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My bewilderment is interrupted when I hear activity, and I look over my shoulder. Ava’s there, half grinning at me. Glad she’s finding this funny. I shove the shoe back on the shelf on an epic scowl that goes way over her head as she pulls her wallet from her handbag and the assistant wraps the dress, taking a long-arse time about it too.
“Enjoy the dress, madam,” she finally says, handing the bag to Ava once she’s paid. “It really did look lovely on you.” She looks at me, and I roll my eyes.
“Thank you.” Ava slowly pivots, and I quickly find my scowl again. This isn’t over. That dress is not making it onto her body. Unless we’re at home. Alone. And it’ll be quickly removed again. This woman is impossible, just trying to prove a point. “Excuse me,” she says, stopping before my imposing frame, looking at me expectantly.
“You’ve just wasted hundreds of pounds,” I say, motioning to the bag. “You’re not wearing that dress.” I’m so mad. But equally hard. I can’t cope with the conflict. My dick and my sensibility are at war.
“Excuse me,please,” she says slowly.
I take one step to the side, and she scoots past, leaving the store. I’m quickly on her heels, breathing down her neck. “Zero.” I pull her into an alley and push her against the wall, and I kiss her like a man deprived. And, of course, she is with me after just a moment of quite pathetic resistance.
“I’m not going to let you wear that dress,” I gabble between the thrashes of our tongues.
“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t wear.”
“Stop me.”
“It’s just a dress.”
“It’s not just a dress on you, Ava. You’re not wearing it.” I pepper kisses over every inch of her face, and she breathes out tiredly, bored with the argument. At least we can agree on that. I can see she’s exasperated, her sigh heavy and meant to be heard. But, like me, I know she doesn’t want to fight. And I sense she’s becoming aware of my fear of losing her. Of the need to pacify me. Calm me. Soon, she’ll start demanding to know why.
“Thank you for the cake,” she finally whispers.
“You’re welcome. Did you eat it?”
“Yes, it was delicious.” She nuzzles my cheek, and peace blankets me. “I’m not supposed to be spending any more time on you until you’ve settled your bill.” She constricts her hold of me as I bite at her ear. In each other’s arms, calm is ours again.
“I’ll trample anyone who tries to stop me.” She’s seen what I’m capable of.
“Why are you so unreasonable?” she asks, and I frown, visions of the cream dress invading my mind. The veryunreasonablecream dress.
“Can I ask you the same question?”
She looks at me tiredly, shaking her head. “I’d better get back to the office.”
“I’ll walk you,” I say, resigning myself to not getting an answer. But I want one later when we’ll be having a very frank conversation about her stubbornness.
“Halfway. I can’t be seen to be entertaining clients for lunch without Patrick knowing, especially ones in debt. Pay your bill.”
Oh for the love of God. How long does she plan on hiding our relationship from her boss?Perhaps as long as you plan on hiding your secrets from her.I grimace. “God forbid Patrick should find out that you’re having your brain fucked out by a non-paying client.”
Her gasp of shock makes me smile. She loves me fucking her stupid. I plan on fucking her very stupid later. I feel out the small of her back and lead her on, reaching for her hand, but she denies me, pulling it away. She just can’t help but be difficult. I grunt and make another play for it.
And miss again.
She walks on, focused forward, silent. Is she moody? I leave it a few moments, knowing she’s waiting for me to try and claim her again, and when I see she’s relaxed a little, I swoop in and win her hand, and I make sure I keep hold of it. Better. Much better.
Just before her office, I stop us and walk us to a wall, needing to see her. This was not how I planned on spending her lunch break. “Why are you sulking?”
“No reason,” she replies quickly and quietly, her hand twiddling her hair wildly.
I pull it away. “Tell me the truth,” I order, but she remains mute, refusing to look at me. “Answer me, Ava.”
She doesn’t, and I start to get impatient. “Is this over a dress?” I ask. “Because you’d better get used to that. My eyes only, Ava.”
She muscles her way past me. “What do you care?” she asks, wrestling her bag onto her shoulder. “After all, you’re just fucking me.” She disappears through the door, and I blink rapidly, standing motionless on the pavement, unable to unravel my confusion.I’m just fucking her?
What planet is she on? Does she think I behave like this with the women I’vejust fucked? She’ll put me in an early grave, way earlier than alcohol at this rate. So she wants me to spell it out? I’m certain I have already, but for the avoidance of doubt...
