AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ava, no. Stay with me, please. What if you have a nightmare?”
“I’ll type it up in my phone.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I sigh out, anguish coating my words.
“I know. And I know I asked you to be indifferent. I want to push my limits, which you’re very good at,” she adds wryly, “but I need a moment to myself.” She hesitates, her eyes skipping between mine. “Don’t beat yourself up; I agreed and you delivered. Now, I’m just sorting things out in my head.”
Stepping away she searches for her mobile. After locating it in her clutch, she holds it tight in her palm and heads for the bedroom door. “Goodnight.”
Each step she takes away from me has fear and anxiety blooming. “Night.”
Using the torch on her phone, still unfamiliar with the light switches in the house, Ava sweeps down the stairs and along the first-floor hallway. A door opens. A light illuminates the space for a couple of seconds before it goes out with the closing door.
I’m certain my instincts are right. Our time in the cabin proved that intimacy is important. Spending time with me is unlocking her memories, so I have to hope that by morning, the night’s events will bring clarity.
But if my theories are wrong, if I’m hurting her unnecessarily, pushing her away with my robust brand of love, then I’ll have to consider the unthinkable.
I might have to give Ava up.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
AVA
Tuckedup in the comfortable bed, I decide not to call Tilly. A headache looms, and waking her at this hour isn’t the best idea, even though it would be good to talk it through.
But I know what happened. Even Dave can see that whatever is going on between Max and I is helping, not that I gave him too much detail on thehow. So giving Max free rein as we explore not only what we are, but what he can unlock from my head is the way forward, the results so far proof of that.
The night’s events go round and round in my mind, and I start to get fixated on what it felt like to be praised. And I can’t deny that hearing Max tell me how good I was doing, that I was giving him what he wanted, meant I began to enjoy it more. At that moment, I wanted to make him happy. I wanted the struggle, the sheer dominance and weight of him. Watching him come undone because of me was a proud moment. A mutually happy moment.
It wasn’t empty or hurting or one-sided. I was cherished to the point of breaking apart and then praised for how I made him feel. And I hadn’t objected to him pushing inside my mouth—I was pretty up for it. But when he leant forward to support himself on the headboard, lost to his lust and the chase, it was too much.
So what does that mean?
It means I’m finding my tolerances, recalibrating. That I’m exploring what I’m capable of and how far I—or Max—can push.
On the bedside table, a lamp illuminates a well-appointed guest bedroom. A room he told me at dinner his family use when they visit. My ring sits under the lamp, glinting like a sun.
I close my eyes, hoping for sleep. Memories of Amsterdam cycle in my head, mixed with experiences I’ve shared with Max: he speaks Dutch confidently; he has an obvious connection to a country that instills me with a sense of trepidation and caution; his house has two safe rooms, though he tells me he hasn’t had to use them. How safe am I here? Does his business in diamonds present a danger to his safety?To mine?
Fraught, I toss and turn, desperate for sleep and to forget. To wake up in the morning and realise I’m worried about nothing, and that Max isn’t leading me along an ambiguous path.
When that headache I thought I was keeping at bay breaks, I regret not packing headache tablets. Stubborn, I refuse to ask Max to find me some, so I’ll just have to suffer through it. But slowly, the thunderstorm in my head gathers momentum, rumbling and breaking and rolling on. Black thunderheads hover overhead, dominating and pushing. Lightning flashes like a strobe light, continuous and insistent. Hundreds of images stream past my eyes; they’re so bright they hurt to look at, each one of them striking me like a physical blow.
In the distance, a forbidding black shape rises before me. My heart drops to my toes. I scream, knowing pain awaits, that my freedom is over. Desperate, I claw at the ground, but the shape is upon me, resisting my struggles.
A stabbing pain.
A stream of ice.
Terrified, I wake up with a drumming heart. Sweat coats my nape and chest, my body feeling chilled when I move position and air creeps in under the duvet.
I’m struck with the immediate need to cry, so I do. I give in to my grief and fear, releasing all the pent-up emotion, crying for the experiences I can’t remember and crying for the ones I now can. On top of that, I’m hugely relieved that I’m no longer there but safe, back in Cambridge with my sister. With Max.
Thinking about him has silent tears streaming down my face. I hate and regret that we’ve argued. Again, he’s only ever tried to support and help me, and I know my returning memories are down to him. But everything’s so vivid and alive in my head it’s like I wasjust there, living through it again and again. It’s too real, and I feel like I’m losing myself to a bleak, black place.
That’s when I hear his voice. “Ava.” It’s so gentle, so soothing and familiar, I cry all over again when I compare it to the brutality I suffered. Max stands in the open doorway, his phone in his hand. He looks distraught. “How can I help?”
I swipe at my runny nose, sniffing loudly. “I remembered something.” My voice is so fragile I’m surprised if it carries to him. But it must do because he’s in front of me, climbing onto the mattress and wrapping me up in his warmth.
