Page 75 of This Woman Forever

“Kiss me,” she orders through her teeth.

Not today, lady. Today I’ll fuck her until she remembers who the fuck she belongs to and where the fuck she lives. I move both of her wrists into one hand and stroke up her body until I have her neck in my hold. Her pulse pushes into my fingertips. I breathe in her face.

My cock pounds in my jeans.

But I will maintain control. I will not have her believe I don’t know what I’m doing right now. Her whimpers become more desperate by the second, and my satisfaction gets stronger. As always, I just have to get her in my hands to prove my point. She’s not fighting me off. She’s not protesting. I see her intention as her body rolls, her mouth coming at me. I move my head and slam my lips on her chest, pulling her dress down to get to the sweet spot, sucking, making sure the small bruise is revived before I turn her and push her front forward into the wall, separating her thighs with my knee, placing her palms against the tiles. She cries out. I don’t need to tell her what to do. I release her hands and they remain exactly where I put them as I dip and pull her dress up, taking in her arse, smelling her desire, as I undo my fly and pull out my dick. She won’t need much prep. It’s a good job, because I’m in no mood for accommodating her.

And to make my point, I strike her with a stinger of a slap across her right cheek when she sticks her arse out.

That’s for leaving me.

“Fuck!” she yells, earning herself another on the other cheek.

That’s for pretending you don’t care.

“Jesse!”

Now it’s time to scream, baby.

I get into position and guide myself to her pussy, slamming in fast. She yells, I grunt, and the room spins.

Maintain control.

Easier said than done when you’re balls deep in your wife after being deprived for five days. Fuck. Goodbye, control. I can’t hold back. Don’t want to. I thunder into her, watching as her hands grapple at the wall, her head thrashing, hearing her scream to high heaven. I pull her head away from the tiles by her neck, worried she’ll bang it in her delirious state, turning her face outward. Her eyes are drowsy. Her lips are parted. The blood in my cock starts to thump, my release looming. I have to kiss her. I can’t kiss her.

Fuck.

I slam my mouth on hers, tackle her tongue, moan, pump, sweat.

No.

I stop, panting, my shaft buzzing as I widen my stance, grip her hips hard, check her head, and start slamming her arse into my groin, my head falling back, my mind shutting down, just taking the pleasure. Taking it all.

Her body tightens, her yells become broken. I blow out air, chasing my release. Beads of sweat trickle down my temple, and I reach up to wipe them away.

Fuck.

I pull out and spin her, lifting her to my body and getting straight back inside her, leaning into her against the wall as I pump, clumsily kissing and licking her throat, tasting the sweat. Madness. Utter madness. But also inevitable after so long without her.

She shudders, screams, and I tip the edge, exploding around her, feeling her muscles clenching my cock as I come inside her. I’m out of control, out of my body, twitching, spasms shaking me, my knees quivering. Yes, the pressure has subsided, but the anger? No. That remains. She’s on a night out, in a dress she knows I would never approve of, and she’s drinking. All the things I hate. Leaving me wasn’t enough?

I sniff, pulling out of her neck.

She looks at me, gasping in my face, her hands going to my hair and hauling me onto her mouth.

And now she wants a loving kiss? What, does she feel worthless?

I get her off me, propping her against the wall, refusing to look at her as I sweep a hand across her pussy, collecting our desire and wiping it across her chest next to her refreshed bruise. She’s watching, confused, as I tuck myself away.

And then I walk out, taking a few breaths outside the door. Ava doesn’t want to be that woman to me. Drunk, easy, wearing a short dress. And she doesn’t want me to be that man. The man I once was. Lost in a bottle of vodka, no self-respect, fucking anything with a pulse. If our little encounter in the restroom is what it takes to remind her, then so be it. But still, it takes everything in me to resist going back to her and doing it all over again, but this time gently. Lovingly.

No.

I walk down the corridor just as Sam steams into the club, out of breath. He stops, looks me up and down, probably to check for blood. “I’m fine,” I say, going back into the bar.

“Have you seen her?” he calls over the music.

“Yes, I’ve seen her.”