.

My defiant temptress.

My lady.

My angel.

My Ava.

I slip the end of the pen into my mouth, chewing, looking across the rest of the photographs, wondering what else will be added to this wall over the years. If we move, it’s coming. I’ll have it preserved. Whatever it takes. It’s my new favorite thing. Aside from my wife and babies, of course. Today has been a shitter. It’s improved immensely.

It’s not how you start. It’s how you finish.

The pen is suddenly missing from between my teeth, courtesy of Ava, and she attaches herself to my front. “Ava,” I breathe, clenching her bum cheeks in my palms, “today has been the longest fucking day of my life.”

She must take those words as code for rip my clothes off, because my jacket is suddenly halfway down my arms and she’s kissing me like she might not ever get the chance again.

“Easy,” I say, helping her get it off, still managing to hold her in my arms. “What’s the rush?”

“It’s been too long,” she murmurs around my lips. Fuck, it’s been way too long. My dick punches against the fly of my trousers as I pry Ava from my body to set her down, ripping my tie off and dipping to get out of my shoes. “Take your dress off.”

It’s on the floor in a heartbeat—she’s not fucking about—but she doesn’t come at me, instead feeling her tummy, caught in a moment of wonder.

I rest my hand over hers. “Incredible, isn’t it?” I dip and slip my hands under her bum, and her thighs split, scissoring my waist.

“Just like you.” Her eyes are fixed on my mouth, watering.

“And you.”

“Show me how incredible you are,” she whispers huskily, pushing her body into mine. “I’ve forgotten.” Her lips hover teasingly over mine, and I catch them, moaning, dropping my head back, blindly walking us out of my office to the sofa and laying her over the arm so her hips are high, allowing me to stand or kneel between her legs. I drop my trousers, kick them off with my boxers, and watch in satisfaction as her eyes drop to my arousal. I kneel, peeling her knickers off. Oh God. My mouth waters, my eyes flicking up to see her back bowing on the couch, anticipating my first kiss on her flesh. I start on her thigh, then the other, firm, long kisses, working my way up.

She breathes my name, squirms, her legs kick, her arms flail, trying to grip something that isn’t there. She settles on my head, pushing me into her, wanting more friction.

“Have you remembered how incredible I am?” I breathe across her pulsing pussy, as she cries out repeatedly. Here we go. I lick my lips, place my palms on the insides of her thighs and push her legs apart, moving in, flicking my tongue teasingly.

“Shit!”

“Mouth, Ava,” I warn, licking from back to front in one firm lash.

“Oh my God!”

I push my tongue deeply inside her, circle, hum.

“Jesse!”

She’s getting frantic, her movements uncontrolled and chaotic. “Incredible?” I ask, my ears drowned by the sounds of her pleasure. “Tell me how it feels, baby.” I wince when she yanks my hair, then slip my fingers through my mouth and into her pussy, and her body arches, her hands diving into her own hair and pulling. I work her with my fingers and mouth, looking up her body, wondering if there’s a vision better than watching my wife come. I don’t think there is.